The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2) Carol Marinelli (ebook reader with built in dictionary .TXT) 📖

and then seeing to the final preparations for this important night, instead he took out the official papers he did his level best to avoid.

It was all there.

The drugs, the debauchery, the findings... The absolute hell of love.

For he had loved them.

Even if his parents had not wanted him.

And he had loved his brother Eduardo, even if it had been safer to stop caring, to detach and close off his heart.

To refuse all drama.

And Ariana really was pure drama.

‘Gian?’ Luna knocked on his door a long time later and found him sitting almost in the dark. ‘Should you still be here?’

‘No,’ he admitted, and stood. ‘Luna,’ he said, ‘can you...?’ He was about to hand over the papers to shred. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Gian said, and returned them to the safe in case he ever needed another reminder of why he refused to let someone into his life.

And, by and by, the Romano Foundation Ball was here.

CHAPTER TEN

ARIANA WORE BLACK.

A simple black velvet halter neck and the diamond studs her parents had given her for her eighteenth.

She put on her red lips, though, and lashings of mascara. There was a ridiculous pit of anticipation building at the thought of dancing with Gian, for she was still floating from the encounter in his office and getting her hopes up as she made her way down for the ball.

His warning, however poorly she’d taken it, meant that Ariana was at least slightly prepared when her father’s widow made her entrance. And what an entrance. Mia was standing at the top of the stairs in crimson! Her blonde hair was piled up, and heavy diamond earrings glittered at her ears as she made her way down. Ariana saw red—as red as the dress that Mia wore.

‘So much for the grieving widow,’ she hissed to Dante.

She was, in fact, grateful to Gian for the heads-up and even managed a somewhat stilted greeting to the widow in red, but then all rancour drained from her when she saw Gian approach.

He was still unshaven, but sexily so.

His attire was immaculate and his black hair gleaming but it was such a change from his more regular suave appearance at such an event that she felt a pull, down low. He simply hollowed her out with desire.

‘Eloa,’ he said in that low, throaty drawl. Even the happily engaged, blissfully-in-love Eloa had the hormones to blush when bathed in his attention. ‘You look exquisite.’ He kissed her cheeks and then shook Stefano’s hand. ‘Dante.’ He nodded to his friend. ‘I trust everything is satisfactory.’

‘Absolutely.’ Dante agreed.

He turned to Ariana, finally acknowledging her. Sort of. His eyes did not as much as dust over her body, and she felt the chill of a snub, even as he spoke politely. ‘Ariana, you look beautiful.’

They were the same words he said every year when he greeted her at the ball, and he kissed her on the cheeks as he always did when they met, except he barely whispered past her skin.

As if she were an old aunt, Ariana thought.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Everything looks beautiful.’ And then she leaned in and murmured, ‘Even the grieving widow.’

He didn’t smile, and neither did he return her little in joke.

There was an edge to him that she couldn’t quite define, an off-limits sign she could almost read. He was essentially ignoring her.

Damn you, Gian, she thought as she headed into the ballroom. But really she was cross with herself. Somewhere, somehow, she had lost sight of the clear message he had given right at the start and had been foolish enough to get her hopes up.

The ballroom could never be described as understated, but without hanging moons and ivy vines tonight it looked its elegant best, and Ariana caught the sweet scent of gardenias as she took her seat. Mia entered and took her seat at the table too, Gian sitting between them. He was, of course, his usual dignified self and made polite small talk alternately with both Mia and Ariana.

Like a parent wedged between two warring siblings and trying to give both equal attention, Ariana thought.

‘I shouldn’t have worn red,’ Mia said as the pasta was served. ‘It was the gown I had for last year...’

‘You look stunning,’ Gian told her—again. And Ariana gritted her teeth.

Gian tried his level best to be his usual self, as Ariana smouldered beside him. The drama of waiting for her to explode was painful, but he told himself she was not his problem. He told himself that the Romanos, the whole lot of them, were each a theatre production in themselves.

The bed-hopping, the scandals—Dante and Mia doing their best not to make eye contact. He was rather certain that the heavy earrings she wore had been in the box that he had earlier delivered to her door. Rafael’s lover was too ill to attend but his orchids took pride of place. Eloa and Stefano were desperate for the night to be over so they could be alone.

And don’t get me started on Ariana, he thought.

He could feel her, smell her, hear her when she spoke, and of course she was asking for more pepper.

She jangled his nerves and she beguiled him, because for once she behaved.

Almost.

She turned her back when Mia tried to speak, which he did his level best to ignore and gloss over.

And then the appalling Nicki came over between courses and moaned about her seat. ‘Ariana, you really have stuck me beside the most boring people and I’ll never hear the speeches back there.’

Gian stared ahead, but said in a low voice for Ariana’s ears, ‘My offer still stands.’

He would move, Ariana knew. Right now, Gian would get up and stalk off and it was the last thing she wanted. She looked at her friend and, for the first time ever, stood up for herself. ‘Nicki, the sound engineer is the best in Rome. I’m sure you’ll be able to hear.’

Well done, he wanted to tell her. Well done, Ariana.

But he