Dante’s Girl (7 page)

“And which one are you?” Nate scowls mockingly.

“I’m the good looking and charming one, obviously,” Dante jokes.  Only it’s not a joke. He really is.

I smile and wave at the group. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Gavin leaps to his feet and circles the table, grabbing my hand and kissing it.  “The pleasure is mine,” he purrs.  “You’re every bit as beautiful as your pictures, mademoiselle.”

He’s not French so it’s pretty funny. But my heart still plummets.  Even they have seen the stupid pictures?  Has everyone?

Dante sees my expression and rushes to assure me.

“Reece, seriously, I’m sorry.  It’s just a part of my life- the press loves to speculate.  But it will blow over, I promise.  And they didn’t use your name.”

“Yeah, because they don’t have it yet,” Mia mumbles.  She stands up and leans over to hug me. “It will be fine,” she assures me also.  “Those stupid gossip sites are piranhas, but Dante is right.  They have very short attentions spans. They’ll forget about you soon enough- once you go home, for sure. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I murmur.  The last boy, Nate, stares unabashedly from the table.  He doesn’t stand up and his eyes seem sort of cold.  He’s got white blond hair and ice blue eyes.  He doesn’t seem friendly.  At all. 

“You’re pretty skinny for an American,” he observes.  No smile. 

“You’re pretty rude for a Caberran,” I answer.  No smile.  And that’s hard for me because I’m usually pretty smiley. 

“Oh, snap!” Gavin crows.  He laughs and shoves Nate’s arm, while Dante scowls. 

“Behave yourself,” Dante instructs Nate.  “I mean it.”

What the hell?  What had I done to Nate?  I hadn’t even had time to offend him yet.  Yet, apparently I had.  Even I’m not fast enough to stick my foot in my mouth that quickly.

“It’s alright,” Dante tells me.  “Nate had a bad experience in America when he was there last.  He’s not a fan.”

“Oh?”I raise an eyebrow.  “I thought you said Caberra loves Americans.  Or, our tourist dollars, anyway.”

Dante smiled graciously. “I said
I
love Americans.  I think most Caberrans do.  Nate just had a bad experience.”

“Really?” I turn toward Nate, determined to try one more time.  “What happened?  Pick-pocket in New York?  Rude people on the subway?”

“Girl problems,” Mia told me.  “He dated a true wench.  She only wanted his money and a free vacation to Caberra.”

“Oh.” I felt red stain my cheeks.  I should have known.  Relationship troubles seem to be the root of all evil.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Nate says stiltedly as he pushed away from the table.  “It’s just been my experience that American girls are all the same: self-entitled, arrogant and complete bitches.”

I stare at him, dumb-founded.  “I don’t know what to say to that,” I admit.

“Say nothing,” Gavin advises.  “He’s just being a dick.”

Nate glares at him before stalking off.  Dante follows him and I watch as they seem to have a few heated words by the edge of the pool. Dante sticks his finger in Nate’s face and Nate’s scowl seems glued into place.

“What’s his deal?” I ask Mia.  “Did he really get burned that badly?”

She nods.  “Uh-huh.  The girl was a cold-hearted wench.  I know that all American girls aren’t that way.  But Nate can’t seem to get it through his thick, pale head. And truly, he’s just kind of a dick in general.  He’s never happy.”

I watch as Nate stalks away and Dante returns to the group.  He doesn’t even seem flustered. 

“Where were we?” he asks smoothly as he pours a glass of lemonade and offers it to me.  It actually has mint leaves floating in it.  Fancy.

“You were getting ready to tell us that you are bringing Reece to the bonfire tonight,” Gavin answers fluidly without missing a beat. 

Gavin turns to me and takes my arm, speaking conspiratorially. 

“There will be fresh crab legs, oysters- and you know what those are good for- and clams. And all the fresh melted butter that any girl could ask for.  Plus, of course, the fruity drinks with umbrellas that all females appear to worship.” He bats his eyes in exaggeration. “Please say you’ll come. I will die a slow, painful, horrible death if you don’t.”

“What are oysters good for?” I ask him innocently with a straight face.  He stares at me as Mia hides a giggle.

“Seriously? You haven’t heard this?” he asks.  I shake my head even though I know dang good and well what they are good for. 

“They’re aphrodisiacs.  Tried and proven,” he thumps his chest proudly.  “I’ll make sure they have extras for you tonight, my lovely.”

Gavin grins at me and I have to laugh.  He’s ridiculous.  But I find that I like it.  Charm, cockiness and an inflated sense of ego.  What’s not to like?  The charm is the key. Without it, he’d just be an ass.

I grin. “Alright. I’ll be there.”  But then I look at Dante.  “I mean, will we?”

He smiles patiently.  “Anything you’d like.  You’re a guest in my home.  Your wish is my command.”

Gavin looks at him, then at me.  “You’d better study your list of commands,” he advises me. “Ask for something good.”

I laugh at his ridiculous expression, then turn to find Dante watching me. 

His blue eyes are solemn and I wonder what he is thinking.   

Laughingly, I ask, “I can ask for anything?”

Dante leans in, his lips so close to my cheek that I can feel his warm breath.

“Just say the word and it’s yours.”

I suck my breath in and stare at him.  He’s seems so serious all of a sudden and my heart starts skipping beats.  His nearness is making me crazy.  He smells delicious, like the earth, the sea, the sun and the woods.  I have to literally bite my lip from replying,
You.  I want you
. 

And I realize with a start, that I do. 

I do want him. 

I’ve known him all of two days and I want him completely, utterly and absolutely.

OhMyWord.

Chapter Eight

The sea here in Caberra is amazing.

During the day, it’s turquoise and clear and smells like salt. 

At night, right now, it is massive and black and mysterious.  And smells like salt. 

I guess that’s the case with the sea anywhere, but it seems especially amazing here. So clean and huge and romantic.  Maybe because this is Dante’s home. Or maybe it’s because I’m walking with him right now.

Next to the sea. 

In the dark. 

Under the stars.  

Be still my heart.

“So, what do you think of my home?” Dante asks conversationally as we navigate our way over driftwood that has washed ashore. He gently guides my elbow and I feel my stomach tighten with warm and trembly feelings.  He’s just so…perfect.  Too good to be true, almost. 

“I think it’s beautiful,” I tell him honestly.  “It seems so ancient and perfect.”

He smiles in response. “Thank you.  It is pretty ancient.  Not perfect, though, but it’s close.  Tell me more about your home.  You haven’t said that much.  What would you be doing right now if you were home in Kansas?”

I try to stare at him in the night, but it’s hard because it’s dark.  He senses my gaze though and laughs.  “Come on. It can’t be that bad.”

I glance again at the sea next to us. 

“Coming from here, you can’t begin to imagine a place where there isn’t much natural beauty,” I tell him.  “Picture a place where pioneers used to work themselves into an early grave in the sun and dust.  And that’s Kansas.”

Dante laughs again.

“But it’s not pioneer days anymore,” he reminds me.  “Seriously.  I want to picture where you come from.  Tell me about it.”

“Okay.”  I think on it for a second.  “Right now, it is stiflingly hot there. I’m talking hell’s kitchen hot, and not the cool New York City Hell’s Kitchen. I’m talking suck-your-breath-right-out-of-your-body hot. And right now, I’d either be lying on my bed writing in my journal or on my phone with my best friend, Becca.  Or I’d be sleeping over at her house.  And we might be sneaking out of her window to hang out with our friends.  We can’t sneak out of mine- my bedroom is too high up.”

“So, you’re a rule-breaker, then.  Noted,” he says.   I’m sure his eyes are twinkling again, although I can’t see them to make sure.

“No, I’m really not,” I answer.  “We don’t do anything bad.  We just meet up with our friends down by the river.  We light a little bonfire.  Sometimes there’s beer, although I’m not a beer drinker.  Sometimes, we float down the river on innertubes, which is pretty cool under the stars.  Although, we do have to watch out for Water Moccasins.”

“Water moccasins?”

“Poisonous water snakes.  They’re black and look harmless, like a stick floating in the water almost, but when they open up their mouths, the inside is cotton white.  That’s why they are also called Cotton Mouths.  And they can kill you in the time it takes for you to drive to the hospital.”

Dante winces. “Sounds interesting.  Tell me about Becca.  How long have you known her?”

We climb a small sand dune and I find that we are really out in the middle of nowhere.  Apparently, they come this far out so that Dante can have some privacy as he hangs out with his friends.  I think it’s nice that his friends are so understanding. 

“Becca is…Becca.”

I try to think of how to describe her. 

“She’s wild and crazy and funny.  She’s been my best friend since kindergarten.  She lives about five minutes from me so we can walk to and fro if we like. She lives on a farm, too.  She’s got an older brother, Connor, who is a bull-rider.  We go see him ride on Saturdays.”

“Bull riding?” Dante sounds dubious, like he thinks I’m trying to pull one over on him. I have to admit, it does sound like a contrived sport.  Who in their right mind would want to sit on a pissed off bull?  I spend a second explaining it to him. 

“Anyway,” I continue.  “Becca always hopes that Connor and I will end up together so that she and I will be related.”

“And what do you hope?  Do you like Connor?” Dante asks. 

I can’t read his tone.  Is he interested in my answer for any other reason aside from idle curiosity?

“I do like Connor…like a brother.  I’ve known him since we were kids and honestly, I can’t
like
like someone who knows every single thing about me. There needs to be some mystery there.  I only want the best for him, though.  Connor is a really good guy.  He’s away at college right now.  He comes home on the weekends.”

“I see.” Dante says.  Does he see?  “What does your farm look like?  I want to picture it in my head.”

“Well, it’s an old farm house.  Not old by Caberran standards, but old.  Two story, with white siding.  My mom and I live there with my grandparents.  My grandma is a big fan of your olives, by the way.  Sunflowers grow like crazy in Kansas and my mom has a small field of them behind one of our barns just because she likes them. We always seem to have a vase of them sitting on the kitchen table.  We have horses, cows, goats.  My horse’s name is Mischief.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn to ride,” Dante muses. 

“Then why haven’t you?”

“There aren’t any horses in Caberra,” he tells me.  “I suppose my father could have one shipped in for me, but I’ve never asked.”

“Well, if you ever come to the States, you’ll have to come visit me and I’ll give you a riding lesson,” I tell him. 

“I’d like that,” he answers.  And he sounds really sincere.  I try to picture him on a horse.  But I keep picturing him in his suit, or a set of linen trousers and I just can’t see him on a farm.

“Look,” Dante points.  “We’re almost there.”

A bonfire glows in the distance in what appears to be a little inlet. 

“We’re really out here,” I observe.  “Surely the media can’t find you here.”

“Even if they could,” Dante says, “They would be trespassing.  This is a private beach now.  And in this particular spot, it’s hidden from public view.  Even with zoom lenses, they can’t see us.”

For a second, I ponder this.  Dante has to live his entire life thinking about how he can go places without getting his picture taken, how to not get followed, how to not get hounded by photographers.  It must get really tiring.

“Do you ever get tired of having to be so careful?” I ask.  “Isn’t it exhausting?  I mean, you didn’t ask for this. It’s your father’s job. Not yours.”

“That’s true,” Dante answers thoughtfully.  “But I would never ask him to not do it.  Apparently, ever since my mother died, he hasn’t been the same.  This job gives him something to focus on.  It makes him happy.”

“How old were you when your mother died?” I ask. “Do you mind talking about it?”

He shakes his head.  “No.  I don’t mind. She died giving birth to me, so I don’t remember her at all.  I have pictures of her so I know that I look like her. My father tells me that I act like her.  But I never knew her.”

“She died giving birth?” I’m appalled.  “I didn’t know that happened these days.”

“It doesn’t usually,” he agrees.  “But apparently, the placenta detached during the birthing process.  She hemorrhaged internally and there wasn’t anything they could do. It happened very fast.  My father was devastated.  My grandmother helped him raise me until I was five and then she died, too.”

“You grew up with your grandmother?” Then we have one thing in common, at least.  My grandparents are a huge part of my life. 

Dante nods.  “Yes. She was like a mother to me.”

My heart is happy that he had the experience of having a mother-like figure.  I can’t imagine growing up without a maternal influence of some sort.  And his entire situation tugs at my heart strings.  Here he is… so beautiful and the son of such an important person and a billionaire to boot, yet he experienced tragedy at such a young age.  It just goes to show that money really can’t buy everything.

I reach over and grab his hand.  I find that I want to offer him comfort, even though his injury happened so long ago.  He squeezes my fingers and then all of a sudden, we are at the party. 

Kids are laughing and joking, the fire is blazing in a warm glow that reaches into the dark sky, and the moon hangs heavy overhead.  The evening breeze is just slightly chilly, but in a good way.