That thought makes me gulp again. Dante has a security detail. He is my complete and polar opposite on the life-importance-meter.
I fasten my seatbelt and close my eyes. All of a sudden, I feel his breath on my cheek and his mouth next to my ear.
“I promise, it will be fine.”
Everyone in the helicopter can hear, because mouthpieces are attached to our headphones. My cheeks burst into flame. Now everyone is well aware that I’m a big baby. Perfect.
“The people on that plane. Are they all dead?”
It is completely silent around me as I ask the question. No one wants to answer and that is answer enough. Dante’s face is grave as he leans toward me.
“Yes. They are.”
The breath freezes in my throat as I remember the grotesque popping sound as the plane had burned. And the doll with no face.
I close my eyes but I still see the visions.
Dante reaches over and squeezes my hand.
Perfect.
For real, this time.
I feel my heart flutter a little at his nearness and at the way his cool hand feels within mine. And then I instantly feel silly. Just because I’m a small-town farm girl does not mean that I should make a fool of myself over this boy. I have to have some self-respect. I am not going to fawn all over him. He’s a billionaire. And beautiful. He’s probably used to ‘those’ girls being at his beck and call. And I am bound and determined not to be one.
I pull my hand out of his and lean my head against the window. I’m determined not to look at his reflection, particularly because I can feel him staring at me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the engine roars and we lift off the ground, shakily at first and then we soar across the sky like a motorized bird.
I think I might have a heart attack and this time, when Dante reaches over and squeezes my hand, I squeeze it back. To hell with trying to seem guarded. That had lasted all of three minutes. I’m a girl who wears her emotions on her sleeve. I’m not going to change that just to look cool.
Not for any boy, not for any reason.
The drone of the helicopter fades into my subconscious as I close my eyes and try to imagine that I am anywhere but 15,000 feet in the air.
I focus on my favorite daydream, the one where I return from London at the end of the summer and am all glamorous and drop-dead gorgeous and every girl in my school is completely jealous when Quinn McKeyan asks me to Fall Homecoming because he can’t resist my charm.
Hey, it’s my daydream. I can dream what I want to.
The thing is, Quinn’s face keeps getting replaced in my head by Dante’s.
Since I’ve had a mad crush on Quinn from the time we started kindergarten all the way through our junior year last year, that’s saying something.
Every daydream I’ve had for eleven years has been of him. I’m a very loyal daydreamer. And I suddenly feel like I’m cheating on my imaginary boyfriend, a boy who happens to be real, but who has been dating my best friend Becca for the past two years. And no. Becca has no idea that I’m secretly in love with her boyfriend. It’s the one secret that I’ve kept from her.
I clear my head from cluttered thoughts and instead focus on emptying it. I focus on blackness and feel myself drift to sleep.
I’m not sure how long I sleep. But my eyes flutter open to find Dante watching me. I’m instantly self-conscious and seriously hope that I haven’t done anything gross in my sleep.
“I like the name Reece,” Dante says randomly, as though he’d been thinking about it. Once again, everyone in the helicopter is listening since we’re all on the same frequency. My blush comes back with a vengeance, fiery hot.
“Thank you,” I answer, not looking at him, trying to will my cheeks to not be pink.
“How did your parents choose it?” he asks, staring at me with interest. I straighten in my seat and once again look at him in the glass. I find it is safer to look at his reflection, rather than into his startlingly blue eyes. It helps me to keep my wits.
And I need every wit that I have.
“My father has always had a man-crush on the baseball hall of famer, Pee Wee Reese,” I tell him. “He played for the Dodgers a long time ago. My father has a signed Pee Wee Reese baseball that his grandfather gave him. Do you watch baseball?”
He shakes his head. “No. But I played it when I was a kid.”
“Well, it is one of the things that my dad lives and breathes for, when he isn’t working,” I explain. “So, naturally, he named me after his hero. But like I told you earlier, he was expecting a boy. I was quite the surprise.”
Dante looks at me seriously and I can’t help but turn to meet his gaze. As a result, my heart thumps so loudly that I’m afraid my mouthpiece will pick it up and give me away.
“Yes,” he agrees. “You are quite the surprise.”
What the hell does he mean by that?
But I don’t have any time to ponder it because Dante looks out his window and begins giving me a blow-by-blow tour of the scene below us. And as I lean into the window and look, I gasp at the beauty below. It is so gorgeous that it effectively takes my mind off my fear of flying.
“Where are we?” I ask in awe. This is so much better than being in the dreary rain of London.
The landscape is beautiful. There are so many white sandish-colored buildings and I can see, even from here, that they are ancient. Houses dot the countryside which is filled with green grass and rock. The ocean looms huge and blue around it and I’ve never seen such a lovely place.
“This is the land of the gods,” Dante tells me. “Greece. Look there,” he points. “That’s the Acropolis. And that there? That’s the Pantheon, a temple made for the goddess Athena a couple of thousand years ago.”
“Wow,” I breathe as I stare at the history sprawling beneath me. “The United States doesn’t have such history. We’re such a baby country compared to Greece.”
Dante nods, apparently satisfied with my reverence.
“It’s an amazing place,” he agrees. “To walk here, among the buildings where the gods are said to have walked, it is the most incredible feeling in the world.”
“How far are we from Caberra?” I ask. “Is it near here?”
“Very near,” he confirms. “Less than twenty minutes by plane.”
I settle back into my seat and stare absently at the turquoise water beneath us. It is almost hypnotic as we race above the glass-like water. And honestly, before I even know it, the helicopter descends for a landing.
We hover above a building for just a moment before we shudder to a stop.
I straighten in my seat and find that we’d just descended into paradise.
“Wow,” I breathe again, as I stared at the bright blue sky, quaint old buildings and shops and lush greenery below the helipad. “It’s beautiful here.”
Dante nods again. “Yes. I’m blessed to call this my home.”
“Where are we?” I ask as I stare around us in wonder. We’re clearly on the roof of someplace, but beyond that I don’t know.
Dante smiles. “This is my home. They call it the Old Palace because that’s exactly what it is. Once upon a time, hundreds of years ago, Caberra was a monarchal society with a royal family. This was their palace, but it has been turned into the prime minister’s home now, as well as housing a few governmental agencies. Since its royal family days, Caberra has evolved into a parliamentary representative democratic government with my father currently serving as prime minister.”
“Yikes. Say that three times quickly,” I challenge him.
Dante smirks slightly. “You should try living it.”
Turning to Buzz Cut, he asks, “Where is my father?”
“He’s in London,” the security guard tells him. “He decided to finish his meetings there and he will then depart for home in a day or two.”
“Fine. We’ll need to show Ms. Ellis to a room so that she can freshen up and she will need to call her parents.”
Buzz Cut
nods as he helps me out of the helicopter. “Very well. Your father has already been apprised of the situation. We’re under instruction to give Ms. Ellis a proper welcome.”
Dante stares at him. “You were already under that very same instruction,” he points out. “From me.”
Turning his back on the burly security guard, Dante guides me away from the helicopter and through the doors leading into the Old Palace.
Once inside, I suck in my breath, trying not to say something stupid or act like the country girl that I am. The interior of this ancient building is dazzling. Amazing. Like nothing I’ve ever seen.
Air the exact perfect temperature washes over my damp skin, bathing me in a cool breeze. Priceless antiquities surround me in the form of statues, artwork and heavy antique furniture. The marble floors glisten mutely in the sunlight and are covered with woven rugs. Beautiful vases adorn ornate tabletops and even the ceiling is gilded in what appears to be gold. Glittering chandeliers hang overhead and crystal doorknobs adorn the doors. Everything is beautiful, but so perfectly in place that it seems almost sterile. I feel like I should whisper from the reverence of it all.
“Your home is beautiful,” I tell Dante politely and in a hushed voice. He grins.
“It is, isn’t it?” he answers. “But it’s not really my home. My family home is on the outskirts of Valese. Valese is the capital of Caberra, by the way, and we are in the very heart of it right now. My home is in the Giliberti olive groves, where it is beautiful and peaceful at all times. That sounds stupid, right?” He gestures around us. “But I always feel like I am in a museum here. It’s too uptight.”
It does feel as though I have stepped directly into the National Museum of History. I’m not surprised to find that some of these things, probably priceless relics, had actually been cordoned off with red velvet ropes.
“Well, at least there are no creepy suits of armor standing around,” I tell him wryly.
And no lie, just as the words are out of my mouth, we round a corner and there stands a small suit of armor.
No. Lie.
And it is, in fact, creepy with its empty blank holes for eyes and dangling arms and legs.
“You were saying?” Dante asks, with a raised eyebrow.
“Um. Yes. You do seem to live in a home straight out of an old Scooby Doo episode,” I laugh.
He chuckles as I step closer to look at the tiny suit of armor. It seems to be bronze and it is no more than five feet tall.
“It’s so small! Were your ancestors dwarves?”
Dante’s eyes twinkle.
“No. Caberra used to have armies made from children so that our strapping adult men didn’t die in battle.” As my mouth drops open in horror, he laughs, a rich sound that sends goose bumps erupting down my arms.
“I’m kidding,” he assures me. “People used to be much smaller hundreds of years ago,” he explains. “Surely it was the same in the United States. People were simply littler. By way of evolution, we have grown bigger and bigger.”
“How big are you?” I ask, sizing him up as I spoke.
“That’s kind of personal, isn’t it?” he answers impishly. My cheeks catch fire as I realize his implication.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “That wasn’t polite or appropriate. I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“Not at all,” I assure him. “I grew up in a rural town full of cowboys and farm animals. Trust me, I seldom get offended.”
“But still,” Dante continues. “I’m sorry. It came out before I had thought about it. I’m 6’3”, to answer your question. How tall are you?”
“I’m 5’8”,” I answer. “Tall for a chick, I know.”
“Yeah, but you were supposed to be a boy, so I would totally expect that out of you,” he replies, his eyes sparkling again. I really like it. It is just so ornery, like he always knows an entertaining secret.
“Yeah, yeah,” I answer with a sigh. “Keep it up, smarty.”
He laughs as we step onto yet another landing and then start climbing our third flight of stairs.
There are So. Many. Stairs.
“Yikes, how many floors are in this building?” I’m practically panting.
“I know,” he sighs. “It’s too big to be a real home, right? There are three stories sprawled over two city blocks. First story is government offices, parliament, etc. Second story has the ball rooms and museums. And the third story is the personal living quarters of the Prime Minister. And me.”
“There’s actually a museum in your house?” I ask, trying not to laugh, although secretly I’m impressed.
He shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it up, smarty.”
I go ahead and laugh, at his embarrassment, at the way he threw my words back at me, at his cute dimple, at the absurdity of the situation. I shouldn’t be standing in a Scooby Doo episode because I’m supposed to be in London having an uncomfortable dinner with my father right now.
That last thought is actually sobering.
Dad is probably having a steak so rare that there is blood in the plate and a finger of Pimm’s, which is just a weird way of saying that the liquor is poured to the height of a finger held against the glass.
If I were there, he’d be trying to talk to me about baseball, horseracing and any other imaginable male topic of conversation and I would be attempting to act interested. But I’m not there. I’m here, standing in a beautiful old palace in the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen with the most beautiful boy I’ve ever laid eyes upon.
But all good and beautiful things must come to an end. I turn to Dante with a sigh.
“Do you have a phone…a landline? I really have to call my dad.”
And if I’m really, really lucky, Alexander Ellis, NSA Agent Extraordinaire, won’t kill me dead right on the spot.
Dante shows me to a phone and I settle into an ornate carved chair. I don’t want to speculate on how antique and expensive it might be. My father answers on the first ring, a bad sign, but he isn’t angry at all. I am pleasantly surprised when the conversation doesn’t go badly at all.
In fact, he seems in awe of the fact that I am staying in the Prime Minister of Caberra’s palace.
“Tell me again how you met this boy,” he instructs me in his London accent.
Interesting fact: My dad doesn’t actually have a London accent. He was born and raised in America. He says he’s acquired it from living abroad for so long. Um, I haven’t picked it up after spending every summer in London since I was small, so I know that he really just wants to seem sophisticated. But I’ve never called him out on it and I’m not going to start now.
Instead, I answer his question and he tells me that he’s already up to speed on everything because Dante’s father had personally called him and explained the situation. Since my father can’t exactly be angry with the Prime Minister of a country, he seems perfectly okay with me being here.
Shocker number one.
It turns out that Dante’s father has extended the generous invitation of letting me stay with them until the airports open back up and surprisingly, my father already accepted the gracious invitation. Apparently, he figures it would be educational for me to learn about another culture firsthand.
Shocker number two.
Dad’s exact words are, “Surely, since you’re being hosted by the Prime Minister himself, you won’t get into any trouble.”
Eyeing Dante from across the room, I suddenly sense that my stay here will be very educational. But I can make no promises about not getting into trouble.
Shocker number three.
Chapter Four
The next morning, I consider my options before I even get out of bed. And this is a bed that is surprisingly uncomfortable considering that Napoleon himself once slept in it during a visit to Valese. I lay still for a moment, my arm dangling over the side.
The bed is gigantic and I briefly wonder how little ‘ol Napoleon even climbed into it at all. It’s a gigantic carved mahogany mo
nstrosity, really. But thinking about Napoleon and his size or lack of or even the ugliness of this bed isn’t helping me decide what to do with my day.
I can tell from the cheerful sunlight streaming in my windows that it is beautiful outdoors. Although, I imagine that it’s always beautiful here in Caberra. Because of that I should do something outside, like sight-see.
Maybe.
But my problem is, what do I do about Dante? I’m a guest in his home. Am I supposed to wait until I am summoned before I leave my bedroom? Or can I just get up and search him out? This is a Capitol building so I’m pretty sure that I’m not allowed to just go poking around.
The room phone ringing from my bed stand interrupts my quandary.
“Reece?”
Dante’s voice fills my ear, husky and beautiful. Yes, beautiful. He’s a boy and he’s beautiful. It’s a fact that I am constantly reconciling myself with.
“Good morning,” I tell him. Why is my tongue instantly tied?
“Good morning.” I hear him smile through the phone as he speaks and my heart picks up. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” I answer. “I’m just laying here trying to decide what to do with my day.”
“So you’re still in bed?”
I look at the clock. It’s only 9:00am. I don’t need to lie so that I don’t seem lazy.
“Yep. But I’m getting ready to get up.”
“Perfect,” he smiles again, I just know it. “Would you like to spend the day at the beach? It’s going to be a beautiful day.”
“Are all days beautiful here?” I ask.
He laughs. “Yes. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
I cringe. “I’ve heard that one before, you know.”
“I’m sure. So, how about it? Do you want to spend the day with me?”
More than anything, I think.
“Sounds good,” I actually say.
“Then it’s a date,” he answers. “Wear shorts and I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”
A date.
The line goes dead and I sit limply for just a second before I leap from the bed and fly into def-con-five-hyper-speed. I have a lot to accomplish in thirty short minutes. I have to go from looking like a rumpled farm girl who just woke up to looking like an ultra-glam, sexy siren.
Dante's Girl (The Paradise Diaries) Page 3
