‘Tell me more,’ Ariana said, walking back through to the master bedroom and resuming her place on the lounge. Bending over, she pulled on one of her suede stilettoes.
‘There’s not much more to tell.’
‘Liar.’ She smiled and caught his eye. ‘Go on,’ she persisted, ‘tell me something that no one else knows.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Why wouldn’t you?’ she asked, peering up at him through her eyelashes as she wedged the other shoe on.
Usually, Gian could not wait to get out of the Penthouse Suite, yet Ariana was so curious and the company so pleasing that he decided the world could surely wait and he told her a titbit that very few knew. ‘The Duke had a ring made for Fiordelise.’
‘A ring?’ That got her interest and Gian watched as her pupils dilated at the speed of a cat’s. ‘What was it like?’
‘It is the insignia of the hotel,’ Gian told her. ‘The Duke would only ever let her look at it, though; she never once put it on. He held onto it on the promise that one day he would marry her.’
‘I’m liking the Duke less and less,’ Ariana said, smiling.
‘Then you’ll be pleased to know that when the Duchess died and he offered Fiordelise the ring, she declined it.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. By then she had fallen in love with a servant. The old Duke was too tired to be angry, and too embarrassed by her rejection to ever admit the truth. Fiordelise saw out her days in her boudoir with her manservant tending to her needs...’
‘Good for her.’ Ariana smirked.
‘Don’t tell the guests, though.’
She laughed, and it sounded like a chandelier had caught the wind.
Right there, in the presidential suite of his signature hotel, something shifted for Gian.
Ariana was more than beautiful.
And she was more complex than he had known.
More, he admired her for the mutinous act of trying to shed her pampered existence—with conditions of course. ‘Come on,’ he said, trying to keep the reluctance from his tone as they left the vast and luxurious cocoon of the suite.
‘What’s down there?’ Ariana asked as they came out into the corridor and she saw that there was a door on the other side. ‘Is thereanotherpenthouse suite?’
‘No, there’s a butler’s room and kitchen and some storage space...’ His expression was grim as she wandered off to explore. What was now the butler’s room had been home for his many nannies. ‘What’s this one for?’ she asked, and peered into a dour windowless room, unaware it was where Gian had slept as a child. There were shelves holding spare laptops, computer screens, chargers, adaptors, magnifying mirrors, straightening irons, and anything else a guest might have forgotten or need. ‘Miscellaneous items.’ Ariana concluded.
‘Precisely.’
Oh, that frisson was back, only it felt different this time, and Ariana was quite sure that this time he really was displeased so she closed the door on the windowless room.
They were soon in the elevator. That clinging scent she wore was reaching him again, and he turned rather harshly towards her. ‘If you do commence work at La Fiordelise you should know that perfume is banned for staff. It is not pleasant for the guests as some have allergies.’
‘Youwear cologne,’ Ariana rather belligerently pointed out, for those citrus and bergamot notes had long been the signature of his greeting and the scent she breathed once a year when they danced.
‘Yes, but I am not servicing the rooms. Please remember not to wear perfume for work.’
‘I don’t wear perfume.’
‘Oh, please.’
‘But I don’t.’ Ariana frowned. ‘My skin is too sensitive.’
He wanted to debate it, to point out that the small elevator smelt of sunshine and rain and an undernote that he could not define, but the doors opened and he stepped out to the relative neutrality of Reception. He would have a word with Vanda, Gian decided. She could talk to her about perfume and such, because policing Ariana would no doubt be a full-time job! ‘Are you sure you aren’t just coveting the suit and pearls that my guest services managers wear?’ Gian checked, as Bianca, one of his senior staff, smiled a greeting as she passed.