Naturally, Gian did not enter the study for the reading of the will. Instead, he poured himself a brandy from Rafael’s decanter, as his friend had often done for him, and silently toasted his portrait.
What a mess.
He looked at the portrait and wondered if Rafael’s truth would be revealed in the will.
Of course Angela had long since known the truth about her husband, and had fought like a cat to prevent it getting out, more than happy to let the blame for the end of their marriage land on Mia.
He looked at the pictures above the fireplace—family shots. There was a surge that felt almost like a sob building when he saw his own image there, for he had never considered he might appear on anyone’s mantelpiece. Certainly there had been no images of him at his childhood home.
Yet here he was, fourteen or fifteen years old, on horseback, with Dante.
Good times.
Not great times, of course, because the end of the holidays had always meant it would be time to head back to Rome and his chaotic existence there.
The door of the study opened and the subdued gathering trooped out; Gian quickly realised that Rafael’s truth had not been revealed.
‘How was it?’ he asked Dante, who was the first to approach him.
‘Fine. No real surprises.’
And then came Ariana. She looked pale and drained, as if all the exuberance and arrogance that he was coming to adore had simply been leached from her.
‘How did it go?’ Gian asked.
‘I don’t even know how to answer,’ she admitted. ‘I am taken care of. I have an apartment in Paris and I will never have to work.’ She gave a tired shrug. ‘Does that mean it went well?’
‘Ariana,’ he cut in, and his hand reached for her arm but she pulled it back.
Not because she didn’t want physical contact, more because of how much she did. ‘I should go and say my farewells.’
‘Are you sure you want to come back to Rome tonight?’
‘Not really.’
‘Your family are all here,’ Gian pointed out. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to spend time with them?’
‘Yes, but I think Mamma needs me. She feels so out of place here.’
It was a subdued little group that flew back to Rome. Gian’s car was waiting at the airport and he gave Angela’s address to the driver.
‘Ariana, darling,’ her mother said, ‘I have the most terrible headache. I think I might just head home to bed. After I’ve been dropped off, Gian’s driver will take you home.’
‘But, Mamma, I thought I was to stay with you tonight.’
Gian heard the strain in Ariana’s voice. She was clearly asking to be with her mother, rather than offering to take care of her, although Angela, just as clearly, chose not to hear it as that. ‘Ariana, I know you’re worried about me but right now all I really need is some peace.’
Gian gritted his jaw because he could see the manipulative behaviour, pulling Ariana away from the rest of the family just because she could when she’d always intended to spend the evening with Thomas, her lover.
He knew now that he loathed Angela because she was as selfish as his own mother had been.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ Angela said to her daughter as she got out of the car. ‘Thank you, Gian, for seeing us home.’
Eternally polite, usually he would have wished her well and forced himself to kiss her cheeks, but the best he could manage was a curt nod.
As the driver closed the door, he looked over at Ariana. She was staring straight ahead and there was the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes that he knew were waiting to fall the very second she was alone. ‘Let’s get you home,’ Gian said as the car pulled away.
‘I don’t want to go home.’ Ariana shook her head and blinked back the tears. ‘I might call Nicki.’
Ariana’s friend Nicki ran rather wild and she would undoubtedly prescribe a night of drinking and clubbing as a cure for Ariana’s troubled heart. ‘How come Nicki wasn’t at the funeral?’ he asked.
‘She only got back from skiing this afternoon.’ Ariana scrabbled in her purse for her phone. ‘She’d have come if she could.’
Gian doubted it.
Nicki liked the galas and balls, and the spoils of being Ariana’s friend, but where was she now when her friend needed her most?
Gian did not quite know what to do.
If it were Stefano, or Dante, or even Angela—who he didn’t even like—Gian would suggest a drink at the hotel, or a walk perhaps. Conversation or silence, whatever they chose.
But this was Ariana.
He wished he hadn’t noticed her beauty, or the colour of her eyes.
Gian wished he could snap his fingers and return them to a time when she had been just the annoying little sister of a friend, the daughter of his beloved mentor... That thought had him stepping up to do the right thing, for he did not want Ariana in questionable company tonight. ‘Would you like to come back to La Fiordelise for a drink, or something to eat perhaps?’
‘I...’ His offer was so unexpected. Gian usually made her feel like an annoying presence, always trying to cut short their time together, and now it was he who was offering to extend it. ‘I don’t want to impose.’
‘It doesn’t normally stop you...’ Gian teased, but then, seeing her frown, realised that even the lightest joke wasn’t registering. ‘It would be my pleasure,’ he said. ‘I just need to make a quick call.’
Ariana pretended not to listen as he cancelled his date for the night. And his date for the night did not take it well.
‘Svetlana,’ he said, and Ariana blinked at the slight warning edge to his tone as she looked out at the dark streets. ‘Not now.’
And that slight warning edge had her stomach clenching and a small flush rising to her cheeks. She looked at Gian, who appeared incredibly bored at the unfolding drama.
Yes, drama, for she could hear the rise
