Dante’s Girl

by Courtney Cole

  JustLetMedie.

  “I want to die,” I moan, not looking at him. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” Dante asks incredulously. “Sorry for getting sick after you got stung by a jellyfish? Um, that’s a natural reaction. That’s why I asked how you were feeling. Don’t feel bad. I know that it hurts like a bitch. Come on,” he pulls me to my feet. “We really need to have a doctor look at you, just to make sure you’re okay. Are you having trouble breathing?”

  Of course the second that he says that, I imagine my throat swelling closed and I clutch at it, sucking in air like a crazy person.

  Dante’s gaze flickers over me in concern and he strokes my back lightly.

  “Calm down,” he instructs softly. “Relax. I think you’re fine. Just relax.”

  I realize that he’s right as I take deep, slow breaths. I can breathe. I am just overreacting as I often do. My throat is not swelling closed. I am not dying, after all.

  I take four more shaking breaths and then nod.

  “I’m fine,” I whisper.

  Unless a person can die of embarrassment. And if that’s the case, then I’m at death’s door.

  “This is so embarrassing,” I groan.

  Dante grins.

  “Hmm. This is probably Karma’s way of getting back at you for thinking that it would be hilarious if I lost my trousers in front of the PM of Britain. Just sayin’.”

  I feel too sick to smile, but he’s funny. Really funny.

  “And just for the record, I don’t think it’s hilarious that you’re having an allergic reaction to a jellyfish.”

  He’s sweet, too.

  Dante wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side so that I am leaning heavily on him as we walk. It’s a protective gesture that instantly makes my heart go pitty-pat.

  But my leg still hurts and I still look like the Elephant Man’s long lost sister.

  And I probably smell like vomit.

  We slowly make our way back up the beach until we reach the quaint stretch of shops once again. People are still staring, even more so now that Dante is with such a freak. I try not to look anyone in the eye. Maybe if I can’t see them, they can’t see me either. The click of cameras, though, lets me know that I’m delusional. Not only can they see me, but they are documenting my swollen and bloated look for posterity’s sake. Fabulous.

  And just when I think that this morning can’t get any worse, a fake voice so sugary-sweet that it could practically be used to bake cookies with floats down the sidewalk.

  “Dante Giliberti! You were supposed to call me the instant that you were back in town.”

  I know even before I turn to look that the owner of the voice is gorgeous. The level of confidence that it contains betrays that fact because only the beautiful sound so sure of themselves. Dante is grinning like he’s just won the lottery so I reluctantly turn to see who we are dealing with.

  It’s Miss America.

  Or, Miss Caberra, rather. I’m sure of it. She has to be.

  Perfect russet colored hair, not red, but not quite brown, flows perfectly down her back. Her legs are two miles long, her skin lightly tanned to a golden sheen, her teeth are brilliantly white, and her face. Oh, her face. Michelangelo himself could have used her as a model. She is perfection personified, there’s no doubt about that.

  Her deep emerald green eyes assess me thoroughly and shrewdly for a moment, evaluating any threat that I might pose to her. After all, I’m clutching Dante’s arm. Her eyes flicker down to my swollen, grotesque leg and then back up at my face. Is that amusement that I see in her face right before she dismisses me and turns back to speak with Dante?

  Bitch.

  Utter bitch. I can tell right now.

  But Dante seems oblivious.

  “Elena!” he smiles and releases my arm so that he can embrace Miss Perfect. She kisses him on both cheeks in what I have learned is a European custom. I try not to seethe with jealousy. He turns to me.

  “Reece, this is Elena Kontou. We’ve known each other since we were toddlers. Her father is my father’s best friend. They live on the estate just south of Giliberti Olives.”

  My stomach plummets into my toes. This is even worse than I had thought.

  Miss Perfect has a long-standing claim to Dante. And I can see in her eyes that she’s not relinquishing it any time soon. She extends a slender, well-bred hand toward me. Her rings cut into my hand as she shakes it.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Reece. Are you here for an extended visit? Dante didn’t tell me that he was expecting company.”

  She turns her beautiful green eyes toward Dante for an explanation which leaves me wondering how much they actually share with each other. Do they talk about everything?

  Dante quickly gives her the run-down of what had happened in Amsterdam and I can see the instant she decides that I’m not a threat to her. Her face lightens right up.

  “Oh!” she exclaims. “Then you’ve witnessed firsthand Dante’s heroic tendencies. He saved my life once. I fell off of his father’s yacht and I can’t swim. Dante dove right in and pulled me out of the ocean.”

  “She should have been wearing a life-jacket,” Dante interjects, “But she didn’t want to mess up her tan.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and Elena nudges him.

  “Who needs a life jacket when I have you?” She smiles up at him and bats her eyelashes and I want to throw up. And this time, my nausea has nothing to do with the jellyfish that just tried to kill me.

  Elena turns to me. “How long will you be here?” she asks innocently. “I’ll have to show you around Valese. And what happened to your leg?”

  “Apparently, I’m allergic to jellyfish,” I answer. “And I would love to hang out with you while I’m here. I’ll be staying until the airports open back up. They’re closed right now due to the volcanic ash.”

  “I know!” she gushes as she returns her attention to Dante. “Did you know that Michel is stranded in London? He’s furious because he’ll probably miss the Regatta. He’s got a new boat this year and everything.”

  She and Dante talk about that for a few minutes, about this important annual boat race that is apparently a big deal thing here in Caberra, and I have been forgotten. I stand there awkwardly with my freakish leg throbbing until finally Dante looks at me as if he suddenly remembers my presence.

  “Oh, god. I’m sorry, Reece. I forgot my manners. We really need to get you back to the palace. I want you to lie down for awhile and I’ll get the doctor to look at you.” He turns to Elena. “We’ll catch up soon, Leni.”

  He calls her Leni. I am instantly and ridiculously resentful of that.

  “There’s a bonfire tonight,” Leni tells him as she watches him take my arm. “Will you be there?”

  He glances at me, then back at Leni. “Maybe. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “Don’t keep me waiting, D,” she warns playfully. “You know how I hate that.”

  And I hate that she calls him D.

  I’ve known her all of five minutes and I already hate this girl because she’s known Dante longer. He’s D and she’s Leni. Plus, she’s perfect. I hate that too. And hating that makes me petty, which of course I hate also. I’m just downright hateful today, apparently.

  Dante smiles at Elena and we walk away. I know that if I turn around, I’ll see her watching us. I can feel her emerald green eyes staring a hole into my back. She is not one to be messed with. I know that, too.

  Chapter Seven

  “Mom, I swear to you, I’m fine,” I insist once again into the phone. “It’s just a jellyfish sting. It’s not like my leg was amputated or anything. Apparently, it’s a common thing around the ocean. I had a slight allergic reaction, but I’m all fixed up. The doctor gave me a shot of cortisone and it’s not even swollen anymore, it just has red patches.”

  I look down at my splotch-covered legs and know that I look like I had been on the losing end of a jellyfish tentacle, which of course, is exa
ctly the case.

  Also, the cortisone shot hurt like a wench.

  But I don’t mention that part.

  My mother is already wound up enough. She’s not happy that I’m here. She’s happy enough that I’m getting exposure to culture and all, but she wishes that I’d get that exposure in a country that she’s actually heard of before. And somewhere that isn’t thousands of miles from home.

  I listen to her motherly concern and nagging for the next ten minutes as I stare absently out of my bedroom window. I am situated at the back of the house over the tennis courts. I can see a sparkling blue pool to my right and pristine gardens to my left. The tennis courts are in the center.

  There are rose bushes everywhere. And peonies, which are my favorites. And lots of white marble statues of Greek gods. And one of Napoleon. Why in the world is this country so obsessed with Napoleon?

  I am just wondering if the small statue is life-sized when Dante interrupts any coherent thought process that I might have by striding across the lawns with a racquet in hand and wearing short-short tennis shorts.

  Sweet.

  Baby.

  Monkeys.

  It’s like a slow-motion scene from a movie. Dante shakes his blond bangs out of his eyes and the sun catches every glint of gold in his hair. His legs are long, lean, tanned and muscled and HolyCowThereIsAGod. If I were a man, I would totally be wolf-whistling right now. But then again, if I were a man, I guess I wouldn’t be wolf-whistling at Dante.

  I’m such a weirdo.

  “Reece Elizabeth Ellis, are you listening to me?” my mother demands from the other end of the phone.

  Um, no. I hadn’t been. I have no idea what she said. In fact, I had forgotten that she was even on the phone at all. Dante’s short-short shorts are to blame.

  “Of course I am,” I answer as I push the curtains back so that I can see Dante better.

  Stalk, much?

  I ignore the voice in my head and the voice in the phone and concentrate on Dante. I don’t know who he is playing with. It must be one of his friends, because the boy appears to be our age, too. But the strange boy doesn’t hold my attention. He’s totally eclipsed by Dante and I don’t feel bad about that because the strange boy probably used to it.

  Dante serves the ball and it whizzes past the other boy like a comet.

  Dante laughs and the other boy scowls as he positions himself to return Dante’s next serve. Dante fakes him out and laughs as the boy swings at the air. I am reminded of a Labrador when you throw a ball, then fake it and the dog still runs to get it.

  Dante laughs again and then serves for real. It whizzes past the boy’s head again. The boy throws his racquet and Dante rolls his eyes. As he does, he catches sight of me watching. I duck behind the curtain.

  “I’ve gotta go mom,” I say quietly. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you, too.”

  After a moment, I peek carefully out the window again and Dante is waiting for me, standing in the middle of the tennis courts, waving cheerfully at me. He totally knew that I was watching and he waited to catch me fair and square. Nice.

  Dante: One. Reece: Zero.

  I smile at him and wave, and he motions for me to come down.

  My heart goes pitty-pat again and I glance down at myself.

  I’m wearing the same shorts and shirt that I was wearing earlier because I have nothing else to wear. I’d only packed one extra outfit in my carryon. And I’m thankful for that much. My mom insisted that I do so in case my flight was delayed or my bags were lost and I’d thought it was stupid, but apparently she knew what she was talking about. I make a mental note to thank her. But I’m definitely not pointing out that she was right. That would set a dangerous precedent.

  But for now, I cautiously make my way down the stairs and toward the back doors of the Old Palace to find Dante. I am still amazed and in awe of this house. Palace. Mansion. Capitol. Whatever you want to call it. It’s crazy big and crazy gorgeous. And it has a staff. One of them, a maid dressed in an honest-to-god black and white maid uniform looks at me and smiles.

  “May I get you anything, miss?” she asks. I shake my head.

  “I’m just hunting for the back doors,” I admit to her. “I’m afraid I’m a little turned around.”

  She laughs and I realize that she’s not much older than I am.

  “That’s okay,” she tells me. “This is a big place. I couldn’t find my way for weeks after I started working here. Go down that hallway there and then it will open up into a huge room. There will be a glass wall of windows and doors and just pick a door. They all open up to the outside.”

  “How old are you?” I ask curiously. She looks taken aback for a moment and I apologize. “I’m sorry. I’m American. I guess we don’t have much tact. Or that’s what I’m told anyway.”

  She laughs. “No, you’re fine. I’m sixteen. I work here in the evenings during the school year and full-time during the summer.”

  That makes sense. A full-time summer job. That’s perfectly normal for a teenager. It allays my fears that Caberra has hideous or non-existent child labor laws.

  I stretch out a hand.

  “I’m Reece,” I offer. “I’m staying here for a little while until the airports open up.”

  “I know,” she tells me as she shakes my hand. “I know who you are. I’m Heaven. I work here. And I’m probably not supposed to be socializing with you right now.”

  “Oh.” I feel deflated. She had the potential of being a friend. And honestly, I could use a friend. I’m thousands of miles from home and my BFF Becca.

  “It’s okay,” she assures me. “I’m not going to get into trouble. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Hey, how did you know who I am?”

  Because it just hits me what she said. I know who you are.

  She smiles again. “Everyone knows who you are. Or, at least what you look like.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and punches at it, then turns it to me.

  A picture of Dante and me from this morning, pre-jellyfish sting, stares at me from the screen. The caption screams, “Is Caberra’s Favorite Prince in Love?”

  “Prince?” I ask dumbly as I stare in shock at the picture. “This was from this morning. How did they get it posted so fast?” I look closer at the website. It looks to be a gossip website. Oh, sweet Lord.

  “Oh, that’s just how the media refers to Mr. Giliberti,” Heaven answers. “And pretty much everyone else does too, I guess. He’s not actually a prince, but he might as well be.”

  I gulp and take a moment to center myself.

  I am in a beautiful place with a beautiful boy who just happens to almost be a prince. No big deal.

  “Reece?”

  Speak of the Princely Devil himself.

  Dante’s husky voice fills the room we’re standing in and as I turn, I find him filling the doorway too. He’s sweaty and hot, in more ways than one, and I smile weakly.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him as he crosses the room. He’s wearing a white tank top that perfectly shows off his bulging biceps. “I got turned around. Heaven here was just showing me the way outside.”

  Dante glances down at Heaven, who is hastily shoving her cell phone back into her apron pocket. He acts like he’s never seen her before and he gives her a polite smile.

  “Thank you, Heaven,” he bows dramatically. She blushes and he stands upright again. “You might have saved poor Ms. Ellis’ life. She isn’t known for her directional prowess.”

  “What?” I demand in mock agitation. “You have no way of knowing that. It’s an unfounded rumor.”

  He cocks a golden eyebrow.

  “Really? You forget that I was on the beach with you this morning. After we got onto the beach, you couldn’t tell north from south.”

  “That might be true,” I acknowledged. “But I do know right from left. And you have to cut me some slack. I’m new here.”

  “True,” he concedes. “But I have a feeling that it wouldn’t be much better even if
you weren’t.” He laughs as I swat at him.

  “Would you like to come meet my friends?”

  He has a hopeful tone in his voice that makes him seem like a little boy, which immediately penetrates my soft spot. I’m a sucker for big strong guys who have a gentle side.

  “Sure,” I nod. “I saw you playing tennis with one of them.”

  “Is that what you call it? Playing?” he grins cockily. “I call it annihilation.”

  “Really?” I laugh. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He laughs too as he holds the door open for me.