‘Why are there no paintings or sketches of Violetta?’
‘There are a couple but they need to be restored.’
‘And why are there no photos of you?’ Ariana asked a question that could only be asked in the dark, in that black hole where gravity did not apply, where words floated and drifted in nonsensical patterns, before logic applied.
‘There are,’ he said. ‘There’s one in the gallery, taken during the royal visit to La Fiordelise—in the entrance hall.’
‘You mean the Employee of the Month photo?’ Ariana said, mocking his formal business photo. For some reason her words made them both laugh.
But then the laughter faded.
‘Why are there no photos with your parents?’
‘I was not a part of their plans.’
‘What were their plans?’
‘To party,’ Gian said. ‘And a late baby nearly put paid to that.’
‘But it didn’t?’
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘They carried right on.’
‘With a baby?’
‘Without,’ Gian said. ‘A lot of nannies, a lot of time in Luctano... It’s better this way, though. It taught me independence, so by the time they were gone, there was nothing to miss. They were never a necessary part of my life, or I of theirs.’
She could not imagine it.
Sure, her father had pulled back, but that had been in her twenties, and her mother still called her every day.
And even though she and Stefano were not as close now as they once had been, she would die if he pulled away so completely.
Even Dante, always remote and distant, was still a vital part of her world.
To have no one.
To miss no one.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t believe you don’t miss them.’
‘Truth?’ Gian said, still floating in that void where there were no sides and no barriers hemming you in. ‘I have missed them from the day I was born.’
‘Gian?’ She lifted her head when he fell silent.
‘Go to sleep,’ he said, but she wanted to ask him how they were supposed to be with each other in the cold light of day.
‘What?’ he asked her, when her head stayed up and her eyes remained focused on him.
Self-preservation struck—or was it sanity?—and Ariana, even with little experience in the bedroom, knew that pushing the issue with Gian would be something she would live to regret.
‘I’m cold,’ she said, though she had never felt safer or warmer.
Ariana knew when, and how, to lie.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GIAN WOKE TO DISORDER.
Not just the knot of limbs and the scent of sex, for that he was used to, but the exposure of thoughts and the deep intimacies of last night had brought disorder into his mind.
He did not want to love her.
Ariana awoke to a cold empty bed and the sound of the shower.
She could almost feel the weight of his regret in the air.
There was no sense of regret from her. In fact, she wanted to stretch like a cat and purr at the memory of their lovemaking.
She had thought nothing could beat the first time, but again Gian had surprised her.
In his arms, as he’d driven her to the very edge and then toppled them, it had felt as if they were one.
Not now, though.
She looked over to the bedside table and the cufflinks he had dropped last night; his tux was hanging over the suit holder.
Order had been brought to the bedroom.
Except for the hot mess that lay in his bed, Ariana thought.
Yes, an utter hot mess, because despite assurances and promises, both to Gian and herself, she had completely fallen for him.
Well, that was a given...
No, this was bigger.
This feeling was almost more than her head could contain.
It was a cocktail of affection and craving and desire and hunger but she refused, even to herself, to call it love.
It was lust, Ariana told herself.
He had turned on her senses, introduced her to her body, and she must not allow herself to believe that the kisses and intimacies shared last night were exclusively known to her.
Except it had felt as if they were.
It had felt, last night, when she had been trapped in his gaze, being kissed, being held, as if this feeling had been new to them both.
She heard the shower being turned off, and she imagined him in there naked, the mirrors all steamed up. She willed him to come out and face the woman who should not be in his bed and she hoped he wasn’t wondering how to get rid of her.
Oh, God, this was going to be a million times harder than the first time. Then, it had felt like she had been party to the rules, but this time, naked in his bed, she had to find the armour to brazen out a smile and leave without revealing her heart.
He came out of the bathroom with a distinct lack of conversation and a thick white towel wrapped around his lean hips.
‘Buongiorno,’ Ariana said, and looked at Gian with his black hair dripping and unshaven face.
Unshaven, for Gian had barely been able to bring himself to look in the mirror.
He had got too close, and what had felt like a balm last night now felt like an astringent. He couldn’t bear to let anyone in.
More, he couldn’t bear that he was about to hurt her.
‘I’ll call for breakfast,’ he said in a voice that attempted normality but failed. She noted that he did not get back into bed.
Ariana gave a half-laugh at his wooden response in comparison to the easy flow of words last night. ‘You sound like the butler.’
He said nothing to that and Ariana pulled herself up from the bed. ‘I’ll have a shower.’ It served two purposes: one, she refused to force a conversation on an unwilling participant and appear needy and pleading; and, two, she felt the sudden sting of tears and desperately wanted to hide it.
‘Sure.’ Gian said, fighting with himself not to dissuade her. He stepped back as she brushed past and he only breathed again when she
