When he’d ended the call, he made a couple of his own and by then Ariana had come out.
‘Don’t worry about breakfast,’ Ariana said, her voice a little shaken, though she was clearly doing her best to control it and keep things light. She had given way to a moment of tears in the shower but she’d pulled herself together and let the hot jets of water flow over her. She would serve herself better to wait until she got home so she could weep alone.
‘I’m not really hungry. I might head down to my own suite...’ She wouldn’t even bother putting on her gown. Wearing the robe and with wet hair, anyone who spotted her would assume she had been for a swim in the luxurious pool in the hotel spa. ‘If you could just send my things down to my suite, please...’
‘Ariana, wait.’
As she headed for the door, she stiffened, fighting the surge of hope that he was calling her back to apologise for the shift in mood and the silent row that had taken place. Slowly she turned around.
‘It’s better that you hear this from me,’ Gian said, and his voice was deadly serious.
‘Hear what?’
‘There was a photo taken last night at the ball...’
‘There were many photos taken.’
‘I mean, there has been an image sold to the press. It hasn’t got out yet and my team are doing all they can to suppress it, but I fear it is just a matter of time.’
‘What sort of photo?’
‘One of Dante...’
‘Dante?’ Ariana frowned. ‘What has Dante got to do with anything?’ Dante’s behaviour had been impeccable last night. He had delivered a speech that had encapsulated the essence of their father and he had worked the room like the professional he was. Though Dante was rather well known for his rakish ways, that had all been put on hold last night.
Or so she’d thought.
‘There is an image of Dante and Mia in the atrium.’
‘And?’ Ariana was instantly defensive. Dante was her brother after all. ‘He’s allowed to speak to her, for heaven’s sake. He told us himself to be polite. She’s my father’s widow...’ Her voice faded as Dante handed her his tablet and there, on an eleven-inch screen, was an image that washed away any further excuses.
Her father’s very young widow was locked, groin to groin, with her elder brother, and raw, untamed desire blazed in both their eyes. Oh, she recognised that desire for what it was, because it was exactly what she had shared with Gian last night.
But Dante and Mia?
Her brother and her stepmother?
‘No!’ Her lungs and head shouted the denial, but the single word caught in her vocal cords and it came out a strained, husky bark. ‘He would never,’ she implored. ‘It’s been doctored, cropped...’
‘Ariana, the image is real. I called Dante just now and apologised that such an invasion of his privacy took place in my hotel. My legal team are onto it, as are my security team. We are doing all we can to stop the photo getting out and,’ he added darkly, ‘I shall discover the culprit.’
But Ariana didn’t care who had taken the photo, only that this moment in time had ever existed.
Oh, Papà!
She wanted to weep at the insult to his memory. She wanted to hurl a thousand questions at her brother, who went through women like socks. Except surely this woman, the widow of his father, should have been out of bounds?
‘How long have they been together...?’ Her accusing eyes looked at Gian.
‘Ariana, you are asking the wrong person.’
‘I’m asking exactly the right person. You’re a who’s who of all the scandal in Rome!’ She wanted to claw the hair from her scalp. ‘Did. You. Know?’
‘Yes.’
He might as well have stabbed her for she put her hands to her chest and moaned exactly as if he had. ‘Traitor!’
‘Stop it.’ Dante pointed a warning finger and moved swiftly into damage control. But this time he was moving swiftly to protect not his hotel’s reputation but Ariana from the fallout that was surely to come. ‘Look at me,’ he said, and waited till finally she met his eyes. ‘It is not so terrible.’