She spoke for almost two hours. There was no champagne brought in, just sparkling water, which she took grateful sips of between pouring out ideas. There was no flirting, no reference to what had happened, no alluding to it, just a determination to get this important night right.
‘What about the wording for the invitations?’ Gian said. ‘Mia is technically the host...’
‘No!’ Only then did she flare. ‘We don’t even know if she’s coming.’
‘I’ll work on the wording,’ Gian agreed. ‘Leave Mia to me. I think your ideas are excellent. There’s a lot to do but I agree it has to be perfect. Why don’t we try the dinner menu now?’
‘Now?’ she frowned.
‘I asked Luna to give your menu to my head chef. He is preparing a sample menu...’
She had her dinner invitation.
He never took dates to the hotel’s restaurant, but Ariana wasn’t his date. It was business, Gian told himself as they were shown to his table. It looked out onto the restaurant but was private enough for conversation to take place.
‘I wish I was better dressed,’ Ariana admitted as a huge napkin was placed in her lap. Her clothes were better suited for lunch, or even a gentle lakeside walk, certainly not fine dining in La Fiordelise.
‘You look...’ He hesitated, for he did not tell his business dates they looked stunning or beautiful. ‘Completely fine.’ Gian settled for that, yet it felt as flat as the iced water that was being poured, and as shallow as the bowl in which a waterlily floated. ‘You look stunning,’ Gian admitted. ‘Especially with pink blossom in your hair.’
Ariana laughed and raked a hand through her mane. ‘I was walking by the office; the blossom is out and it’s so beautiful.’
‘And so fleeting.’
Like us, she wanted to say as she dropped a few petals from her hair into the water lily bowl between them. ‘Yes, so fleeting,’ Ariana agreed, ‘but worth it.’
It was the briefest, and the only reference to what they had shared.
The starter was ravioli stuffed with pecorino with a creamy white truffle sauce and it brought a smile to her lips as it was placed on the table and she signalled the waiter to rain pepper upon it.
‘Taste it first,’ he told her.
‘Why?’ she said. ‘If it is cooked to my father’s taste then to my mind it needs more pepper and a little less salt.’ She signalled to the waiter for even more.
‘You love your pepper.’
‘I do! And he loved this pasta so much.’
‘I know,’ Gian told her. ‘It was served on the night La Fiordelise came back to life.’ He put down his fork and though he had never told another living soul the details, if ever there was a time to, it was now. ‘Your father saved La Fiordelise.’
‘Saved it?’
‘Yes. It was practically empty of guests and running on a skeleton staff when my family died.’
She looked up.
‘Papà gave you a loan?’
‘Not as such.’
Ariana frowned.
‘I inherited a disaster,’ Gian said, ‘and, believe me, the banks agreed...’ He hesitated at how much to tell her and decided, for this part of Rafael’s life at least, there was no need for brevity and so as the main course was served he told her what had happened. ‘Your father suggested buying into the business.’
‘Really?’ Ariana hadn’t known that. ‘But he didn’t?’
‘No.’ Gian shook his head. ‘I refused his offer.’
‘Can I ask why?’