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 the EUR district, craning her neck as they passed La Fiordelise. She wished she was working there.
And then she flushed with sheer pleasure when she recalled the very reason she now could not.
It was her favourite memory, a harbour in troubled times she could return to, yet there was confusion there too—how, from the very moment they had kissed, Gian had started the countdown to the end.
She had stopped having drinks there on a Friday. Well, Paulo had been banned and Nicki said they should no longer go in solidarity with their friend.
Except Ariana had loved going there...
‘Signorina?’
The voice of the driver startled her and Ariana realised they had arrived. Time tended to run away whenever she thought of Gian, and so she determinedly put him out of her mind as she walked into the plush office building.
Sarah, Dante’s PA, gave her a smile. ‘Go through,’ she said and then added, ‘Good luck.’
‘Do I need it?’ Ariana joked, but then all joking faded when she saw him. ‘Dante!’ She could not keep the surprise from her voice when she saw her older brother, looking less than his put-together self, for his complexion was grey and his shirt was crumpled and there was just such a heavy air to him. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked as she went over and kissed his cheeks and gave him a hug. ‘I’ve barely seen you. Mamma is saying the same.’
‘Well, work has been busy.’
‘I’m sure it has.’ She nodded. ‘What’s happening about the ball?’
‘It’s all under control. I’m meeting with Gian at five to finalise the details...’ His voice trailed off. There was a strange atmosphere in the office, and for an appalling moment she wondered if Dante had found out about their one illicit night, or rather illicit morning.
‘And?’ she asked with a nervous laugh. ‘What are the final details?’
Dante said nothing.
‘How are we addressing Papà’s passing?’ Ariana pushed.
‘I’m sure Gian will take care of that.’
‘But in the will Papà asked that his children take care of the ball,’ Ariana said, but then stopped and sat chewing the edge of her thumbnail. She was worried about Dante. Though not as close to him as she had always been to Stefano, she knew there was something wrong. He was grieving for their father, but she couldn’t help but think there was more to it than that. ‘Is everything okay, Dante?’ she ventured.
‘Of course.’
‘You can talk to me. I might just understand.’ He closed his eyes, as if she couldn’t possibly. ‘Look, why don’t I meet with Gian?’ There was genuinely no ulterior motive, just a need to get the ball right for their father. ‘I can take over the ball...’
‘Would you?’ Dante’s relief was evident.
‘Of course.’ Ariana nodded.
It was only then that her nerves caught up!
Ariana walked by the laghetto for a full hour. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom and the park looked stunning, and if there was a little trepidation about coming face to face with Gian it was soon displaced as something else took hold. Excitement. It felt like for ever since her brain had been put to work.
Sitting on a bench, looking at the blossom swirl and float like pink snow, it was the perfect place for her imagination to wander. Scrabbling in her bag, she took out a journal and started to make notes.
It was exhilarating, cathartic, and there were tears in her
