Dante’s Girl Page 11

  “What just happened?”

  He shakes his head. “Gavin happened. Don’t worry about it. He’s been this way since we were kindergarteners. He likes to compete with me. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” Dante steps closer to me and my heart automatically picks up.

  “Now, where were we?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Well, I don’t know about you,” I answer. “But I was just escorted to a really fancy party by deceptive means. That’s where I was. Where were you?”

  Dante laughs, an honest, happy sound and I find myself wishing that I could bathe in it. He’s tan and handsome and self-assured. He’s so different from the boys that I know from back home. Did I say that I hate Caberra? I meant that I love it.

  I love Caberra. I’m sure of it now.

  “I was looking for you,” Dante admits, ducking his head and grasping my hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses it. Holy-freaking-monkey-balls. Are all boys in Caberra this swoon-worthy or is it just Dante?

  I study him as he straightens up, scanning over his broad shoulders, golden hair, sparkling deeper-than-the-ocean eyes and healthy, bronzed skin.

  It’s just Dante.

  Of that, I am sure.

  “Well, you’ve found me,” I answer when I finally can.

  He grins. “That I have. Now what should I do with you?”

  Holy-loaded-question. I know exactly what I’d like for him to do with me. But obviously I can’t answer that. My mama raised me to be a lady. Or she thinks she did, anyway.

  I shrug nonchalantly, as though I don’t care, as though he isn’t the first thing I thought of this morning when I woke up or the last thing I thought of before I went to sleep last night.

  Dante Giliberti has certainly made himself at home in my thoughts. And I don’t think he’s going anywhere any time soon.

  He holds out his arm and I slide my fingers into the crook of his elbow.

  “Come with me,” he tells me. “You should meet my father.”

  For some reason, I have to force my feet to move. I don’t want to meet his father because if I haven’t met him yet, then I haven’t said anything stupid yet. And that’s just fine with me. I’d rather just be a faceless house-guest in his mind.

  Dante chuckles when he looks at my face.

  “Don’t worry,” he tells me gently. “He’s just a normal person. He’ll love you.”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “A normal person who happens to have a royal guard and his very own family crest. Normal people in Kansas have those things, too.”

  Dante laughs again as he navigates our way through the crowded room. Everyone is looking at us and I focus hard on not getting my heels tangled in my dress. The last thing I need is to trip and fall in front of everyone.

  On the way, Dante pauses and stops a waiter who is wearing black tails and white gloves and is walking like he has a broom taped to his spine. Dante takes two elegant flute glasses from the waiter’s tray and hands me one. I sniff at the bubbling liquid.

  “For courage,” Dante says, and clinks his glass to mine.

  Champagne.

  I look around quizzically and somewhat frantically. I’m so not a rule-breaker. Are we seriously going to drink this in front of all of these adults and law-enforcement figures?

  Dante laughs at my expression.

  “I forgot,” he chuckles. “You’re American. You have a ridiculously repressed drinking age. Here, we can legally drink at 15 if we are in private homes or private parties. We can’t buy it until we are 18, though.”

  As I think about the many drinking and driving accidents back home with teenagers who aren’t supposed to be drinking, I wonder at the wisdom of such a ridiculously young drinking age.

  But then again, there’s always the theory that if society condones an activity, then it won’t be as appealing for teenagers as it is to break a law. Either way. I’m holding a glass of what is probably very expensive champagne and it is not illegal for me to drink it here. And Dante is right. I need some courage.

  So I sip at the bravery-in-a-glass.

  And immediately snort as the bubbles well up in my nose.

  Then I cough.

  And I turn red in the face as I continue to cough.

  Oh. My. Word. Can I not do anything right? I need to look graceful and cool as I grasp the elegant champagne glass and drink it. Instead, I am hacking like a drunk donkey and I’ve only had one little sip.

  Dante gently pats my back, trying to help.

  I want to melt into the ballroom floor and die. Everyone is looking at me. Including Dimitri Giliberti.

  The Prime Minister stops what he is doing and heads in our direction. He is wearing a very authentic and important looking military uniform. He has a band across his chest like the guards, but his is more of a satin sash. It’s blue and his jacket is dark red. I picture that same outfit on Napoleon Bonaparte. Only Dimitri is a lot taller. And Napoleon was French.

  Dimitri Giliberti doesn’t look very much like Dante. Dante is blond, Dimitri is rather dark. But they have the same tall build with broad shoulders and slim hips. And they have the same eyes.

  Dimitri draws to a stop in front of us and extends his hand.

  “Good evening, young lady. I’m Dimitri Giliberti and I hear that you’ve had some travel problems. I do hope that your stay in my home has been pleasant.”

  He’s so formal and adult, but his eyes are warm. I instantly like him. I can’t help it. I nod.

  “Yes. Thank you so much for hosting me. I can’t believe that all of the airports are closed. What a freak thing.”

  I just used the word freak in a conversation with the Prime Minister of a country. I’m the freak.

  He smiles and I see that he and Dante share the same gorgeous, nerve-raveling smile, as well. That smile should be illegal.

  “It is certainly a freak thing,” he answers with a smile.

  He holds out his arm, and I stare at him. Am I supposed to take it? If I touch him will his guards throw me to the ground and subdue me? I see Buzz Cut in the distance, watching our interaction with his hawk-like eyes and I’m sure that he’d love to manhandle me. Jerk.

  Dante helps me by gently undoing my hold on his arm and subtly stepping away. He’s silently giving me permission, I can tell. I shoot him a look of gratitude. I’m such a fish out of water here.

  I grasp Dimitri’s arm as lightly as I can, while trying not to spill the champagne that I am holding in my other hand all over him. I also have to try and not trip on my skirt in my stilts-from-hell. I’m so screwed. I’ve never been a great multi-tasker.

  Dimitri guides me through the crowd and introduces me to various VIP’s, including Elena’s mother and Gavin’s father. They are both very friendly and social. I expected it out of Gavin’s family, but not Elena’s. But her mother is perfectly friendly. Perfect manners. Perfect face, just like Elena.

  Once we have made the rounds, Dimitri guides me to a nearby elegant table where he slides a chair out for me, then slides it back in after I have taken a seat. He sits beside me and I watch Dante mingle across the room. He checks on me every once in awhile. I see him look at me. Our eyes meet and he smiles, then he continues his conversation.

  I wish he is the one sitting with me.

  But he’s not.

  I’m sitting with the Prime Minister.

  Of a country.

  Dimitri watches me. “You like my son, yes?” he asks. He and Dante have the same accent.

  “Your son is extremely nice,” I tell him. “He has the most perfect manners that I’ve ever seen. You should be very proud. He puts all of the boys from back home to shame.”

  “Ah, America,” Dimitri muses thoughtfully. “Tell me of your home, Miss Ellis. I do love hearing about other countries. America is particularly fascinating.”

  He takes a sip of champagne and motions for me to do the same. So I do. It’s fruity and bubbly and not as sweet as you would think. I decide that it must be an acquired taste. And I have
n’t acquired it yet. But at least I don’t choke on it this time. Baby steps, I guess.

  I start talking about home. I tell him about the farms, the sunflowers, the wretched summer heat, the storms, the tornadoes, the friendly people. Before I even realize it, I’ve been talking for fifteen minutes and my champagne glass is empty. Mr. Giliberti motions for a waiter, who arrives with a fresh glass within seconds.

  He’s the Prime Minister. He obviously doesn’t have to wait.

  “Your home sounds lovely,” he tells me in his charming accent. “Especially the people. I have heard that the people from America’s heartland are truly some of the friendliest in the world.”

  I nod. “I agree with that. It’s certainly true of Kansans.”

  He sips at his champagne and I notice a huge glittering Onyx ring on his ring finger. It looks like a black eye. I sip at my fresh glass of champagne.

  “Tell me more about you,” he encourages me. “You are entering your last secondary school, yes?”

  It takes me a second to realize that he means high school and I nod.

  “Yes. I’ll be a senior this year, like Dante.”

  “Where will you be going to University after that?” he asks politely.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. All I know is that I want to get into marketing. I think that sounds fun. So I suppose I’ll have to find out which schools are best for that.”

  Dimitri’s eyes light up. “Ah, marketing. Such an interesting field,” he says and I can tell that he means it. “Has Dante mentioned that we own an olive business? We have to dabble in marketing strategy ourselves. It’s quite interesting. We employ a marketing team, of course, but I do enjoy working with them. What are your plans for this summer? Perhaps you would like to intern with them.”

  I stare at him, speechless.

  Did he just invite me to stay for the summer?

  Dante’s voice interrupts my fog.

  “Reece! That’s a brilliant idea! You could stay and work for Giliberti Olives. It would look great on your college applications. Do you think your parents would let you?”

  I’m dumbfounded.

  I could stay in Caberra with the most beautiful boy in the world, working in his beautiful olive groves.

  I find myself nodding. “I’m sure they would be flattered that you think that I am able,” I stammer.

  Dimitri laughs. “Of course you are able,” he tells me. “You’ll be an intern. It’s an entry level position and you will learn quite a bit, I am sure. I can tell that you are a quick study. I will personally call your parents in the morning to gain their permission. It will be a wonderful opportunity for you.”

  I stare at Dante in shock. He looks pleased.

  A wonderful opportunity? Try amazingly-awesome-I’m going to wet my pants-opportunity. That’s how awesome it is.

  “Thank you, sir,” I tell Dimitri. “This is so nice of you. I’m speechless. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Well, I can think of one thing you shouldn’t say,” he answers with a twinkle in his eye. “Sir. Don’t call me sir. You are a family friend. Please, call me Dimitri.”

  I feel shocked again. I’m on a first name basis with the leader of a country?

  Surely this is a dream. It has to be.

  Numbly, I nod. “Okay. Thank you. Dimitri.”

  He looks satisfied and takes his leave.

  I’m left alone with Dante, which to be honest, I am ecstatic about.

  “Will your parents say yes?” Dante asks me. He sits down beside me and hands me another glass of champagne. This will be my third glass. I take it with amazingly agile fingers. I’ve got this. I’ve so got this.

  And then I realize that the liquid courage has worked. I feel invincible. I’m not even nervous anymore. About anything. My mind is a little foggy but I can deal with that. It makes me a little detached…takes the worry away. I find that I quite like it. And then I giggle because it makes me think words like quite.

  “What’s funny?” Dante asks curiously, his fingers resting on my arm. Every nerve ending immediately explodes into flame, as every cell in my body is aware of his fingers. I like the weight of it on my skin. I hope that he never moves it.

  But he does. And I feel its absence immediately.

  “Nothing,” I answer. “This just feels surreal. And I’m sure that my parents will say yes. How in the world could they tell your father no?”

  “Not many people do,” Dante agrees. “It’s a hard thing to do, trust me.”

  He looks regretful, which makes me instantly curious.

  “Why do you look sad?” I ask. “You live in a beautiful country with the world at your fingertips. Your dad is amazing and nice and you’re a billionaire. What could possibly make you sad?”

  Dante studies me, his cobalt eyes serious, his expression unreadable.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” he finally says. “Someplace quieter.”

  A quiet place with Dante? Yes, Please!

  I scramble to my feet and walk with him through the crowd again, this time oblivious to the stares. He has a huge stride and I find myself hurrying to keep up, two steps for every one of his. He weaves us through the people and out the doors in record time.

  Before I know it, we are on a terrace. In the dark. Under the stars.

  With Dante.

  This may as well be Heaven.

  In fact, it might actually be.

  Have I died and didn’t realize it?

  I flex my fingers and poke at my thigh.

  My mind is fuzzy and I feel like I am moving slower than I actually am. Is life in slow motion right now or is it me? I blink hard then poke myself again.

  “Are you alright?” Dante asks, watching me curiously. I nod.

  “Yep. I’ve just never had three glasses of champagne before. In fact, I’ve never even had one. Until now.”

  I giggle at the thought and Dante smiles.

  “Okay, drunk girl. Let’s sit you down.”

  He guides me to a lounger and eases me onto it. I clutch at his arm, not wanting to let him go. He stares down at me.

  “You really have had too much to drink, haven’t you, little sunflower?”

  The name warms my heart and I decide that he is the handsomest person in the world.

  “Is handsomest a word?” I ask him.

  He looks at me blankly.

  “I don’t know,” he answers slowly. “Why?”

  “You’re the handsomest person in the world,” I announce. “I don’t care if it’s a word or not. You are it, one way or another.”

  Dante smiles and runs a hand through his hair, as though he’s trying to decide what to do.

  “Oh. Okay. Um, thanks? What am I going to do with you? You’re adorable when you are drunk. But I made you drunk, even if it was an accident. How was I supposed to know that you’re such a lightweight?”

  He sounds like he is waging some sort of battle with himself.

  “Who exactly are you arguing with?”I ask, the champagne clouding my thoughts in a very thorough way. “You will get no arguments from me tonight. No matter what.”

  He sighs, a husky and ragged sound.

  It’s sexy.

  I scoot closer to him and drag him down until he is sitting on the lounger with me. His warmth feels nice out here because the air has turned cool. It’s dark and I feel like we’re in our own little world. I run my fingers over his arm, then grip at his shoulders.

  “You’re so strong,” I tell him. “And your fingers are so long.”

  I don’t know what that has to do with anything, I just feel like pointing it out. Because his fingers are long. I pick up his hand and slide my own against it. His hand is at least a full inch longer than mine. Probably more. I curl my fingers around his and hold tight to his hand.

  I look up at him.

  He is so devastatingly beautiful in the moonlight.

  I tell him so.

  He stares at me, his dark gaze unwavering. Except for my knees. It
definitely wavers my knees, if that is possible. I know I wouldn’t be able to stand up if I tried. Which I’m not going to. I’m staying right here…with Dante.

  “Kiss me,” I whisper. “Please.”

  Dante is silent, his blue eyes frozen on me.

  And then he lowers his head and his soft lips are upon mine.

  And I might seriously die this time.

  For real.

  I’m kissing Dante.

  Kissing.

  Dante.

  The thoughts won’t stop running through my head as Dante kisses me in the most romantic and soft kiss I’ve ever experienced. My thoughts blur together and all I can do now is immerse myself in the moment. The world actually seems to explode for a second. This is the most amazing kiss in the history of the world.

  Dante smells so good, and his arms are so strong and his tuxedo jacket is so soft against my skin and this is the most romantic terrace I’ve ever seen. So, so romantic. I am clutching at him, trying to get closer and closer. The flowers that surround us throw their luscious scents into the breeze and I never want this moment to end. Not ever.

  Not.

  Ever.

  But it does.

  Exactly one moment later, actually.

  Dante’s phone rings in his pocket and the loud noise brings us both back to reality. I stop clutching at him and he reluctantly reaches into his pocket and answers his phone.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear it earlier.” Long pause. “No, I’m not there at the moment. I didn’t realize you were coming.” Longer pause. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Pause. “Yes. See you then.”

  He hangs up and my heart falters for a moment because I know who he was speaking with even before I ask.

  “Elena?”

  My voice seems small and suddenly the terrace seems like it is moving. I steady myself with my hands on the lounger and I blink hard to clear my fuzzy vision.

  Dante nods without saying anything.

  But I have liquid courage raging through my veins and I’m suddenly not afraid to ask the question that I’ve been wondering all along. It’s burning within me and I have to know.

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  There is utter silence on the terrace and I am afraid to look at him. I’m afraid of the answer. I’m afraid of the expression that might be on his face. I’m suddenly afraid of everything.