‘Saved it?’
‘Yes. It was practically empty of guests and running on a skeleton staff when my family died.’
She looked up.
‘Papà gave you a loan?’
‘Not as such.’
Ariana frowned.
‘I inherited a disaster,’ Gian said, ‘and, believe me, the banks agreed...’ He hesitated at how much to tell her and decided, for this part of Rafael’s life at least, there was no need for brevity and so as the main course was served he told her what had happened. ‘Your father suggested buying into the business.’
‘Really?’ Ariana hadn’t known that. ‘But he didn’t?’
‘No.’ Gian shook his head. ‘I refused his offer.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘I prefer to rise or fall alone,’ Gian said. ‘I did not see that the hotel could be saved. Still, not everyone was aware that it was on the brink of going under, and I told your father about a request to host some royalty on their trip to Rome. Top secret, of course...
‘I couldn’t consider it, but your father said it was a chance to turn things around. The Penthouse Suite was still incredible—my parents always kept the best for themselves—and the dining room was, of course, in good shape. And so word got around...’
‘How?’ Ariana frowned. ‘If it was top secret?’
Gian smiled. ‘He told your mother.’ There was a tiny feeling of triumph to see Ariana laugh. ‘Before we knew it, the hotel was at full quota for a certain weekend in February.’
‘Really?’
‘The helicopter brought in the best produce from your father’s estate and the best wines. And my staff worked like they never had before. That’s why now I only hire staff who can work in all areas. I had the chief bartender making up suites. Luna herself got the Penthouse Suite ready...’
‘My goodness.’
‘It was the biggest charade and it went off superbly and La Fiordelise shuddered back to life.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Not just like that,’ Gian corrected. ‘Years of hard work.’
The main course was just as delicious but when it came to dessert, Ariana could not choose from her father’s favourites, which were all being served.
‘I think we choose the two best, and of course ice cream,’ Gian said, ‘though not this.’ He frowned as his silver spoon sliced through a quenelle of ice cream from her menu and pulled a face as he tasted it. ‘Tutti-frutti?’
‘It was his favourite,’ Ariana said. ‘Every summer, in the evening, he would send me to the shop to get a cone for him.’
‘Really?’ Gian checked, and he watched a little flush of pink spread up her neck. ‘Because I seem to remember that you would go to the store for ice cream and when you came back with this flavour your papà always declined his cone.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘You have it wrong.’
‘And Stefano would complain that he didn’t like tutti-frutti either, and so you would end up having to eat all three.’
‘You’re getting mixed up,’ Ariana said haughtily, and she dipped her spoon into the quenelle. He watched as she took a taste and closed her eyes in bliss, then opened them to him and looked right at him. ‘He loved that ice cream.’
Rafael probably had, Gian conceded. Not so much the sickly-sweet candied ice cream, more the little games Ariana constantly played.
‘Well, it’s not going on the menu,’ Gian said. ‘It’s...’ He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘A simple affogato is a better way to round off the meal.’ He watched her pout. ‘Ariana, you are one of the few people in the world who like tutti-frutti ice cream. Trust me on that.’
‘I suppose you know best,’ she said in her best pained voice.
‘There is no suppose about it.’
‘It would mean so much to me, though...’
Wearily he took another taste and, as he did so, Ariana did her sneaky best and pulled on all her inner resources so that crocodile tears pooled in her violet eyes.
It did nothing to move that black heart, though.
‘No,’ Gian said, and put down his spoon and, as if to prove how awful her dessert of choice was, took a drink of water before speaking again. ‘Would you like some amaro or a cognac?’ Gian suggested, but Ariana shook her head.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Are you sulking?’ he asked.
‘A little bit,’ she admitted, and then smiled despite herself. ‘Of course not. I just ought to get home...’ She looked away then, because the reason she could not stay was surely there in her eyes.
She wanted her cognac.
But not here.
Ariana wanted to curl up with him elsewhere, to talk, to kiss, but most dangerous of all she actually ached to know him better.
And if she stayed she would cross a line. The business meeting had surely concluded and to keep it at that, she needed to leave. ‘Thank you for a lovely dinner.’
‘I’ll arrange a car—’
‘Gian,’ she cut in, ‘the concierge can do that.’
‘Then I’ll walk you out.’
They stood at the entrance and tried to pretend that they had never tumbled naked into bed, had never been more than old friends.
‘Your ideas are excellent,’ Gian said as the doorman blew his whistle to summon a vehicle.
‘Except for dessert.’
‘Except for dessert,’ he agreed.
‘And you think it’s okay not to have a theme?’
‘I think it’s better.’ Gian nodded. ‘It’s going to be a tricky night...’
‘Yes,’ Ariana agreed.
They had been over this already. The car pulled up and it was time to stay or leave.
‘Gian—’ she started, for she wanted so badly to ask why there was no possible hope for them.
‘I’ll say goodnight,’ Gian cut in, because if he didn’t he would break his own rules about separate lives and kiss her beneath the lights and take her to his private apartment where no lover had ever gone. And they would take things further than he’d ever dared, for no one was permitted a place in his closed-off heart.
And so he kissed her on both cheeks, and as he did so a
