The day had ended at a Middle Eastern barbershop, with hot towels and a close shave. Rafael continued with the sage advice: ‘You need to attract only the best clients.’
‘How, though?’ Gian had asked, staring at his groomed reflection and barely recognising himself. ‘La Fiordelise’s reputation is in tatters and the building is in disrepair.’ Gian loathed the destruction of history—how there were only a few decent areas remaining in the once elegant building. The rest was cordoned off and for the most part the hotel was faded and unkempt.
But Rafael remained upbeat. ‘La Fiordelise has survived worse. It has a new owner now and its reputation will recover: all we need is a plan.’
A couple of weeks later they had contrived one.
A plan that, to this day, few knew about.
Yes, Rafael Romano had been far more of a father to Gian than his own, and Gian would miss him very much indeed.
Arriving at the church, he could feel eyes on him as the absent Duke made a rare return. Gian declined the offer of being guided to a pew and instead stood at the back of the small church and did his level best to keep from recalling the last time he’d been here—at his own family’s funeral. He pondered his handling of Ariana when she had tried to tell him her father had died. Of course he had tried to call her back and apologise, but had been sent straight to voicemail...
Gian’s words, though, had been an unwitting lifeline.
It was Gian’s deep, calm voice on this terrible morning that brought Ariana a little solace.
‘Ariana,’ Dante snapped as they all stood in the entrance hall of their father’s home, preparing to head out for the funeral procession. It was exquisitely awkward as of course it was Mia’s home too. Her older brother was in a particularly picky mood. ‘Surely you can get off your phone for five minutes?’
But Ariana ignored him as she listened again to Gian’s message.
‘I should have let you speak. Ariana, I apologise and I am so deeply sorry for your loss. Call me if you want to, if not...’ His deep voice halted for a few seconds. ‘You will get through this, Ariana. You are strong. Remember that.’
Ariana didn’t feel very strong, though.
She was weak from having to comfort her mother through the day, and at night, though exhausted, she could barely sleep. She felt as if she were holding a million balls in the air and that at any moment one might drop, for her family, scattered by Mia’s presence, had not been under one roof since the divorce, let alone the roof of a church.
Surely her mother would not create a scene?
Or her aunts or uncles...
As well as the worry of that, as she headed out to the waiting cars, the loneliest morning of her life felt even more desolate when Dante decided to take a seat in the front vehicle with Mia, rather than make her travel to the church by herself. That left Ariana with Stefano and Eloa, which lately felt like the equivalent of being alone.
As the cortège moved through the hills to the village, Ariana tried to come to grips with a world without her father while acknowledging a disquieting truth.
Since her father had found Mia, he too had pushed her aside.
For two years, she had felt like a visitor in the family home and later at his hospital bedside. Perhaps she could have accepted Mia more readily if they had accepted her more into their world. Yes, she regretted now not going to the wedding, but the truth was her father hadn’t exactly pushed for her to attend.
In fact, he’d seemed a touch relieved when Ariana had declined.
Once she had been the apple of her father’s eye and they would talk and laugh. They would fly to the London office together, and she had felt there was a real place for her on the Romano board, but since Dante had taken over all she had felt was supernumerary.
Ariana didn’t just miss her father today; she had missed him for the last two years of his life. And now she would miss him for ever, with no time left to put things to rights.
‘We’re here,’ Eloa announced, breaking into her thoughts, and Ariana looked up and saw they were at the church.
The doors were opened and the trio stepped out. Her legs felt as if they had been spun in brittle steel wool, and might snap as she walked over the cobbles and into the church. Her heart felt like a fish flopping in her chest that might jump out of her throat if she let out the wail she held in. The sight of her father’s coffin at the front of the church, though expected, was so confronting that she wanted to turn around and flee, unsure whether she was capable of getting through the ceremony.
But then, just as she felt like panic would surely take over, came an unexpected moment of solace.
Gian was here.
Of course he was, but it was the actual sight of him, the glimpse of him, that allowed Ariana to draw a deeper breath.
He looked more polished and immaculate than she had ever seen; his black hair was brushed back from his face and she could see both the compassion and authority in his grey eyes.
Yes, authority, for him standing at the back with a full view of proceedings instantly calmed Ariana.
Gian would not let things get out of hand.
He would keep things under control.
And then she knew that it wasn’t the hotel, or the haven in Rome that Gian had created, that calmed her.
It was Gian himself who made the world safe.
The
