Dante’s Girl (11 page)

Oh my gosh.

Oh my gosh.

Oh. My. Gosh.

My breathing comes in pants as I try to slowly and calmly paddle backward, away from the shark, toward land, away from the shark.  Toward Land.  Away. From. The. Shark.

Then, a fin emerges.  
A fin.
 And I scream.  And scream.  And forget about not splashing.  I am splashing so much that every shark and sea creature in a hundred mile radius will know that I’m here. And I don’t care.  All I care about it surviving this shark attack.  Because it is going to attack me.  It’s stalking me right now like the prey that I am.  And very soon that water around me will be red because I’m going to die a bloody death.

And then I notice that the fin is made from hands.  A pair of hands. 

I freeze.

What the eff?

Dante bursts from the water, wearing gray swim trunks and shaking droplets from his hair as he lunges to grab me with a roar. 

I scream again because it’s happened so fast and my brain hasn’t had a chance to truly realize that it is Dante and not a shark. 

I’m not going to die.

I’m not going to die.

I’m not going to die.

I’m not going to become breakfast for JAWS. 

But I’m going to kill Dante. 

I’m so mad that I smack him on the arm.  And smack him again.

“Dante, what the hell?” I demand angrily, so mad that I’m seeing spots.  “Not funny!  So not funny!”

He looks confused, then startled as it registers with him that I am truly pissed off. Severely and completely pissed off.  Both with him for pulling the stupidest and oldest prank ever and with myself for falling for it. 

Oh-my-gosh-I’m-such-an-idiot. 

I try to force my heart rate to slow down before I become the first seventeen-year old in the history of the world to die from heart failure in the middle of a fake shark attack.  I definitely don’t want that on my tombstone. 

Here lies Reece Ellis: Dumbass.

“I’m sorry,” Dante tells me quickly, reaching for me.  I kick away from him, still furious.

“I’m really sorry,” he tells me again, swimming toward me. 

Even soaking wet, he is gorgeous.  Maybe even more so than when he is dry, if that is even possible.  The water runs over his defined muscles, the sun catches the highlights in his hair.  His blue eyes are contrite, his expression apologetic.  His jawline chiseled, his chest rock hard.  Wait.  I don’t want to notice those things right now. 

I’m pissed, I remind myself.  Seriously pissed.

He reaches out for my arm and this time, his long fingers wrap around my wrist and pull me to him.  He folds me into a hug, a sincere hug, and holds me tight.

And I’m not pissed anymore. 

Dante’s body is long and lean, his arms strong and bulging and wrapped around me right now.  He’s wet and slippery and so am I and I’m going to internally combust.  He smells like soap and salt and sun and I can’t breathe. 

Sweet baby monkeys. 

We tread water and Dante tells me again how sorry he is.  He’s cold and I’m cold and my lip starts to quiver because I’m freezing.  And also nervous because the most beautiful boy in the world has his arms around me.

Dante looks down into my eyes, his arms still wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me tightly to his chest.  I feel every inch of him pressed against me-
every inch
- and I might die.  Seriously die.

“I’m stupid,” he tells me with his super-sexy accent.  “Reece, I didn’t realize how afraid you are of sharks.  That was a stupid prank and I will make it up to you, okay?”

He looks seriously into my eyes, his face so sweet and gorgeous and sincere.  How can I stay mad at him when he is so unbelievably sweet and gorgeous and sincere? 

I can’t.

I nod instead. 

“It’s okay,” I whisper.  He tightens his hold on me as we kick to tread water and I enjoy the hardness of his body and how every plane of his chest ripples when he moves. 

He bends his head and I think… I’m pretty sure… I know… he’s going to kiss me.

But he flicks his fingers out and adjusts the strap of my mask instead, straightening it up from where it was crooked from leaning against him.

I exhale shakily and swim away from him a little ways, like a normal person, like I’m not someone whose wits were just addled from being so close to Dante Giliberti.

“Why aren’t you wearing a mask?” I ask. 

My voice sounds a little nasally from my stupid face mask.  I decide that I don’t want to look like Darth Vader and pull it off. I’m not going to be snorkeling anymore, anyway.

Dante smiles.  “I’m not here to snorkel,” he tells me.  “I came to find you.”

“How did you know where to look?” I ask.

He looks amused.  “Really?” he asks wryly.  “It’s one of the few perks of my dad’s job.  I know everything that happens in Caberra.” 

I narrow my eyes.  “Do you have someone watching me?”

He looks guilty.  “Um.  I may have assigned one of my security guards to you.  Just while you’re here, of course.  I mean, you’re my responsibility and I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Because the crime rate here in paradise is so high?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from my voice.  Dante looks properly chastised and I have to admit, in a weird stalker way, it was a sweet thing that he did.  I feel protected, anyway.

“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.  And 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.”