‘Not the croissant, just the ice cream. I’m going to make salted roast chestnut next, and I shall get them from the same vendor. They were the best I’ve tasted...’
‘They’re just chestnuts.’
‘No,’ she said, and then she gave him the speech she had prepared in her kitchen. ‘They kept me warm. You kept me warm last night, Gian, even if you did not share my bed. You cared for me last night and then again this morning and I thank you.’
She had surprised him, and then she surprised him further when, with breakfast done, it was Ariana herself who suggested he leave. ‘You’d better go. Mamma might drop in.’
‘Doesn’t she call first?’ Gian asked.
‘No,’ Ariana said. ‘I always ask her to but then she reminds me that she’s my mother and shouldn’t need an appointment...’
‘I’ll get dressed then.’
‘Have a shower,’ she offered.
He declined, or he would be trailing a floral boutique all day if he used her scents. ‘I’ll have one back at the hotel.’
It was odd, Ariana thought as she lay watching him dress, that he did not call La Fiordelise home.
‘I like you unshaven,’ she admitted. ‘You’re always so...’ she fought to find the right word ‘...well-presented and groomed.’
‘It’s my job to be.’
‘Perhaps, but...’ She shrugged and his eyes narrowed, trying to interpret yet another of her actions, for those slender shoulders could say many things.
‘But what?’
‘Nothing.’ She smiled wickedly. ‘There are other sides to you, I’m sure. I guess I won’t find out now.’
‘You could. Why not tell the doorman to lie and say you’re out?’
‘He’s so lazy he’d forget,’ Ariana rolled her eyes and tried to sound casual, when in truth she wanted to cry and cling onto his leg and beg him to never leave.
Not a good look, that much she knew!
‘You really ought to go,’ she said as he buckled his belt, though she wanted to reach up and unbuckle it so she was only half listening as he spoke.
‘So how do you have a private life, with her dropping in and out? How do you have a...?’ And then his voice faded. After all, this morning had been her sex life to date. ‘You’ll be okay?’ he checked as he did up the buttons of his shirt and half tucked it in.
‘Yes.’
‘If you’re not...’
‘Gian,’ Ariana broke in. ‘I have my family and I have my friends.’ He hovered on the edge of both of her inner circles but was not fully in either. She felt the indent of the mattress as he sat down and bent over to do up his laces, and though she ached to reach out to him, Ariana told him of the practicalities of her day. ‘Also, Nicki is dropping by to tell me about her holiday...’
He sat up and looked right at her. ‘As opposed to coming by to see how you’re faring after the loss of your father?’
‘Of course she’s coming for that.’ Her eyes narrowed as she took in his sulking mouth; she knew he didn’t like Nicki. ‘It’s a bit early in the relationship for you to be dictating who I see. Oh, that’s right, it’s not a relationship, and even if it were...’ she gave him a tight smile ‘...that still wouldn’t give you a right to say who my friends are, Gian.’
‘Fine.’ He put up two hands to indicate he was dropping it.
And he was!
Ariana was right. It was not his place to call out her friends but, still, that Nicki got his goat.
All of Ariana’s hangers-on did.
‘Look,’ he said, and Ariana could feel him weighing things up before he spoke. ‘I think you were right about working. I do think you’d be an asset for the hotel and if we can both...’ He reached over and toyed with a thick coil of her black hair that sat on her collarbone as he spoke, but she pushed his hand away and her response was sudden.
‘No!’
She could not work for him; far too much had changed.
‘I can’t work for you, Gian,’ she said, and used another inevitable truth to disguise the real reason. ‘Mamma’s going to need me now more than ever.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
HER MOTHER DID indeed need her more than ever.
In the tumultuous weeks following her father’s death, Ariana’s mother’s demands were relentless.
It was still by appointment only—Angela Romano liked her make-up, jewellery and the day’s carefully chosen wig perfectly arranged before even her daughter dropped around.
Yet the lunches were endless.
As she sat there, twirling a shred of prosciutto on a fork, Ariana fought to quell a surge of anger as her mother called over the sommelier to tell him that the champagne was a little flat. She wondered how someone so supposedly bereft with grief would even notice, let alone have the energy to complain!
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Ariana said, placing a hand over her glass. ‘I really do need to get going, Mamma,’ she said, reaching for her bag. ‘I’m meeting Dante.’
‘Oh, he can wait.’
‘Mamma, please, I said I’d be there at three.’ She tried to temper her irritation. ‘I really do have to go...’ Her voice trailed off because she didn’t want to worry her mother, but Dante’s mood of late was pretty grim and nothing seemed to be getting done for the Romano Ball—the invitations hadn’t even gone out and it was just a few weeks away. ‘Would you like me to come over this evening?’
‘No, no.’ Angela shook her head. ‘I have the priest coming over tonight.’
‘Well, take care.’ Ariana kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I shall see you soon.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Angela checked. ‘Here? Or perhaps we could go shopping...’ She ran a disapproving eye over Ariana’s navy shift dress and espadrilles. ‘We could get you something a little less last year.’
Ariana had never felt more stifled and wished not for the first time that there was more purpose and structure to her day. She took a taxi to Romano Holdings in
