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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 certainsomethingabout 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 marriedher?’ 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.’
