‘We have some catching up to do,’ Stefano prompted.
‘We do...’ Ariana smiled ‘...though it can wait till after your honeymoon.’ But certain things would wait for ever. They were close again, but it would never be like it was before. Gian had changed her, she realised. She was far more independent now and did not need to run and tell Stefano everything, certainly not about herself and Gian.
It was her secret to keep.
‘Do you have the rings?’ Stefano asked for maybe the twentieth time.
‘I have the rings.’ Ariana smiled as she checked again for maybe the thirtieth time! ‘Are you nervous?’
‘Very,’ Stefano admitted, and looked at his sister. ‘I miss him.’
‘I know you do.’
‘It’s the bride who should be crying...’ Stefano said as he took a deep breath. ‘I’m so happy yet I miss him so much today.’
‘Hey,’ Ariana soothed, and then she did something she never thought she would do. She reached into her purse and took out a tiny sliver of gold she had sworn she would never give away, but that Gian had told her she might. ‘Papà gave Gian this for strength when his family died...’
‘Really?’
‘And he gave it to me when I felt weak at Papà’s funeral, but I don’t need it any more.’ She put it in his top pocket. ‘Papà is with you today.’
Ariana got on with her designated job: getting her brother to the embassy on time and remembering the rings.
Eloa was a stunning bride and the day brimmed with happiness. Well, that was what Ariana determinedly showed, even if there was a squad of elves holding down the cork on a vat of tears she would later shed.
‘No Nicki?’ Dante checked after the service as he handed her a glass of cachaça—a rather smoky Brazilian rum that made her eyes water. Ariana shook her head, deciding that she would tell him another time about the photo.
Tonight was a celebration after all.
And then Mia had a question for her new husband. ‘No Gian again?’
‘His new hotel,’ Dante said. ‘The opening was booked before the wedding date was decided and couldn’t be changed...’
It was a throwaway sentence as he took his gorgeous wife off to dance and Ariana stood there, wondering how she would get through not just tonight but every future Romano family event at which Gian should be present.
Because Mia was right, Gian should be here.
The Romanos loved him like their own and he belonged here amongst them.
And when the next one happened, and the next, Ariana had to somehow work out how not to tumble into bed with him afterwards.
For. The. Rest. Of. Her. Life.
Oh, those elves were working overtime, yet she refused to cry and so she danced with Pedro, who was a cousin of the bride, and she danced with Francisco, who was a friend of an aunt, and Ariana laughed and danced and determinedly refused to give in to a heart that was breaking.
‘Come on, Ariana...’ They were all dragging her to the centre, where it would seem it was a Brazilian tradition to dance around Eloa’s gold shoes. Really, Ariana had no idea what she was doing, but she swayed her hips and laughed and did a sort of Spanish flamenco around the shoe, tapping her feet and swishing the ruffles on her dress.
He had almost missed this, Gian thought when he saw her.
He had almost missed another Romano wedding and another night with people he could only now admit to himself were family.
The usually unruffled Luna had nearly thrown a fit when Gian had declared that he was flying back to Rome and asked if she could arrange it urgently, as well as a couple of other small assignments he wanted her to swiftly organise. ‘I need to be there tonight.’
Fortunately, Ariana had arranged the reception just across from La Fiordelise so, with his helicopter landing late into the night, it was a simple matter of checking everything was in place and feeding some official documents through the shredder.
Gian didn’t need reminders of the past.
It was a future he wanted now.
And with the past shredded, he walked across the square to Palazzo Pamphili and found, to his pleasant surprise, he was still on the guest list.
Walking through the grand building with its intricate ceilings and formal galleries, there was a moment to gather himself in such esteemed surroundings. It felt deserted, yet finally he could hear the laughter and merriment as if calling for him to join in. And even without his feelings for Ariana, it was right that he was there tonight for, perfect or not, these people had been more of a family to him than his own.
‘Gian!’ Dante caught up with him as he congratulated the bride and groom and apologised for arriving so late. ‘It is good that you made it.’
It was said completely without implication or malice that he had missed theirs, Gian knew; Dante and Mia were simply pleased to see him.
Gian was back in the fold, as easily as that, and he stood watching the celebrations for a moment, taking it all in. He did not have to strain to locate Ariana; she was completely unmissable, of course.
Dressed in red, she was the belle of the ball, dancing and laughing and having the time of her life, so much so that even Gian could not see the hurt he was certain resided within.
He wasn’t vain enough to believe it was all to do with him. There was the loss of her father, her relationship with her mother, Nicki, Stefano...
He was proud of his diva and her acting skills, proud of her resilience, and also aware of an unfamiliar sensation tightening his chest as she danced happily in another man’s arms.
And another!
Damn it, Ariana, Gian thought, I get it. Your life will go on without me, but please tone it down!
He had never cared about anyone enough to know jealousy before, yet he learned there and then to breathe through it, even smiling as she kicked up her heels.
No longer able to resist, he caught Ariana’s arm as she stamped past him, and saw how startled she was in her violet eyes when they locked with his.
Gian was here.
Damn!
Just as she did her best to move on and prove to herself she could party without him, the best-looking spanner in the world was suddenly thrown into the works.
‘I’m busy dancing,’ she told him, and reclaimed her arm.
‘It’s a Brazilian wedding, Ariana,’ he told her. ‘Not a Spanish one.’
‘I know that.’
‘Yet you’re doing the flamenco.’
‘So I am...’ Her heart was hammering because she could not quite believe that he was here. ‘These cachaças are very strong.’ She was trying to act normally, or rather how she would have acted a year ago at a family event when Gian De Luca suddenly showed up. ‘I thought you had to be at the La Fiordelise Florence, opening—’
‘I left early and gave myself the rest of the night off...’
‘Why are they all called La Fiordelise?’ she snapped. It had always annoyed her and she let him know tonight. ‘It’s hardly original.’
‘Your father said the same.’
‘Well, you should have listened to him. La Fiordelise, London. La Fiordelise, Azerbaijan...’ Gosh those cachaças must be strong, she thought, because she allowed a little of her resentment to seep out. ‘Perhaps you could send me there...’
He just smiled.
But it was a smile she had never seen before. Not his on-duty smile, or his off-duty one; it was just a smile that let her be, that simply accepted her as she was and, she felt, suddenly adored.
‘Hey, Ariana...’ Pedro was waving her to join in another odd-looking dance.
‘Your boyfriend is calling you to dance with him again,’ Gian said, and with those words let her know he’d been watching her for a while. ‘You’re very popular tonight.’
‘Yes, I am,’ Ariana said, and she’d never been happier t
o be caught dancing and smiling and laughing, even if she was bleeding inside. ‘I am in demand!’
‘Have you time to dance with me?’
No.
She had to practise saying no to him, had to have that tiny word fall readily from her tongue.
For. The. Rest. Of. Her. Life.
Except that tiny word felt far too big when she looked into those beautiful slate-grey eyes. She would start tomorrow, Ariana decided, and allow herself just one tiny dance tonight. ‘One dance,’ Ariana said, and found herself back in his arms. ‘For the sake of duty.’
Yet this was no duty dance, for his arms were no longer wooden and his hands ran down her ribs and came to rest on her hips and there was slight pressure there to pull her against him. He moved like silk and this time it was Ariana who was the one holding back.
‘Dance with me,’ he moaned.
‘I am.’
‘Like we did.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘My mother is looking.’
‘Let her look.’
‘You know what she can be like.’
‘Tell her that your sex life is none of her business.’
‘I have.’ Ariana laughed. ‘But we no longer have a sex life, so there’s nothing to tell.’
She felt the heat of his palm low on her hips and heat somewhere else as he pulled her hard up against him. His voice was low in her ear and made her shiver. ‘You’re sure about that?’
This wasn’t fair, Ariana thought as they danced cheek to cheek with their bodies meshed together. He wasn’t being fair after all that had passed between them.
‘They will guess...’ Ariana started.
‘Stop worrying about them,’ Gian said, and for a little while she did. Her family all danced with their various partners and she danced with a man who was always there for her. There was something so freeing about Gian’s acceptance of her, and the way he lived life on his terms. It was something she was starting to embrace herself and so she wrapped her arms around his neck and told him a little of her new world. ‘I’ve told my lazy doorman that he’s not allowed to let guests up without my permission, not even my mother, and I shall petition the other residents to have him removed if he doesn’t improve.’
‘Good for you.’
‘And I have an interview next week with your rival company. I used my mother’s maiden name, so I know I got the interview on my own merit.’
‘Very good,’ Gian said.
‘And I will never give up on love.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ He was serious suddenly. ‘Can we go outside?’
‘It will cause too much gossip and rumour...’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, I do,’ Ariana said. ‘I’m not leaving Stefano’s wedding to make out with you.’
‘That is a revolting term,’ Gian told her, ‘but fair enough.’ For though he was desperate to speak with her, she was right not to leave during her brother’s wedding reception. ‘Will you come over to La Fiordelise afterwards?’ Gian asked.
‘No...’ she said slowly. Her reply was tentative, but with practice she would perfect it, Ariana decided. ‘No.’ She said it more clearly this time.
No. No. No.
Easy as pie.
‘Come to me tonight.’
They were still cheek to cheek, though the music had ended, yet they carried on dancing. She could feel herself weakening at his touch. ‘No,’ she told him as he reached into his inner pocket and slipped a cold thin card where the ruffle of her dress parted. It was all discreetly done, yet Ariana knew she should have slapped him there and then, but lust moved faster than anger where Gian De Luca was concerned. It took a moment for her to form the proper reply. ‘Leave me alone, Gian.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Ariana!’ Her mamma was laughing and calling her over. ‘Gian!’ In fact, she was calling them both, for the music had restarted and upped its tempo and the bride and groom were about to be waved off into the night.
It was loud, it was fun, and it was over.
Stefano and Eloa were officially married and it was kisses and final drinks and then they all spilled out of the venue into the square. She was so happy for Stefano and Eloa, especially now the air had been cleared between her and her twin.
And happy for Mia and Dante too, Ariana thought as she watched them walk hand in hand into the night.
If it was possible to be lonely and happy at the same time, then she was lonely and happy for herself too, for Gian had already gone.
She wanted not just to be part of a couple, but she wanted to be part of that couple with Gian.
Walking hand in hand in public, kissing without secrets, in love for all to see.
The square had never looked more beautiful. There was a carousel all lit up and the stunning fountains were gushing and spouting. It was a special place indeed, where they had eaten hot chestnuts on the night she’d said farewell to her father, and where she now stood so confused and so wanting to go into La Fiordelise if it meant another night with the man she loved.
She would always want him.
That was a given.
If, somehow, forty years from now, they were here at Stefano and Eloa’s ruby wedding celebration, there would still be a longing and an ache for what could have been. If learning the truth about her family had taught her anything, it was that regrets were such a waste of a life. She didn’t want to have any regrets when it came to Gian.
She would start saying no on Monday.
Not caring if she was found out, Ariana slipped away and found herself in the reception area of La Fiordelise, heading straight for his bed and the bliss he would temporarily give.
Life was better with Gian in it than not.
Yes, she was turning into Fiordelise, Ariana decided as she took the elevator up.
He opened the door and, before she fell into his arms, she stated her case. ‘There will be rules,’ Ariana said.
If she was to be his mistress then there would be rules and she would be the one making them.
‘We shall discuss them,’ Gian agreed.
‘If you cheat on me, you die.’
He laughed. ‘I’m saving you from prison then. I never cheat.’
‘Liar.’
‘Never. Even at your interview when I wanted to kiss you but Svetlana—’
‘Stop!’ She halted him. ‘Don’t ever try to redeem yourself with another woman’s name.’ She was way too needy to ignore it though. ‘You wanted to kiss me then?’
‘All over,’ he told her. ‘Come, there’s something I want to show you...’
Down his hallway they went and she smiled when she saw there were pictures of Gian. ‘When did you do this?’ she asked.
‘Tonight. The maintenance man has been busy.’
‘Oh, Gian.’ Her eyes were shining and happy to see his childhood finally featured on the wall, but then her smile died. ‘What the hell is this doing here?’ It was the most appalling, awkward photo of her at her first Romano Ball. She had been tempted to tear it up, but had decided it wasn’t just her memory to delete.
‘No!’ She was appalled. ‘That photo was for your eyes only, I look terrible!’
‘You do and, believe me, your mother had nothing to worry about then... It was here that things started to change for me...’
Her breath stopped, as there she was, in a silver dress, standing next to Gian, in an informal shot of a night that had been more difficult than the picture revealed.
It was the first Romano Ball without her papà. He had been a last-minute withdrawal due to a deterioration in his health. On the one hand, she had been relieved that she wouldn’t have to see him with Mia.
On the other hand, it had meant her papà was getting worse.
Gian had steered her through it, though. He always did.
>
He had held her in those wooden arms and told her that she was doing well, and it had meant the world.
‘I think,’ Gian said, ‘well, I know, that for me things changed that night...’ She swallowed as he went on. ‘You were right. I easily remembered what you were wearing, for my eyes barely left you that night, and I think things changed for you too, Ariana. You didn’t come by my office so much after that...’
‘No...’ She flushed as she admitted to herself something that for so long she had denied. ‘I have liked you for a lot longer than you realise, than even I dared admit.’
‘Come,’ he said, ‘I have something for you.’
Of course that something was in the direction of the bedroom, and as they walked there, she said, ‘I’ll make a terrible mistress, Gian. I talk too much, I’m not very discreet...’ But then her voice trailed off for there on the bed lay everything she had once thought she wanted: a blush tartan suit, a silk cowl-necked cami, a string of pearls and even a little wallet for her business cards.
‘Gian...’ She wanted to weep, for he made her so weak.
This time when he unzipped the back of her dress, his fingers lingered and she closed her eyes as he peeled it off and slowly kissed her shoulder.
‘Turn around,’ he said in that voice that made her shiver. She was a little bewildered and a lot in lust as she complied.
He undressed and then dressed her.
She lifted her arms as he slid on the silk cami, and she lifted her feet as he negotiated the little kilt. The only resistance was in her jaw as he put on the jacket, for it was everything she had wanted, and yet Ariana knew she deserved more.
He dressed her neck in a string of pearls and she closed her eyes as he secured the clasp, then turned her around and knelt as he dressed her feet in the gorgeous neutral stilettoes that his guest managers wore. ‘We can’t work together, Gian.’
‘We can.’
‘No, because I’m not going to spend my career worrying about when my time will be up...’
‘It will never be up.’
The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2) Page 16