Dante’s Girl (12 page)

“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 when 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.

“I know that you’re an American heathen,” he begins.  “So, I’ll educate you.  Don’t eavesdrop again.  It’s rude.  And it’s unacceptable.”

I stare at him incredulously.

“Unacceptable?  I don’t know a lot about Caberra, I will admit,” I say as icily as I can with my heart thumping in my throat.  “But I’m pretty sure there is no law against standing on the beach.  If you don’t want to be overheard, don’t talk so loudly.  Have a good day.”

I spin on my heel and do my best stalking imitation.

And then I’m grabbed by the elbow and spun harshly around.  I gasp and yank away. 

Nate is staring at me again, and he thumps his finger on my chest.

“Mind your own business,” he says.  “And leave me alone.”

He pivots and walks away before I can even say anything.  I’m so shocked at his behavior and by the fact that he grabbed me-he actually freaking grabbed me- that I can’t even speak.  I watch him retreat as I rub at my arm. 

What the eff just happened?

Chapter Thirteen

To: Becca Cline <
[email protected]

From: Reece Ellis

Subject:  A package

Becca,

I know that you’re really, really pissed at me.  And I’m really, really sorry for never telling you that I had a crush on Quinn.  I thought I was doing the right thing. I mean, it’s not cool to crush on your best friend’s boyfriend and I felt guilty about it.  But I couldn’t help it.  The feelings were always there. But they aren’t anymore.  I don’t have a crush on him anymore, I promise. 

Having you mad is KILLING ME.  I hate it. 

I found a little gift for you here.  I just sent it down to be mailed.  I hope you like it.  I don’t know- I might arrive back at home before the package does.  It’s hard to say.  If only this stupid ash would clear up then the airports would open. They say it might be a few more days. 

Please forgive me for being stupid. 

Xoxo,

Reece

I close the lid of the laptop again and rub at my elbow.  I know there’s going to be a bruise.  I can feel the black and blue forming already. Nate had grabbed me hard.  Really hard.  Way harder than was necessary for the context of our conversation.  Not that physical violence was ever necessary
at all.
 

Why had he gotten so angry?  I replay his words in my head and I can’t help but wonder at them. 

Dante is very protective of him
, he had said. 

Who is Dante protective of?   

I’m sure there’s something to find.  I’ll just have to look harder. 

What is Nate trying to find?  It is clearly something very important since he had gotten so angry with me.  But his anger was senseless.  I have no clue what he was talking about, other than it somehow concerns Dante.  But Dante is Nate’s friend.  So whatever it is can’t be a threat to Dante, right?  I mean, they’re friends.  But the tone of Nate’s voice hadn’t been so friendly.  And even now, I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it.

I look at the clock.  It’s 7:00.  Only an hour until the dinner, so I’d better start getting ready.  My phone dings and I look. 

Is it okay if I pick you up at your room at 7:45?

Dante. 

I fight the urge to sigh out loud.  Even a simple text message from him sets my heart loose on a 100-yard sprint. Just the sight of his name or the sound of it on my tongue makes the breath catch in my throat.  I feel paralyzed.  And excited. And a little like a seventh-grader.  

I text back.

Sure.  I’ll be the one in the long blue dress.

I send it and then roll my eyes.  I’m such a cornball.

Dante answers within a few seconds.

Thanks!  I was wondering how I’d know it was you.

My heart smiles and the warmth spreads throughout my body.   There is nothing hotter in the whole entire world than a great sense of humor.  And Dante can make me smile almost without even speaking.  He’s just that funny.  I adore that.  A-Dore.

7:10.  I’d better get a move on it.

I shower.

I shave my legs.

I shave my legs a second time for good measure.

I moan about a small zit in the crease of my nose.

I put some makeup on and then moan about the fact that I’m not Marilyn Monroe.

Then I moan about the fact that Marilyn Monroe has been dead for umpteen years. 

Then I moan about the fact that I’m a lunatic who does not look glamorous at all. 

At. All.

Even though I’m wearing as floor length strapless gown bought for me by a beautiful boy. 

There’s clearly something wrong with me.  Anyone else would look ah-may-zing.

I stare into the mirror. 

I had gotten some sun while I was out and about and my nose is a little pink.  My eyes are pretty, like they always are, but I just look so little-girl-like, like I have an inner seventh-grader who is busting to get out.  My hair falls over my shoulders in limp waves.  And I decide that won’t do.  I’ve got to pin it up.

I dig through my makeup case and find a handful of bobby pins.  I vaguely remember how to do a chignon from my ballet years a long time ago.  I also hope that I haven’t used the pins to clean out my toe-nails or something equally gross.  I twist my hair into a bun at my neck and stick the pins through it. 

I examine myself again.

Okay.  I look better.  More elegant, anyway, more grown-up, more polished.  More like I am attending a State Dinner instead of prom.  I hitch up the front of my dress and pray that it doesn’t slip down during dinner.  I am not what you might call
overly endowed
in the chestal region
. 
Underly endowed is more like it, if there is such a word.  Which I’m sure there’s not, but still.

Time check.

7:37.

My heart pitty-pats and I slip my feet into the high-heeled-stilts-of-death.  I practice walking, walking quickly, then jogging.  Then I walk again, because who am I kidding? I’ll never be running in these things.

There’s a quick knock on the door.

Time check.  7:40. 

Dante is five minutes early, the rascal.

I rush to the door.

I throw it open.

And my heart drops into my feet and practically cries.