‘But it is.’
‘Because you make it so! Remember how you accused me last night, how you said Mia and I were closer in age...?’
She blinked as she replayed her own accusation.
‘Your brother is my age.’
‘She’s his stepmother...’
‘So will say the headlines, but that’s just click bait... Listen to me, Ariana.’ He could feel her calming just a touch. ‘Think of how Dante will be feeling right now.’
She nodded, and looked down the barrel of recent weeks. ‘I knew something was wrong. I thought he was just missing Papà, not just...’
‘I know what you mean. Ariana, it must have been hell for him.’
‘I need to speak to him.’ Though still frantic, he could feel her calm beneath his touch. ‘Both of them...’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but without accusation. He and Mia have taken off to Luctano...’
‘You’ve spoken to him.’
‘Just now,’ Gian said.
‘Can you take me there?’
‘Of course. I’ll have Luna arrange the pilot. Go down to your suite and get dressed and I’ll meet you there.’
She took the elevator down to the spa floor and then stepped out and took the guest elevator back up to her own. There she pulled on some underwear and a pretty dress. Gian’s calm manner was somehow infectious, for she even dried and styled her hair.
But then her phone rang and she saw it was her mother, just back from her cruise.
‘How much more can I be shamed?’ hermammashouted.
‘Mamma, please,’ Ariana attempted. ‘Maybe there is some explanation.’
‘Mia and Dante. My son!’
‘Mamma, you should surely hear what Dante has to say. They are closer in age...’ Ariana pleaded, repeating Gian’s words, but nothing would placate her.
‘That woman!’ she sobbed. ‘She has killed my family, my joy, my life. She takes and she takes and she leaves me with nothing.’
‘You have me,’ Ariana pleaded. ‘Mamma...’ But she had run out of excuses for Mia and Dante. ‘I’m going now to speak with him.’
‘Well, you know what to say from me.’
If Ariana didn’t know, she was specifically told.
‘Okay?’ Gian checked as they headed up to the rooftop, except she barely heard him. All she could hear was hermamma’s acidic, angry words.
‘I wanted the ball to be perfect for Papà.’
It was all Ariana said.
Sitting in his helicopter, Gian looked from her pale face down to the rolling hills and the familiar lace of vines. Now they were deep into spring and the poppy fields were a blaze of red, and there was foliage on the once bare vines.
He turned back to Ariana, who sat staring ahead with her headphones on, her leg bobbing up and down. He didn’t doubt that she was nervous to be facing her brother.
Gian was sure that it would soon be sorted out. He knew how close the Romano siblings were. At least, they had been growing up. And surely even Ariana could understand that grief and comfort were a heady cocktail. Hell, she’d sought comfort herself on the night of the funeral after all.