Yet he found that he wanted to. ‘Go on,’ Gian invited, casting his more regular interview technique aside.
‘I’m tired of living in an apartment my family owns, tired of being on call when my mother decides I can drop everything for her. After all,’ she mimicked a derisive tone, ‘I couldn’t possibly be busy.’ She screwed her eyes closed in frustration, unable to properly explain the claustrophobic feeling of her privileged world.
Oh, many might say that life had been handed to Ariana Romano on a plate.
The trouble was, it wasn’t necessarily a feast of her choosing.
While she had a family who seemingly adored her, even as a child Ariana had always been told to take her toys and play somewhere else.
To this day it persisted.
While she had access to wealth most people could only dream of, there was a perpetual feeling of emptiness. For Ariana, the golden cup she drank from was so shot through with holes that no gifts—no trust-funded central Rome apartment, no wild party, no designer outfit or A-list appearance—filled her soul.
‘I want a career,’ Ariana insisted.
‘Why now?’ Gian pushed.
‘It’s a new year, a time when everyone takes stock...’ She suddenly looked beyond Gian to the window behind him and saw white flakes dance in the darkness. ‘It is starting to snow.’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ Gian said, without so much as turning his head to take in the weather. It was Ariana he was more interested in. ‘Why now, Ariana?’
Because I’m lonely, she wanted to say.
Because before Mia came along, I thought I had something of a career at Romano Holdings.
Because my days are increasingly empty and there surely has to be more to life than this?
Of course, she could not answer with that, and so she took a breath and attempted a more dignified response. ‘I want to make something of myself, by myself. I want, for a few hours a day, to take off the Romano name. Look, I know what I’m asking is a favour, but—’
‘Let me stop you right there,’ he cut in. ‘I don’t do favours.’
There was from Ariana a slight, almost inaudible laugh, yet Gian understood its wry gist and conceded. ‘Perhaps I make concessions for your father, but he was very good to me when...’
Gian didn’t finish but Ariana knew he was referring to when his brother and parents had died and, to her nosy shame, Ariana hoped to hear more. ‘When what?’ she asked, as if she didn’t know.
Nobody did silence better than Gian.
Surely, not a soul on this earth was as comfortable with silence as he, for he just stared right back at her and refused to elaborate.
It was Ariana who filled the long gap. ‘I didn’t get my father to lean on you, Gian,’ she pointed out. ‘I’m trying my best to do this by myself.’
‘I know that,’ Gian admitted, for if she had asked her father to call in a favour, then Rafael would have had a quiet word with him when he’d visited yesterday.
‘I won’t let you down, Gian.’
But even with Ariana’s assurances, Gian was hesitant. He did not want Ariana to be his problem. He did not need the complication of hiring and, no doubt, having to fire her. And yet, and yet, he grudgingly admired her attempt to make something of herself, aside from the family name she’d been born into.
She broke into his thoughts then. ‘Perhaps you could show me around?’
‘I do not give guided tours to potential staff, that is Vanda’s domain...’
‘Ah, so I’m “potential staff” now?’
‘I did not say that.’
‘Then, as a family friend, you can show me around.’
Gian took a breath, and looked into navy violet eyes and better understood the predicament her parents must find themselves in at times. How the hell did you say no to that?
CHAPTER THREE
TO THE SURPRISE of both of them, Gian agreed to the tour of La Fiordelise.
Ariana’s clear interest in the hotel pleased him, and if it had been a real interview, her request would have impressed him indeed.
‘Just a short tour...’ he nodded ‘...given you are my final appointment for the day.’
Perhaps it was the single glass of champagne on a nervously empty stomach, but Ariana was giddy with excitement as she stood up. There was even a heady thought that perhaps they might conclude the tour in the restaurant, and then dinner, of course.
And there Gian would offer her the role of VIP Guest Services Manager!
Oh, she could just picture herself in the bespoke blush tartan suits and pearls that the guest services managers wore!
It felt very different walking through the foyer with Gian at her side. Ariana was more than used to turning heads, but there was a certain deference that Gian commanded. Staff straightened at his approach, and guests nudged each other when he passed. There was a certain something about Gian that was impossible to define. Something more than elegance, more than command.
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 spoke, and could almost see the stars in her eyes as she gazed at the gorgeous ballroom.
‘I should have gone to Papà’s wedding,’ Ariana said, for the first time voicing her private remorse. ‘I deeply regret that I stayed away.’
Gian was rarely torn to break a confidence. The truth was, Rafael had been relieved that his children had not attended the nuptials. It was a marriage in name only, a brief service, followed by drinks on the terrace, then a cake and kiss for the cameras...
As the owner of several prestigious hotels, Gian was the keeper of many secrets.
So outrageous were the many scandals that Gian was privy to that the Romanos and their rather reprobate ways barely registered a blip. But it would be a seismic event if Ariana found out the truth about her parents.
Their marriage had been over long before their divorce.
Angela Romano had been with her lover for decades. Prior to the divorce, Angela and Thomas had often enjoyed extended midweek breaks at La Fiordelise.
Rafael would not blink an eye if he knew; in fact, Gian, assumed that he did. For those long business lunches Rafael had enjoyed with Roberto—his lawyer—had, in fact, been rare public outings for a devoted couple who had been together for more than fifteen years.
As for Mia...
Well, Gian to this day did not understand Angela’s hatred towards her, when close friends all knew that Mia was Rafael’s beard—a prop used to prevent the world from finding out in his declining years that Rafael Romano was gay. Perhaps, if Ariana could have this necessary conversation with her father, it might lead him to reveal his truth before it was too late or, worse, before she inadvertently found out.
‘Why don’t you tell your father that you regret not being at his wedding?’ Gian suggested. ‘Talk to him about it...’
‘I try to stay upbeat when I visit him.’
‘Tell him how you feel,’ Gian gently pushed, and saw that she was thinking about it.
‘I might.’ She nodded and then turned to him with a question no one had ever dared ask. ‘Were your parents happy?’
It was just a question, and it flowed from the context perhaps, but he had to think for a long moment, to cast his mind back, to the parties, to the laughter, to the inappropriate mess that had been them, and for once he did not choose silence. ‘Yes,’ Gian finally answered. ‘They were happy because they followed only their hearts and not their heads.’ When she frowned, clearly nonplussed, Gian explained further. ‘Their happiness was to the exclusion of all else.’
‘Including you?’
He did not answer and Ariana knew she had crossed the line, but now they were in this odd standoff.
They looked at each other. His thick black hair was so superbly cut that as she looked up at him she felt the oddest temptation to raise her hand and simply touch it, and to see if it fell back into perfect shape, but of course impulse had no place here, and anyway it was just a thought. But that made it a red button that said do not touch, and consequently made her itch to do so. ‘Including you?’ she persisted.
‘This is an interview, Ariana, the purpose of which is to find out more about you, not the other way around.’
Under her breath she muttered, ‘Your life is an interview then.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It just dawned on me, Gian, that you know an awful lot about me, but I know practically nothing about you.’
‘Good,’ he clipped.
It wasn’t good, though. Suddenly there was a whole lot that Ariana wanted to know about him, and her heart suddenly stopped with its ungainly trot and kicked into a gallop.
He angered her.
Only that wasn’t quite right, because anger didn’t make her thighs suddenly clamp, or her lips ache. And anger didn’t make her knickers damp or give her an urge to kiss that haughty, arrogant face. This was something else entirely, though her voice when she spoke was indeed cross. ‘Are you going to hire me or not, Gian?’
‘I am hesitant to.’
While he wanted to afford her a new start, Ariana working here spelt Trouble.
In more ways than one.
Yes, she was airy and spoilt and brattish, but he could almost feel the prickle of her under his skin and that was an attraction that was safer to deny. ‘If it doesn’t work out—’ he started.
‘It will work out,’ she broke in. ‘I shall make it so!’
And I will push all thoughts of fancying you aside, Ariana hurriedly thought.
‘You would still have to do the twelve-week induction.’ He wasn’t asking, he was telling. ‘It is mandatory that all my guest services staff have person
ally worked in every area of the hotel.’
‘Yes.’ Ariana nodded. ‘I’ll do the induction.’
‘If you are successful in your introductory period then there might be a position as a guest services assistant...’
‘But—’
‘My managers earn their titles, Ariana.’ He watched two spots of colour start to burn on her cheeks. ‘And there will be no favours and no concessions. From this point on, the trajectory of your career is in your hands. You will report on Monday at seven to Vanda, who deals with staff training, and any issues you have, you take to her, not me.’
‘Of course.’
He wasn’t sure she got it, though. ‘Ariana, this is my hotel, and I separate things, so if you work here you must understand that I don’t deal with the grumbles of minor staff. I don’t want to hear about your day; I simply do not want to know. I don’t want to hear you can’t handle vomit or difficult guests. You take it up with Vanda. Not my problem...’
‘Of course.’
‘And there shall be no stopping by my office for champagne. That stops today! In fact, as of now there will be no need to drop by my office at all.’
She pouted. ‘You said I could always come to you.’
He had.
And over the years she had.
Not all her confessionals took place in his office, though. They went way further back than that.
Once in Luctano, an eight-year-old Ariana, too scared to confide in her older brother Dante, had admitted to an eighteen-year-old Gian that she had stolen chocolate from the local store. She wouldn’t tell him why, just pleaded with him not to tell her father or Dante.
The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2) Page 3
