‘Better than no comfort at all. I do have some scruples, Ariana. I am not going to make love to you on the night of your father’s funeral when you are upset and not thinking straight.’
‘Oh, believe me, I am thinking straight. Life is short, Gian, life is for living, for loving.’
‘Then you’ve come to the wrong man because, as I’ve repeatedly said, I don’t do love.’
She wanted to stamp her feet. She knew she was being a bit of a diva but she was beyond caring.
When Ariana wanted something, she wanted it now, and when she’d made up her mind...well, it was made up.
‘Can you unzip my dress, please?’ Ariana lifted her hair and stood with her back to him, waiting for the teeniest indicator—a run of his finger, a lingering palm, him holding his breath—as he found the little clasp at the top of the velvet dress and undid it. Yet Gian was a master of self-control and without lingering he tugged the zip down so that her back and the lacy straps of her black bra were exposed.
‘There,’ he said, with all the excitement of an accountant relocating a decimal point.
She turned around and her dress slipped down, exposing her shoulders and décolletage, but he looked straight into her glittering eyes and smothered a yawn. ‘It’s been a long day,’ Gian said. ‘Perhaps you should go to bed.’
‘So much for the playboy of Rome,’ she sneered as she headed for her room, embarrassed that he clearly did not want her.
No wonder, Ariana thought as she stood in the bathroom and looked at her blotchy tear-streaked face.
She cleansed her skin and then ran a brush listlessly through her hair. She pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt and then climbed into bed. Sulking, she pulled the covers up to her chin.
‘Do you want milk or something?’ Gian called.
‘I’m not ten!’ she shouted through the darkness. It was worse having him here like this than being alone. Except, as she lay in the dark, Ariana knew that wasn’t strictly true. She loathed the dark and the night, especially since her father died, and now it did not seem quite as dark and the place not quite so lonely.
In fact, there was comfort just knowing that Gian was near.
Finally, whatever it was that had possessed her, that had had her angrily demanding sex, left her.
Oh, Papà!
Gian listened to her cry, and knew that for once it was not for attention. Though it killed him not to go to her, Gian knew they were necessary tears.
He opened the drapes and looked for something to read. Some might call it snooping, but really he was looking for somewhere to charge his phone when a cupboardfellopen and he could see that this was whereArianahad been hiding. It was rather chaotic and piled high with photos, wads and wads of them, and dated boxes too. Ah, so she must have been knee-deep in photos, Gian realised, trying to choose some favourites for the funeral montage. As well as that, there were fashion magazines and blockbusters and recipe books...
An awful lot of them!
Gian selected one and tried to block out her tears by reading. He just stared at the method for tempering white chocolate until finally she fell into silence.
He was reading how to make cannelloni when he heard her again.
It was almost hourly, like some tragic cuckoo clock, but Gian kept the door between them closed for he wouldnotsleep with her on the night of her father’s funeral. Surely only foolish decisions were made then...
Gian was completely matter-of-fact about sex. To him it was as necessary as breathing. Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but he felt he would not have lived to the age of twenty-five without the escape of it, and he knew he could give her that, but only when her head was clear.
To know she trusted him was significant, for the thought of her misplacing her trust in someone else left him cold.
He watched the black sky turn to a steel grey and, even though Gian knew his logic was flawed, when the silver mist of a new day dawned and he heard her little cry, Gian went through and sat on the bed.
Ariana was far from a temptress at dawn. She covered her face with one hand as he came in, and little bits of last night played like taunting movies.
‘Did I make a complete fool of myself?’ she asked in a pained voice.
‘Of course not,’ he said magnanimously, then teased her with a slow smile. ‘You just pleaded with me to make love to you.’
‘Perhaps it was the cognac,’ she said hopefully, but they both knew it had been a small sip and that had been back in Luctano. There had been a lot of walking and talking since then and she could hardly blame the chestnuts! ‘I’m sorry for my behaviour. I don’t actually fancy you, Gian.’
‘Really?’