‘Yes,’ Gian said, without elaborating about the wedding. ‘It opens out to a terrace adjacent to the square, though it is too cold to go out there now.’
‘I would like to see it.’
The Terazza Suite was empty, but it took little imagination to see that the gold stencilled walls and high ceilings would make a romantic venue indeed.
One wall was lined with French windows and when she pushed down on a handle Ariana found that of course it was locked. ‘Per favore?’ she asked. She sensed his reluctance, but Gian first pressed a discreet alarm on the wall then took out his master key and unlocked a door.
As she stepped out it was not the frigid air that caught her breath, more the beauty of the surroundings. There was the chatter and laughter from the square, which was visible through an ornate fence.
‘In spring and summer there is a curtain of wisteria that blocks the noise,’ Gian explained, looking up at the naked vines, ‘but it can be dressed for privacy in winter.’ He told her about a recent Christmas wedding with boxed firs for privacy, only Ariana wasn’t really listening.
Instead, her silence was borne of regret for not being here to support her father...
‘Certainly,’ Gian continued, ‘it is perfect for more intimate gatherings...’
‘You mean weddings that no one wants to attend,’ Ariana said, shame and regret making her suddenly defensive.
‘You are showing your age, Ariana,’ Gian said.
‘My age?’ Ariana frowned as they stepped back into the warmth and he locked up behind them. ‘I’m twenty-five.’
‘I meant in brat years,’ Gian said, and left her standing there, mouth gaping in indignation as he marched on, just wanting this tour to be over. ‘You already know the ballroom...’ He waved in its general direction as she caught up, but Ariana had more than a ballroom on her mind.
‘Did you just call me a brat?’ She couldn’t quite believe what he had said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’
‘You can’t talk to me like that.’
‘You’re almost right. Once I employ you I can’t tell you what an insufferable, spoilt little madam you are...’
But though most people would have burst into tears at his tone, Gian knew Ariana better than that. Instead he watched her red lips part into a smile as realisation hit. ‘You’re going to take me on, then?’
‘I haven’t quite decided yet,’ Gian said. ‘Come on.’
‘But I want to see the ballroom.’
‘They are in the final preparations for a function tonight.’
‘I would so love to see how others do it,’ she said, ignoring Gian and opening one of the heavy, ornate doors and gasping when she peeked in. ‘Oh, it looks so beautiful.’
‘It is a fortieth wedding anniversary celebration,’ Gian told her.
‘Ruby,’ Ariana sighed, for the tables were dressed with deep red roses and they were in the middle of a final test of the lighting so that even the heavy chandeliers cast rubies of light around the room with stunning effect. ‘I know I get angry about my parents’ divorce,’ she admitted—although as she gazed into the ballroom it was almost as if she was speaking to herself—‘and it is not all Mia’s fault, I accept that, but I was always so proud of their marriage. Of course, it was not my achievement, but I was so proud of them for still being together when so many marriages fail...’
She gave him pause. Gian looked at her as she spoke, and could almost see the stars in her eyes as she gazed at the gorgeous ballroom.
‘I should have gone to Papà’s wedding,’ Ariana said, for the first time voicing her private remorse. ‘I deeply regret that I stayed away.’
Gian was rarely torn to break a confidence. The truth was, Rafael had been relieved that his children had not attended the nuptials. It was a marriage in name only, a brief service, followed by drinks on the terrace, then a cake and kiss for the cameras...
As the owner of several prestigious hotels, Gian was the keeper of many secrets.
So outrageous were the many scandals that Gian was privy to that the Romanos and their rather reprobate ways barely registered a blip. But it would be a seismic event if Ariana found out the truth about her parents.
Their marriage had been over long before their divorce.
Angela Romano had been with her lover for decades. Prior to the divorce, Angela and Thomas had often enjoyed extended midweek breaks at La Fiordelise.
Rafael would not blink an eye if he knew; in fact, Gian, assumed that he did. For those long business lunches Rafael had enjoyed with Roberto—his lawyer—had, in fact, been rare public outings for a devoted couple who had been together for more than fifteen years.
As for Mia...
Well, Gian to this day did not understand Angela’s hatred towards her, when close friends all knew that Mia was Rafael’s beard—a prop used to prevent the world from finding out in his declining years that Rafael Romano was gay. Perhaps, if Ariana could have this necessary conversation with her father, it might lead him to reveal his truth before it was too late or, worse, before she inadvertently found out.
‘Why don’t you tell your father that you regret not being at his wedding?’ Gian suggested. ‘Talk to him about it...’
‘I try to stay upbeat when I visit him.’
‘Tell him how you feel,’ Gian gently pushed, and saw that she was thinking about it.
‘I might.’ She nodded and then turned to him with a question no one had ever dared ask. ‘Were your parents happy?’
It was just a question, and it flowed from the context perhaps, but he had to think for a long moment, to cast his mind back, to the parties, to the laughter, to the inappropriate mess that had been them, and for once he did not choose silence. ‘Yes,’ Gian finally answered. ‘They were happy because they followed only their hearts and not their heads.’ When she frowned, clearly nonplussed, Gian explained further. ‘Their happiness was to the exclusion of all else.’
‘Including you?’
He
