Ariana would like to name it.
To bottle it.
To dab her wrists with the essence he emanated.
Soon they had passed Reception and the Pianoforte Bar where, unbeknownst to Ariana, Svetlana sat drumming her fingers on the table, her silver platter of nuts empty, as was her glass. Vincenzo was taking care of that, though, and shaking another cocktail for her, yet Gian barely gave her a glance. He was working after all.
‘You know the Pianoforte Bar...’ Gian said rather drily, thinking of the array of colour Ariana and her friends made as they breezed in on a Friday night for cocktails to get the weekend underway. ‘No doubt your friend Nicki shall be here soon.’
‘She shan’t be,’ Ariana said. ‘Nicki is away, skiing with friends.’
‘Don’t you usually go?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t want to be stuck on a mountain with Papà so unwell so I told them to go ahead without me.’
‘They’re staying at the Romano chalet?’
‘Of course.’ Ariana gave a tight shrug. ‘Just because I can’t go it doesn’t mean I should let everyone down. It’s our annual trip.’
That took place on her dime, Gian thought.
He loathed her hangers-on, and all too often had to hold his tongue when her entitled, self-important friends arrived at La Fiordelise courtesy of her name.
He could not hold his tongue now. ‘Your partner was asked to leave here the other week.’
‘My partner?’ Ariana frowned, wondering who he meant. ‘Oh, you mean Paulo...’
‘I don’t know his name,’ Gian lied.
Absolutely he knew his name, and those of her so-called friends who added their drinks to the Romano tab, even when Ariana was not here. Gian had even spoken to Rafael about it and had been disappointed with his response: ‘Any friend of Ariana’s...’
Could Rafael not see his daughter was being used? No, because in his declining years it was easier for Rafael not to see!
‘Paulo was never my partner,’ Ariana cut in. ‘He and I, well...’ She shrugged, uncertain how to describe them. ‘It’s just business, I guess.’
‘Business?’ Gian checked.
‘The business of being seen.’
Oh, Ariana...
Still, she was not here for life advice, so Gian brushed his fleeting sympathy aside and got on with the tour.
‘This is the Terazza Suite. It caters for up to thirty and is used for smaller, very exclusive functions...’
‘Is this where my father married her?’ Ariana asked, refusing to use Mia’s name. She had been invited to the wedding, but of course neither she nor her brothers had chosen to attend.
‘Yes,’ Gian said, without elaborating about the wedding. ‘It opens out to a terrace adjacent to the square, though it is too cold to go out there now.’
‘I would like to see it.’
The Terazza Suite was empty, but it took little imagination to see that the gold stencilled walls and high ceilings would make a romantic venue indeed.
One wall was lined with French windows and when she pushed down on a handle Ariana found that of course it was locked. ‘Per favore?’ she asked. She sensed his reluctance, but Gian first pressed a discreet alarm on the wall then took out his master key and unlocked a door.
As she stepped out it was not the frigid air that caught her breath, more the beauty of the surroundings. There was the chatter and laughter from the square, which was visible through an ornate fence.
‘In spring and summer there is a curtain of wisteria that blocks the noise,’ Gian explained, looking up at the naked vines, ‘but it can be dressed for privacy in winter.’ He told her about a recent Christmas wedding with boxed firs for privacy, only Ariana wasn’t really listening.
Instead, her silence was borne of regret for not being here to support her father...
‘Certainly,’ Gian continued, ‘it is perfect for more intimate gatherings...’
‘You mean weddings that no one wants to attend,’ Ariana said, shame and regret making her suddenly defensive.
‘You are showing your age, Ariana,’ Gian said.
‘My age?’ Ariana frowned as they stepped back into the warmth and he locked up behind them. ‘I’m twenty-five.’
‘I meant in brat years,’ Gian said, and left her standing there, mouth gaping in indignation as he marched on, just wanting this tour to be over. ‘You already know the ballroom...’ He waved in its general direction as she caught up, but Ariana had more than a ballroom on her mind.
‘Did you just call me a brat?’ She couldn’t quite believe what he had said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’
‘You can’t talk to me like that.’
‘You’re almost right. Once I employ you I can’t tell you what an insufferable, spoilt little madam you are...’
But though most people would have burst into tears at his tone, Gian knew Ariana better than that. Instead he watched her red lips part into a smile as realisation hit. ‘You’re going to take me on, then?’
‘I haven’t quite decided yet,’ Gian said. ‘Come on.’
‘But I want to see the ballroom.’
‘They are in the final preparations for a function tonight.’
‘I would so love to see how others do it,’ she said, ignoring Gian and opening one of the heavy, ornate doors and gasping when she peeked in. ‘Oh, it looks so beautiful.’
‘It is a fortieth wedding anniversary celebration,’ Gian told her.
‘Ruby,’ Ariana sighed, for the tables were dressed with deep red roses and they were in the middle of a final test of the lighting so that even the heavy chandeliers cast rubies of light around the room with stunning effect. ‘I know I get angry about my parents’ divorce,’ she admitted—although as she gazed into the ballroom it was almost as if she was speaking to herself—‘and it is not all Mia’s fault, I accept that, but I was always so proud of their marriage. Of course, it was not my achievement, but I was so proud of them for still being together when so many marriages fail...’
She gave him pause. Gian looked at her as she
