Dante’s Girl

  “It’s alright,” I add. “I’m not mad. But can you not do it again? I don’t want to be followed around.”

  He smiles lazily, as he flips onto his back to float. “Then in order for you to stay safe, you’ll have to stay with me constantly,” he tells me. “I mean, in the interest of keeping you safe.”

  And there it was again, the electricity in the air between us. It practically crackles and my heart flutters.

  “Do you agree to my terms?” Dante asks, jokingly, but not. “If you don’t want a security guard, you’ll have to allow me to escort you. Everywhere. At all times.”

  There are definitely worse things in the world. I’m not sure if he is exaggerating or kidding but I nod anyway and fight the urge to launch myself into his arms.

  But I resist the impulse and instead, we start joking about sharks and he does the JAWS theme song and chases me through the water with his stupid fin made from his hands. This time it is funny.

  Mia finally reappears and after a proper lecture on leaving me alone, the three of us float in a lazy circle and I decide that I am in love with Caberra. And I am rather fond of its ‘prince.’

  Very fond.

  And I definitely doubt the sanity of the crazy old lady who sold us the chocolates now.

  Because I am seriously doubting my ability to protect my heart.

  I am not strong enough.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dante’s father is home.

  I know this because the royal flags with the ancient royal crest are flying outside of the Old Palace. Heaven told me this morning that when the Prime Minister isn’t home, the normal country flag flies. I hadn’t even noticed.

  Caberra is weird. It voted out a royal family hundreds of years ago, but everyone still acts like the Prime Minister and his family are royals and they still have a palace and they still have a palace guard. It’s very, very odd. It’s like they want all of the old traditions, but they want modern government.

  Another way that I know Dimitri Giliberti is home is because a hush has fallen over the Old Palace. The servants are quieter than normal, everyone creeps around and even Dante is subdued. I dread meeting the man who instills so much reverence and anxiety.

  Besides educating me on some of the Caberran traditions, Heaven had also brought me a laptop earlier from the Old Palace library and had given me the wireless password.

  And now I’m truly in heaven, courtesy of Heaven. Yes, I’m just corny enough to think of such a goofy phrase.

  I cruise the internet and browse through all of the social sites that I’ve missed over the past week. But honestly, I find that I haven’t really missed them, particularly after I see Becca’s many, many status updates that involve me.

  Best friends forever?? More like Best Friends Never Again.

  @ReeceLEllis: Lie Much?

  I can’t stop crying. Betrayal hurts.

  @ReeceLEllis: I’ll never forgive you.

  And what’s worse than her status updates are the outpouring of comments in reply. It looks like everyone we know has rushed out to support Becca, without even talking to me about it. Am I such a horrible person that it’s so easy for them to believe that I screwed Becca over?

  A knife plunges into my heart and twists this way and that. I feel instantly numb and shocked and horrified. But I’m also puzzled. Why is Becca taking this so hard? Yes, I have a crush on her boyfriend. Make that had. But she’s acting like Quinn and I had cheated on her and we didn’t. I wouldn’t. Not ever in four million years.

  But she won’t pick up the phone. I try, then I try texting her. Then I try to call her again. I leave her four voicemails and four texts.

  Silence.

  I sigh.

  Mia was right. I can’t fix it from here. If Becca isn’t going to pick up the phone, then I’m going to have to put this out of my mind until I can march up to her door and make her listen to me. But I can’t do that until I’m back in Kansas.

  There’s no place like home, Dorothy. If only I could click my heels together three times and make it happen.

  There’s a knock at my door and then Heaven pokes her head in.

  “Can I come in?” she asks politely.

  “Of course,” I answer, closing the laptop. I make a conscious decision to put Becca out of my mind as I turn my attention to Heaven.

  She’s so small – heavens, are all Caberrans so tiny? They make me feel like a giant or an Amazon- and she’s carrying a white box that seems almost as big as she is. And that’s only a slight exaggeration.

  “Whatcha got?” I ask curiously, as she lays it on the bed and beams.

  “It’s a gift for you from Dante,” she answers with a grin. “It’s for dinner tonight. I take it that you’ll be dining with them.”

  My heart sort of stutters before it begins beating again.

  A special white box to prepare me for dinner? This can’t be good. It’s instantly apparent to me that dinner tonight will be a big deal thing. No simple barbeque or cookout or goulash or spaghetti. Of course not. They literally change flags when the Prime Minister is in. They aren’t going to serve him meat loaf.

  With nervous fingers, I lift off the lid and gasp.

  A gown, as in, a ball gown, is folded neatly inside the box inside of elegantly folded tissue. A white card is lying on top.

  I pick it up and read, Reece, I hope this isn’t presumptuous, but dinner tonight will be formal. I assumed that you didn’t buy anything formal this morning, so I thought this might work. If it doesn’t fit or if you don’t like it, just let me know and I’ll have it replaced. D.G.G.

  His writing was bold and scrawling and it took me a moment to decipher it.

  “D.G.G.?” I looked at Heaven.

  “Dante Griffen Giliberti,” she answered. She looked surprised, as though she thought I should have known that. Of course I don’t. The subject of his middle name has never come up and I’ve only known him for a matter of days. Nevermind the fact that it feels like weeks already.

  I lift the gown out of the box and gasp again.

  Made from deep blue stretchy velveteen, it is floor length and strapless. The material is so soft and light that I know it will feel like I am wearing nothing at all. It’s gorgeous and I know that it will look nice with my eyes and skin color. This whole situation is so Pretty Woman or My Fair Lady. No man other than my father had ever bought me clothing before.

  And the things I’m feeling for Dante are far from daughterly.

  “It’s beautiful,” I announce to Heaven, because it’s clear she is waiting for a response. “But can you tell me… where can I find a strapless bra?”

  She points impishly to the box and I find a strapless bra folded neatly in the bottom of the box. 34B. Just my size. My cheeks flare and I want to die. Just knowing that Dante had even pondered the size of my boobs makes me want to curl up and expire.

  “He knows my bra size?” I utter in humiliation. Seriously? Oh. My. Gosh.

  Heaven grins. “No. He asked me to guess your size and then pick up a bra that would fit under the dress. He was a little helpless about that. And very uncomfortable, I might add.”

  Thank goodness. I no longer want to die as much, but still. It’s still a little humiliating.

  Next to the bra, there is a pair of silver shoes, size 8. Strappy three-inch heels.

  “I guess I’m all set then,” I tell her. “That is, if I don’t break my neck trying to walk in those stilts. At prom last year, Becca and I took flip-flops to change into. I only wore heels for about an hour. And trust me. I’m not very good at it.”

  I’m slightly anxious, if slightly anxious can be defined as me banging my foot against the bed like a lunatic. I’ve never had dinner with anyone more important than my sophomore track coach after a track meet.

  “You’ll be fine,” Heaven tells me assuredly. I stare at her.

  “Easy for you to say,” I answer. “You are around these people all of the time. Do you know who I’m usually around? Cows. A
nd trust me, creatures of the bovine variety are not exactly up to the highest social standards. I may need to brush up on my fancy party etiquette. Do you happen to have a Miss Manners book in your pocket?”

  Heaven giggles, then stands up. “I’ve gotta go,” she tells me. “I’ll tell Dante that you love the dress.”

  “Leave out the part where I’m terrified, okay? I don’t want to ruin my chic and sophisticated image.”

  She rolls her eyes and nods. “Yeah, I don’t want to let that cat out of the bag.”

  “What time is dinner?” I ask.

  “It’s at 8:00,” she answers. “And Dante is with his father now. I don’t know how long they’ll be, but I’m guessing he won’t have time to hang out.”

  “How did you know that would be my next question?” I stare at her blankly. “Hmm. What will I do to kill time this afternoon? You’ve got to work and Dante is tied up.” I force my mind out of the gutter after uttering those last four words.

  Heaven shrugs with a smile. “You could practice walking in your heels,” she suggests with an ornery grin.

  She looks around my room. It’s completely neat. I have two lone shopping bags from yesterday sitting on the desk, and two pairs of sandals peeking out from beneath the bed. Other than that, everything is immaculate and untouched.

  “There’s nothing to clean in here, so you can’t clean your room,” she observes and then eyes my new shoes. “You should just practice walking.”

  With that bit of advice, she slips back out my door and I’m alone. I look at the clock. It’s only 3:00. What in the world am I going to do for five hours?

  I decide that practicing the whole walking-without-breaking-my-leg-thing is actually a good idea, so I slip on the high-heeled-stilts-of-death and toddle round my room.

  Okay. That killed five minutes.

  I sit on a chair and look peacefully out the window. Another three minutes.

  I situate myself on the floor and meditate. Three more minutes go by before my thoughts are muddled by visions of Dante’s face and smile and toned arms and then by anxious thoughts about dinner tonight.

  I sigh. This isn’t going to work.

  I climb carefully to my feet, still wearing my strappy silver stilts, and decide to go for a walk. Who cares if I look ridiculous wearing fancy shoes and running shorts? Dante is tied up with his dad and won’t see me, anyway.

  I try to walk quietly down the hall, but apparently, it’s impossible to walk quietly in heels on a marble floor. It practically sounds like I am playing the drums. I pick up my phone and try to call Mia, but it goes straight to voicemail. I find that I miss her already and ponder the sad fact that she doesn’t have a best friend. Since I recently lost my own, I might as well apply for the job.

  I text my mother, then get three rapid fire responses back from her. She’s pissed that I haven’t called her today. But I’m not in the mood to talk. I’m too nervous about a State dinner tonight. Or whatever a dinner is called when a Prime Minister is present.

  I text Mia.

  I even text my grandmother who hates to text on her big-buttoned-old-person’s-phone.

  And that’s when I realize that I’ve hit rock bottom.

  I’m pathetic.

  What kind of person can’t entertain herself for a few hours? Who cares if it is a foreign country and I don’t know the language?

  I march back to my room as gracefully as I can in my stilts and change into tennis shoes. I’m going to see the city if it kills me. And it might. Because I don’t know anyone. And I don’t speak the language. But so what?

  I stroll out of the Old Palace without anyone questioning me, not that they would because they aren’t my keepers, but I always expect someone to ask me what the heck I think I’m doing in such a fancy place. But they don’t. I look behind me. It doesn’t appear that I’m being followed by a security guard. But that doesn’t surprise me. Dante promised that he wouldn’t do that again.

  I’m alone.

  Truly alone.

  And suddenly, I feel very very lonely.

  I find myself in a random shop that sells knick-knacks…blown glass figurines and whatnot. I stroll through as though I am perfectly at home here because attitude is everything. If I act confident, I will be confident, right?

  And then I see a tiny green glass sea turtle. And I know that Becca would love to have it in her collection. She’s collected turtles since we were in kindergarten. At last count, she had 453 of them. Her dad built her an entire wall of shelves in her room for them.

  And this one would be perfect for her. It’s nibbling on an olive branch. How perfect is that? I could buy it and send it to her as my own personal olive-branch-peace- offering. Unless she interprets it as the turtle EATING my peace offering, which wouldn’t be so cool. But I could include a note. And apologize once again and surely this time, when she sees the turtle’s cute little face, she will forgive me.

  Surely.

  I pay for the tiny trinket with my mom’s credit card. I mean, surely this classifies as an emergency too. And it’s only a few Euros. I’m not exactly sure how much that converts into for US dollars. But surely mom won‘t care.

  Surely.

  And I’ve got to stop saying surely.

  I stroll down quaint little cobblestone boardwalk again, and browse through the windows and look at all of the little carts. The crazy old gypsy-looking woman isn’t here today, which is almost a relief. I’m not sure that I’m brave enough to walk past her without Mia.

  I buy a little bag of hot sugared almonds, again with my mom’s credit card. And no, this isn’t an emergency, but surely she wouldn’t want me to go hungry.

  Crap. I said surely again. What is wrong with me?

  I decide that I’d better leave my mom’s credit card back in my room until I go home, just so I’m not tempted to use it again.

  Excellent idea.

  I stroll down to the beach and stand at the edge of the water, munching on my nuts and watching the majestic sea roll in and slide back out. It’s hypnotic and mesmerizing. And beautiful.

  It’s so serene here, so quiet. And it makes me realize once again how alone I am. I would love to take a picture and send it to Becca, but I can’t. So instead, I take one and text it to my mom.

  It’s beautiful, honey. Are you wearing sunscreen?

  She’s such a mom.

  I tuck my phone back into my pocket and then perk up my ears when I hear someone talking.

  I look around and don’t see anyone. But I’m nosy. And lonely. So I turn around and walk a ways to see if I can see them.

  I round the corner of an old, unused lifeguard shed and see Nate, arrogant-rude-as-hell Nate, talking into his cell phone. He’s pale as ever and his nose is stuck in the air even though no one is around to be snobby for. I decide that it’s just his natural way of being. And then I scoot forward a little bit just to hear what he’s saying. I’m nosy. And his face is wrinkled, like he’s pissed or upset. And since I don’t like him, I’d like to know what has ticked him off.

  Because I’m nosy.

  He doesn’t see me, so I freeze at the edge of the building and listen. His voice is cold and I don’t like it any more than I like him. And that’s not saying much. The breeze shifts towards me and suddenly I can hear him better.

  “No. I told you that I haven’t found anything yet. Dante is very protective of him. No. I’ll keep trying. I’m sure there’s something to find. I just have to look harder. Don’t worry. Okay. We’ll talk soon.”

  What the hell is he talking about?

  Nate sticks his phone in his pocket and glances up. His ice blue eyes meet mine and I’m totally busted. He absolutely knows that I was eavesdropping and he doesn’t like it. His expression turns thunderous and he stalks immediately over to me.

  I gulp and glance around. I’m here alone.

  Just perfect.

  I gulp again.

  “Is it polite in America to listen to private conversations?” he demands w
hen he reaches me. “Because here in Caberra, or any polite society for that matter, it is considered rude.”

  “Well, that’s something that you would know a lot about,” I zing back, my feathers ruffled. How dare he think he can lecture me on being rude? Really? He’s the rudest person I’ve ever met. Ever.

  And that includes crusty old farmers who have been out in harvest trucks in the sun all day. And that’s saying a lot because they can get really grumpy.

  Nate levels a glare at me and if looks could kill, I’d be deader than a doornail.