‘Take this.’
From deep in his coat pocket he handed her acornicello...a small gold amulet. ‘Your father gave me this to hold when I buried my family. Youcando this, Ariana; you will regret it if you don’t.’
It was the most private of burials.
Mia, who could barely stand, held a single lily.
And Dante, who loathed Mia possibly the most of all Rafael’s children, was the one who had to take her to the graveside so she could throw the flower in.
Stefano wept and was comforted by Eloa, and that left Ariana standing alone, holding onto the little sliver of gold.
Ariana had never felt so cold as when she returned to the house and stood by a huge fire, grateful for the large cognac someone placed in her hands. Looking up, she saw it was Gian. ‘Thank you.’
‘How was it?’ Gian gently enquired.
‘It is done,’ Ariana responded, without really answering and then held out the amulet. ‘Here, I should give this back to you. Thank you.’
‘Keep it.’
‘He gave it to you,’ Ariana said, suddenly angry at his lack of sentiment. This man who would sell a priceless ring, this man who would let go of a gift from her father. ‘Why would you give it away?’
‘Did it help?’ he asked, and she nodded. ‘Then you yourself might pass it on someday when someone else needs your father’s strength.’
Never, she thought.
Never, ever.
For it was her first gift from Gian and it almost scared her how much that meant.
‘It seems strange to be here without him,’ Gian admitted, trying to gauge how she felt, but for once the effusive Ariana was a closed book. She gave a tired shrug and her black lashes closed on violet eyes highlighting the dark shadows beneath them.
‘It has felt strange to be here for quite some time.’ Her eyes opened then and came to rest on Rafael’s widow, and Gian followed her gaze as she spoke. ‘My father and I used to be so close.’
‘You were always close,’ Gian refuted.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It fell away at the end.’
He would like to take her arm and walk her away from the funeral crowd, to walk in the grounds and gently tell her the difficult truth—the real reason her father had pulled away from his family and from the daughter he had loved so very much.
It was not his place to do so, though.
Oh, today he loathed being the keeper of secrets, for the truth would surely help her to heal.
‘How long are you here for?’ Ariana asked, determinedly changing the subject, then wishing she hadn’t for the answer was not one she liked.
‘I’ll be leaving shortly. I just wanted to see the house one last time and...’ He hesitated but then admitted the deeper truth. ‘To see how you were after the burial.’
Stay longer, she wanted to say, yet she dared not.
‘And,’ he added, ‘I wanted to properly apologise for how I spoke to you on the day you called. I was completely out of line.’
‘Not completely,’ Ariana said, and he watched her strained lips part into a brief glimpse of her impish smile. ‘Not to come in because of a board meetingwasinexcusable on my first day...’
‘Oh!’ Her burst of honesty and the explanation surprised him. ‘I thought you must have had word that your father was ill.’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t till later.’
‘Well, even so, I’m very sorry for the way I spoke to you.’