Ariana wasn’t even nervous about facing Gian.
She had so much to tell him.
‘I have Ariana Romano in Reception to see you,’ Luna informed him.
‘Ariana?’ Gian frowned. ‘But I thought I was meeting with Dante...’
‘Well, Ariana is here instead.’
‘Fine.’ Gian did his level best to act as if it were of no consequence that it was Ariana who had just arrived. It was an informal meeting, but also a very necessary meeting. One that Gian had pushed for, given Dante seemed to have—both figuratively and literally—dropped the ball. ‘Send her through.’
Damn.
Gian usually had no qualms about facing an ex-lover, but with Ariana it felt different indeed.
It was because they were family friends, he told himself, steadfastly refusing to examine his feelings further than that.
It had been weeks since the funeral and to his quiet surprise he had heard nothing from Ariana. He had expected the demanding, rather clingy Ariana to drape herself like bindweed around one of the columns in Reception, or at the very least find an accidental reason for her to drop by.
And now she was here.
He was curious as to her mood, and very determined to get things back on a more regular footing, as if they had never made love.
As if they had not sat eating ice cream naked in her bed.
She stepped into his office, and brought with her an Italian spring. He had to consciously remind himself to greet her the same way he would have before...
‘Ariana...’ He stood and went round his desk and of course kissed her cheeks. There were dots of pink blossom in her hair and he had to resist lifting his hand and carefully picking them out. ‘This is unexpected...’
‘I know.’ She gave him an apologetic smile and an eye-roll as she took her seat but she was too excited to be awkward around him. ‘Dante and I agreed that I will take over the final preparations for the ball. Believe me, I did not engineer it...’
He knew she spoke the truth.
For Ariana with a secret agenda would be immaculate, rather than bare-legged and a little tousled. Plus, she was more animated than he had ever seen her and dived straight in.
‘Firstly, I don’t want to go with the forest theme...’
‘Thank God,’ Gian said. ‘What theme do you have in mind?’
‘None,’ Ariana said. ‘I want the ballroom to speak for itself, and I want gardenias on each table. He loved them.’
‘Yes.’
‘And orchids...’ she said, but Gian reacted with a wavering gesture with his hand.
‘Not together,’ he said.
‘Perhaps by his photo?’
Gian nodded.
‘And I want to change the menu.’ She handed him a sheet of paper she had torn from a pad.
He said nothing as he read through it, for Ariana did all the talking. ‘These were my father’s favourites,’ she said. ‘I thought we could use some produce from his estate...’
‘One moment,’ Gian said. She sat tapping her feet as, suddenly in the midst of this most important meeting, he simply got up and walked out. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said a moment later when he returned. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘I don’t think it should be a solemn night, but if we can acknowledge him in the food and wine...’
She spoke for almost two hours. There was no champagne brought in, just sparkling water, which she took grateful sips of between pouring out ideas. There was no flirting, no reference to what had happened, no alluding to it, just a determination to get this important night right.
‘What about the wording for the invitations?’ Gian said. ‘Mia is technically the host...’
‘No!’ Only then did she flare. ‘We don’t even know if she’s coming.’
‘I’ll work on the wording,’ Gian agreed. ‘Leave Mia to me. I think your ideas are excellent. There’s a lot to do but I agree it has to be perfect. Why don’t we try the dinner menu now?’
‘Now?’ she frowned.
‘I asked Luna to give your menu to my head chef. He is preparing a sample menu...’
She had her dinner invitation.
He never took dates to the hotel’s restaurant, but Ariana wasn’t his date. It was business, Gian told himself as they were shown to his table. It looked out onto the restaurant but was private enough for conversation to take place.
‘I wish I was better dressed,’ Ariana admitted as a huge napkin was placed in her lap. Her clothes were better suited for lunch, or even a gentle lakeside walk, certainly not fine dining in La Fiordelise.
‘You look...’ He hesitated, for he did not tell his business dates they looked stunning or beautiful. ‘Completely fine.’ Gian settled for that, yet it felt as flat as the iced water that was being poured, and as shallow as the bowl in which a waterlily floated. ‘You look stunning,’ Gian admitted. ‘Especially with pink blossom in your hair.’
Ariana laughed and raked a hand through her mane. ‘I was walking by the office; the blossom is out and it’s so beautiful.’
‘And so fleeting.’
Like us, she wanted to say as she dropped a few petals from her hair into the water lily bowl between them. ‘Yes, so fleeting,’ Ariana agreed, ‘but worth it.’
It was the briefest, and the only reference to what they had shared.
The starter was ravioli stuffed with pecorino with a creamy white truffle sauce and it brought a smile to her lips as it was placed on the table and she signalled the waiter to rain pepper upon it.
‘Taste it first,’ he told her.
‘Why?’ she said. ‘If it is cooked to my father’s taste then to my mind it needs more pepper and a little less salt.’ She signalled to the waiter for even more.
‘You love your pepper.’
‘I do! And he loved this pasta so much.’
‘I know,’ Gian told her. ‘It was served on the night La Fiordelise came back to life.’ He put down his fork and though he
