He would keep things under control.
And then she knew that it wasn’t the hotel, or the haven in Rome that Gian had created, that calmed her.
It was Gian himself who made the world safe.
The look they shared lasted less than a moment—Gian gave her a small, grim smile of sympathy, a nod of his noble head, more by way of understanding than greeting—but time had taken on a different meaning, for the velvet of his eyes and the quiet comfort they gave would sustain her through the service.
You are strong.
He had told her so.
And so she did her best to get through the eulogy and the hymns and the hell.
Gian had been through this before, Ariana reminded herself as she did her level best not to stare at the coffin.
There had been three coffins in this church when his family had died. Pink peonies on his mother’s, white lilies on his father’s and a huge spray of red poppies on his brother’s.
‘I don’t like this, Papà,’she had whispered, for she’d been ten years old and the chants and scent of incense had made her feel a little ill.
‘I know, bella, but we are here today for Gian,’herpapàhad said.
‘Shouldn’t we sit with him, then?’Ariana had asked, for even beside his aunts and such he had looked so completely alone.
‘We are not family,’herpapàhad said.‘Hold my hand.’
His warm hand had closed around hers and imbued her with strength, but she had looked over at Gian and seen that there was no one holding his.
And there was no one holding Ariana’s today.
It was an emotional service, but Gian refused to let it move him and stood dry-eyed even as the coffin was carried out to the haunting strains of his favourite aria—Puccini’s ‘O Mio Babbino Caro’.Oh, my dear Papà...
Ariana looked close to fainting, but her damned mother was too busy beating at her chest to see.
‘Hey,’ Gian said. To the frowns of the congregation, he broke protocol and joined the family on the way out. ‘You are doing so well,’ he murmured quietly.
‘I am not.’
‘You are, you are.’ He could feel her tremble. As the family lined up outside the church, instead of guiding her to join them, he took Ariana aside and held her.
She leaned on him for a moment, a blissful moment that smelt of Gian, and she learned something more about him. There were no tears in his eyes, he looked a little pale but unmoved, yet his heart beat rapidly in his chest and she couldfeelhis grief as he held her in his arms.
As they held each other.
‘You’ll miss him too,’ she whispered.
‘Ever so.’
It was the closest she had ever been to him, this blissful place on a terrible day, and she wanted to cling on, to rest in his arms a while longer, but he was pulling her back and returning to his usual distant form.
‘Gian.’ It was so cold to stand without him, especially when she wanted the shield of his arms. ‘I don’t think I can face the burial.’
‘Yes, Ariana, you can.’
But hysteria was mounting. ‘No. I really don’t think so...’
‘Would it help if I came with you?’
It would, but... ‘You can’t.’ She gave a black laugh. ‘Stefano practically had to put in a written request to Dante to have Eloa attend, and she’s his fiancée. Mamma has been denied. God, Gian, I don’t...’