Dante’s Girl Page 7

  I hesitate. Then decide to pull my big-girl panties up and explain. Holy crap. I’m not a child. I can totally do this without blushing. I can.

  “Mountain Oysters are bull balls. Bull testicles, if you want to be technical. I accidentally tried them when Connor and Quinn tricked Becca and I into eating them at a rodeo.”

  I’m blushing. My cheeks are red-hot.

  “A rodeo?” Dante looks both curious at that and appalled and disgusted at the notion of eating a bull’s balls.

  “It’s a sporting event,” I tell him. “I can explain it later. Is there anything else to eat here?”

  Dante looks around and then shakes his head regretfully.

  “I’m sorry. No. This is sort of a tradition. We cook fresh seafood on the beach at night. Our parents did it, our parents’ parents did it. And so on. We’re not civilized enough to bring bread or anything.” He grins and touches my arm.

  I feel the heat from his touch long after his hand is gone.

  A perfect imprint of his hand is emblazoned on my arm.

  It might be there forever for all that I know.

  “Are you ready?” Dante asks, in a tone that suggests that he’s repeating himself.

  “What?” I look at him dumbly.

  He stares back patiently.

  “Are you ready to go? I’ll get you something to eat in the Palace kitchens.”

  “Oh. We don’t have to go so soon. We can just eat when we get back. No big deal.”

  Dante looks around and I follow his gaze.

  There are two girls leaning into each other on the sand near us. It looks like they will pass out at any given moment. The group of boys in swim trunks have moved their party to the water and are rough-housing in the cold waves, shouting and hollering. Gavin is busy trying to score with a petite blonde who still seems a tiny bit sober and all around us, drunken laughter splits the night. It seems that we are the only two completely sober people here. I don’t see Elena anywhere.

  “I’m ready,” Dante tells me. I realize then that I haven’t seen him with a drink in his hand all evening.

  “Do you not drink?”

  He looks down at me, his face oh-so-handsome in the moonlight. The silvery light washes across his cheeks, illuminating his cut-cheek-bones and I find that I want to touch him. I want to run my fingertips across his skin and inhale his man smell. Oh, Lord. What is wrong with me?

  “I don’t,” he tells me. “Not usually. Some champagne here and there at my father’s functions, but not really anything else. The last thing I need is for pictures of that to hit the papers. I can see the headlines now: Caberran Prince parties himself to an early grave.”

  “It must be hard to be you,” I say softly. “You have to think about every little thing you do.”

  He stares down at me again, his eyes dark blue in the night.

  “It’s not so hard to be me,” he tells me. “And sometimes, it’s better than others.”

  He brushes against me then, his hand lingering slightly against my hip. It stays there for a second, then another. Did he mean to do that?

  Surely he knows where his hand is.

  I feel connected to him, like there is electricity jolting in the air, just like it felt on the plane. His eyes are staring into mine and my heart is taking off like a galloping race horse. He takes a step closer to me and now he’s definitely in my personal space. But I like it. I can feel the heat emanating from his body and it’s pulling me to him. If I wanted, I could take one little step and push myself against his chest.

  If I wanted.

  Which I do.

  Want to.

  And then, just when I start to move my foot, I hear my name.

  A plaintive, pitiful mewl.

  “Reece.”

  A whimper.

  I turn, only to find Mia on her hands on knees next to the chair that I left her in. She stops whimpering and throws up gallons of purple wine-cooler. I wince. And she throws up more. Then she’s crying.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur to Dante and then I rush for Mia.

  I feel him behind me, but I don’t look. I just sink to the ground next to Mia and hold her short hair out of her face while she pukes.

  Because this is what a friend does. They take care of their friends even when it is inconvenient or inopportune. Am I her only friend? I look around, but don’t see anyone else coming to help. But to be fair, half of the people here are in her same condition.

  “Reece, I feel so horrible,” Mia whines.

  “Of course you do,” I soothe her, patting her back. “We should get you home.”

  She sits up and throws her arms around me. “Thank you, Reece. You’re a really good friend.”

  I’m about to answer her with a sweet reply when she starts heaving again and before I can turn her around, she throws up on me. Her orangey-purplish vomit runs down the front of my shirt and the smell makes me want to throw up too.

  “Oh, jeez,” Dante cringes. “I’m sorry, Reece.”

  He scoots around me and picks up Mia gently by her arms. “Mia, sweetie, we’ve got to get you home.”

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket with one hand and murmurs something into it. Within two minutes, Buzz Cut and another security guard are at Dante’s side. Were they out here on stand-by this whole time? The thought impresses me and creeps me out at the same time. Does Dante ever get any privacy?

  “Mia, Russell is going to take you home,” Dante tells her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  Mia nods in her barely cognizant state and then her head flops limply against Russell’s chest. It looks like Russell glares at Dante before he stalks away, but I can’t be sure.

  Dante turns to me. “Let’s go get that rinsed off.”

  I nod mutely and let Dante take me by the arm again. He leads me away from the party, down by the water, away from the splashing boys. We’re in a quiet little inlet where my feet sink into the wet sand and I look around. Were the rest of his security detail close-by and watching?

  I bend down and try to wash my shirt off.

  It’s not happening. It’s too difficult while I’m still wearing it on my body.

  “Okay,” Dante assesses the situation. “You’re going to have to take it off.”

  My gaze flies to his face in surprise.

  “No.”

  Is he really just like every other boy?

  He just wants to see my boobs?

  I thought he was different.

  Dante sighs patiently.

  “I mean, I’ll give you my shirt to wear and you can rinse yours out in the water before it stains. I’ve never actually seen it specifically mentioned on laundry detergent commercials, but I’m guessing that bright purple vomit will stain a shirt.”

  “You’re probably right,” I cringe as I feel the nasty stuff soaking through and touching my skin. “Okay. You’re definitely right. I need to take it off.”

  The prospect of taking my shirt off in front of him both thrills me and terrifies me.

  “Here,” Dante says. He’s already shrugging out of his button-up chambray shirt. He holds it up against me like a shield. “You stand behind my shirt and take yours off. No one will see you.”

  “Okay. Close your eyes,” I instruct him. He instantly closes them tight.

  I pull my shirt off quickly and drop it on the ground next to me. I feel odd standing here in just my bra and shorts when Dante is literally just a breath away. Just one breath. He could reach his hand out and my bare skin is right here for him to touch.

  And I’m being ridiculous.

  He is standing there with his eyes closed like the gentleman that he is.

  He’s not going to reach out and touch me.

  I gulp and reach to take his shirt and I hear something.

  Something quiet, non-descript… and something that shouldn’t be there.

  I turn, just in time to hear the clicking of a camera. The flash bulbs practically blind me as I yank Dante’s shirt around me.


  Dante yells and chases whoever is taking the pictures and I am left to quickly slip his shirt on and button it up. I glance toward the bluff and no one is there. Dante is gone and no one else even noticed that anything had happened.

  Everyone else is too drunk to notice, apparently.

  I take my shirt to the edge of the water and kneel down to wash it. Dante’s shirt is soft against my skin, and it smells like him. I enjoy the feeling for a second and then roll the sleeves up so that they aren’t dragging over my knuckles.

  “I couldn’t catch him,” Dante’s voice said from behind me. He was resigned and pissed off. “I’m really sorry, Reece.”

  I’m confused and I turn to him. “Why are you sorry?”I ask. “You didn’t do it.”

  He shakes his head. “No. But it’s because of me. My life will never be normal and I’m really sorry that it has affected you in such a way.”

  “If you hadn’t sent Russell with Mia, this wouldn’t have happened, would it?” I guessed. I can just tell that Russell’s eyes never miss anything.

  “Probably not,” Dante admitted. “So, I’m sorry about that, too. She just needed to go home and I wasn’t ready to leave you yet. I wanted a little bit of time alone with you. So, this is my fault.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, it wasn’t. Not at all. You were trying to be a good friend.”

  But in my head, I’m singing. No, I’m screaming. In my head. Silently.

  Dante wanted alone time with me? With me??

  Dante turns his head and his eyes meet mine and for a moment I see something in his, something a little vulnerable and slightly sad and very beautiful all at the same time.

  Just for a moment.

  And then it is gone.

  Chapter Ten

  Dante cuts me the biggest slice of chocolate cake that I’ve ever seen, then pours a glass of milk. He pushes both things toward me.

  “Is that goat’s milk?” I ask hesitantly, eyeing the foaming white liquid. “Because I haven’t seen one single cow since I got here.”

  “And you’ve seen a goat?” he raises an eyebrow. “Just because we don’t let our cows run in the streets like they do in India doesn’t mean that we don’t have them. We have dairies like everyone else.”

  “Okay. Don’t get all offended,” I grin. “It was a valid question.”

  He shrugs good-naturedly. “I’ll give you that. And I’m not offended.”

  Dante smiles and my heart races.

  It’s just that simple. When he does anything, smiles, laughs, looks at me, breathes… my heart reacts. He’s definitely replaced Quinn in my daydreams.

  I take a bite of the chocolate cake and all of a sudden, I feel like I’m a president’s kid sneaking to the kitchens of the White House in the middle of the night for cake. The only difference is, I’m across the world from the White House and I’m not the President’s Kid.

  Dante is.

  More or less.

  “What?” he asks, studying my face. “What are you thinking about?”

  His hand is splayed on the granite counter and I look at his fingers. They’re long, like he is. I wish I had the guts to pick his hand up and hold it. I know that we had a moment back on the beach earlier. I know it. But we hadn’t said anything the whole way back and now here we are talking about goat’s milk.

  Romantic.

  “Nothing,” I answer. “I just can’t believe I’m here. That’s all. It seems too surreal. I’m a normal girl from small-town America. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.”

  “Yet it did,” Dante points out. He has a cleft in his chin. I’m in love with the cleft in his chin. It’s masculine and perfect and I find that I want to place my thumb in it to see if it fits. But I don’t.

  “True,” I acknowledge. “But only because of a crazy accident at the airport.”

  “Some might say it was a lucky accident,” Dante points out.

  “Well, that probably depends on your perspective,” I answer. “The families of the people on that crashed plane wouldn’t agree. But for me, yes. It was lucky. I’m in a beautiful country instead of having uncomfortable silences with my father right now. So, thank you for that.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Dante says. Is that a slight flush in his cheeks? “I spoke with my father. He will be back here in the morning and would like for you to join us for dinner tomorrow evening. Would you like to?”

  I stare at him. Dinner with a Prime Minister?

  “It depends,” I answer slowly. “Will we be having crab legs?”

  Dante laughs and shakes his head.

  “You have no idea what’s good,” he chuckles. “We can have whatever you’d like to have. Do you like steak? Steak from a cow, not steak from a goat?”

  I crack up and we laugh together and start talking about fathers and goats and life and before I know it, we’ve been talking for over an hour.

  “Holy cow,” I breathe, looking at the clock on the wall. “It’s 2:00 a.m.”

  “You should definitely go to bed, little Sunflower,” Dante says. “You’ve got an 11:00 a.m. shopping date. That is, if Mia remembers.”

  I stare at him again. “How did you even hear that? You must have ears like a bat.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Either way, you should get some sleep.”

  We put our dishes in the sink and creep through the dark, quiet mausoleum-like house. At night, it seems even less like a real home.

  “Do you think the airports will open up soon?” I ask as we climb the stairs.

  “I have no idea,” Dante answers. “But they can’t stay closed forever.”

  That’s sort of what I’m afraid of.

  He walks me to my bedroom door and pauses. And I almost think that he might kiss me. Because we did have a moment back on the beach, dang it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes my hair behind one ear and then leans forward ever so slightly as he tells me to have sweet dreams.

  Of course I will, I think. They’ll be about you.

  “Thank you, “I actually say. “You too.”

  He smiles a tired smile and starts to walk away and as I stare at his bare back, I remember his shirt.

  “Wait!” I cry. “What about your shirt?”

  He smiles again.

  “You can just send it to the laundry,” he answers. “They know where I live. They’ll get it back to me.”

  I shake my head and close my bedroom door.

  And then I sit on my bed and inhale his shirt. As in, I literally bury my face into it and breathe. It smells just like him. And I love it. I wonder if he would notice if I don’t send it to the laundry? Being the rule-follower that I am, though, I know that I will. I’m not going to steal his shirt. But I go ahead and do the next best thing.

  I sleep in it.

  Scratch that.

  I over-sleep in it.

  When I open my eyes, the clock says 10:30 a.m. And the clock has no reason to lie.

  With a yelp, I scramble out of bed and find that my shirt has been laundered and is wrapped in tissue-paper on the end of my bed. A member of housekeeping had crept in as I slept, which is a little unnerving, but I put it out of my mind as I rush to brush my teeth and get dressed.

  And then as I fumble around for my shoes, I notice my cell phone.

  12 missed calls, 8 voicemails. What the eff?

  Grabbing it, I see that I have it set to silent, which would explain why I didn’t hear it ring. Did something happen? Did grandma or grandpa have a heart attack? It’s the only thing I can think of until I see that all of the calls are from Becca’s number.

  Weird.

  I hold it to my ear and listen.

  And then I want to die as I hear the messages.

  Becca had been rummaging through my clothes to borrow my favorite yellow halter-top and came across my journal. And of course, she read it.

  And I had written all about how I’m secretly in love with Quinn.

  Because my journal is supposed to be secret.

  But no
w she knows.

  And she wants to kill me.

  OhMyGosh.

  Not only does Becca know, but she thinks that I’m secretly plotting to break them up. Because awhile back, she and Quinn had had a fight and I’d advised her that I didn’t know if I’d believe him when he said that he hadn’t been flirting with a strange girl at our track meet. And I’d meant it. I didn’t have any ulterior motives. I’d simply seen Quinn’s face as he was talking with the girl. He was flirting.

  And Becca busted him. Period. It was pretty cut and dried, I thought. But I guess it wasn’t.

  I drop my face into my hands. This isn’t good.

  But it is 10:56 a.m. and Mia will be here any minute to go shopping.

  So I can’t call Becca back right now.

  And honestly, it might be good to give her a little space anyway.

  Just a little.

  Just until I have built up enough courage to face her, because Becca’s right. I totally betrayed her by falling in love with her boyfriend. She has no idea that my crush on Quinn has totally been eclipsed by my crush on Dante.

  It doesn’t take away the fact that I’d kept it a secret from her. And that’s the most hurtful thing. We don’t keep secrets from each other. Not ever. Not until now.

  I sigh. Why is life so complicated sometimes?

  10:58.

  The phone rings beside the bed and I pick it up, hesitantly.

  “Hello?”

  It’s someone from downstairs. Mia’s here. Apparently, they can’t just send her up without permission from someone, so I give my permission and wait. She arrives just a minute or two later.

  She raps on my bedroom door and I answer and am surprised to see that she looks no worse for the wear. She laughs at my expression.

  “Expecting someone else?” she asks, stepping into my room.

  “No,” I stammer. “I just thought you’d be… hung over.”

  She laughs again. “I hide it well,” she confides. “My head is splitting.”

  Mia is dressed in a micro-mini layered with two black tank tops and about five rhinestone encrusted belts. Her short black hair is held back from her face by rhinestone headbands and overall, she looks like a sparkly rock star. She’s even wearing five inch heels.