‘And perhaps it would be best not to upset Ariana with such details...’
‘Naturalmente,’ Gian said.
Damn, he thought.
By and by, the Romano Ball loomed ever closer.
Gian wanted the ball over and done with; he wanted Ariana gone, instead of her voice, her emails, her thoughts all dancing in his mind.
He wanted his life back to neat order, with sex when he required it and no silent demands for a future.
Gian could feel how much she wanted him, which was usually a turn-off.
He found, though, that he liked it that she craved him and yet kept herself under control. He did his best to ignore it as another damned message pinged into his box, with an attachment.
And there, smiling at him, was his friend Rafael.
It was a slight shock.
Unexpected.
He stared back at Rafael and silently swore that he would stay the hell away from hurting his daughter.
Ariana. Yes, the photo you found of Rafael on Ponte Vecchio was most suitable. Kind regards, Gian
Ariana scoured in between the lines for even the slightest sign, the tiniest clue, that he might linger there in the memory of them, but there was not a single needle she could glean in the haystack.
There were no veiled clues or promises.
His briefly open heart had, it would seem, ever so politely, closed.
By and by, a silver car pulled up outside La Fiordelise in the late afternoon on the day of the Romano Foundation Ball.
And trouble loomed large.
‘Ariana Romano is here,’ Luna informed him. ‘You wanted to see her when she arrived.’
‘Yes.’
‘Shall I send her through?’
‘Of course.’
‘Gian!’
She smiled her red-lipped smile and for someone running later than the Mad Hatter, she still looked pretty incredible in a loose top that showed one shoulder and a skirt that showed a lot of leg.
Gian, though, did not look his usual self.
‘You look...’ she started, but then stopped. It was none of her business that the immaculate Gian was unshaven and that his tie was pulled loose. No doubt he was saving his shave for the evening, but the unrufflable Gian looked, well, ruffled.
She wanted to hold him, to climb onto his knee and kiss that tense face, but instead she stood stock still.
‘Ariana...’ He got up and they did the kiss-kiss thing.
‘Careful,’ she warned, so he didn’t crush the orchids. ‘Damn things,’ she added as he re-took his seat but Ariana did not sit down. ‘Who knew flowers could cause so much trouble. Roberto is sick and can’t come,’ Ariana explained, nerves making her mouth run away. ‘And these were the orchids he was supposed to bring...’ She held up her free hand in an exasperated gesture. ‘I’ve been standing on a platform at Roma Termini, waiting for a courier to deliver them.’
‘It’s fine.’ He tried not to want her; he tried to treat her as he once would have. ‘Do you want a drink?’
‘I don’t have time for a drink,’ Ariana pointed out. ‘I have to be greeting guests in a couple of hours. What did you want to see me about?’
He was silent for a moment as he poured his own drink while wondering how best to broach things. ‘Mia is here.’
‘So?’ Ariana shrugged and turned to go. ‘What do I care? There was no need to drag me to your office. You could have told me that in a text.’
‘Yes.’ He watched the tension in her jaw and the press of her lips and knew she was struggling to process the news. Aside from that, there was also a whole lot more she didn’t know.
Dante and Mia had the adjoining presidential suites.
And Dante had the key.
Yes, Gian De Luca was the keeper of many secrets and at times it was hell. ‘I want to speak to you,’ he said. ‘About tonight.’
‘You’re going to tell me to behave and be nice. Don’t worry. I’ve already had the lecture from Dante. Poor Mia is struggling to face us all tonight. Poor Mia—’
‘Ariana!’ He spoke more harshly then, but that was like holding up a red rag to a bull, Gian knew, for nothing tamed her. ‘Do you remember how you felt at your father’s funeral, as if everything might get out of hand? Well, Mia is surely feeling that way...’
‘Poor Mia, you mean.’ She looked at him then, really looked, and she could see the fan of lines beside his eyes and feel his tension. She assumed he was concerned about Mia; it never entered her head that his concern might be for her. ‘Why do you always take her side?’ Ariana asked, jealousy rearing its ugly head. ‘Don’t tell me you have a thing for her too...’ She simply could not bear it if that was the case, and spite got the better of her. ‘Well, I guess at least she’s closer to your age than Papà’s.’
‘Enough!’ Gian cut in. ‘Why do you have to be so petty and cruel whenever you speak about her?’
‘Because I hate her.’ Ariana shrugged. ‘And I hate it that my parents divorced. I’ll never forgive her.’
‘You forgave your father when it was he who had the affair. Mia, at the time, was single.’
‘Stop it,’ Ariana said, loathing his logic. ‘And please stop telling me what to think and how to feel. We slept with each other once—that doesn’t give you licence to police my friends and now how I interact with my family.’
‘You’re insufferable, Ariana.’ He strode over and took her bare arms. He wanted to shake some sense into her, but even as he scolded her Gian actually understood her anger more than she knew.
Ariana was only ever given half-truths.
Or a quarter.
Or an eighth.
The Romanos were masters at smoke and mirrors and Ariana had grown up stumbling blind through their labyrinth of lies, and he loathed it that he was only giving her a tiny sliver of the truth now.
‘I’m trying...’ He held on to his words, because if he said one thing more it might well be too much. ‘I’m trying to
