Dante's Girl (The Paradise Diaries)

by Courtney Cole

  During the day, it’s turquoise and clear and smells like salt.

  At night, right now, it is massive and black and mysterious. And smells like salt.

  I guess that’s the case with the sea anywhere, but it seems especially amazing here. So clean and huge and romantic. Maybe because this is Dante’s home. Or maybe it’s because I’m walking with him right now.

  Next to the sea.

  In the dark.

  Under the stars.

  Be still my heart.

  “So, what do you think of my home?” Dante asks conversationally as we navigate our way over driftwood that has washed ashore. He gently guides my elbow and I feel my stomach tighten with warm and trembly feelings. He’s just so…perfect. Too good to be true, almost.

  “I think it’s beautiful,” I tell him honestly. “It seems so ancient and perfect.”

  He smiles in response. “Thank you. It is pretty ancient. Not perfect, though, but it’s close. Tell me more about your home. You haven’t said that much. What would you be doing right now if you were home in Kansas?”

  I try to stare at him in the night, but it’s hard because it’s dark. He senses my gaze though and laughs. “Come on. It can’t be that bad.”

  I glance again at the sea next to us.

  “Coming from here, you can’t begin to imagine a place where there isn’t much natural beauty,” I tell him. “Picture a place where pioneers used to work themselves into an early grave in the sun and dust. And that’s Kansas.”

  Dante laughs again.

  “But it’s not pioneer days anymore,” he reminds me. “Seriously. I want to picture where you come from. Tell me about it.”

  “Okay.” I think on it for a second. “Right now, it is stiflingly hot there. I’m talking hell’s kitchen hot, and not the cool New York City Hell’s Kitchen. I’m talking suck-your-breath-right-out-of-your-body hot. And right now, I’d either be lying on my bed writing in my journal or on my phone with my best friend, Becca. Or I’d be sleeping over at her house. And we might be sneaking out of her window to hang out with our friends. We can’t sneak out of mine- my bedroom is too high up.”

  “So, you’re a rule-breaker, then. Noted,” he says. I’m sure his eyes are twinkling again, although I can’t see them to make sure.

  “No, I’m really not,” I answer. “We don’t do anything bad. We just meet up with our friends down by the river. We light a little bonfire. Sometimes there’s beer, although I’m not a beer drinker. Sometimes, we float down the river on innertubes, which is pretty cool under the stars. Although, we do have to watch out for Water Moccasins.”

  “Water moccasins?”

  “Poisonous water snakes. They’re black and look harmless, like a stick floating in the water almost, but when they open up their mouths, the inside is cotton white. That’s why they are also called Cotton Mouths. And they can kill you in the time it takes for you to drive to the hospital.”

  Dante winces. “Sounds interesting. Tell me about Becca. How long have you known her?”

  We climb a small sand dune and I find that we are really out in the middle of nowhere. Apparently, they come this far out so that Dante can have some privacy as he hangs out with his friends. I think it’s nice that his friends are so understanding.

  “Becca is…Becca.”

  I try to think of how to describe her.

  “She’s wild and crazy and funny. She’s been my best friend since kindergarten. She lives about five minutes from me so we can walk to and fro if we like. She lives on a farm, too. She’s got an older brother, Connor, who is a bull-rider. We go see him ride on Saturdays.”

  “Bull riding?” Dante sounds dubious, like he thinks I’m trying to pull one over on him. I have to admit, it does sound like a contrived sport. Who in their right mind would want to sit on a pissed off bull? I spend a second explaining it to him.

  “Anyway,” I continue. “Becca always hopes that Connor and I will end up together so that she and I will be related.”

  “And what do you hope? Do you like Connor?” Dante asks.

  I can’t read his tone. Is he interested in my answer for any other reason aside from idle curiosity?

  “I do like Connor…like a brother. I’ve known him since we were kids and honestly, I can’t like like someone who knows every single thing about me. There needs to be some mystery there. I only want the best for him, though. Connor is a really good guy. He’s away at college right now. He comes home on the weekends.”

  “I see.” Dante says. Does he see? “What does your farm look like? I want to picture it in my head.”

  “Well, it’s an old farm house. Not old by Caberran standards, but old. Two story, with white siding. My mom and I live there with my grandparents. My grandma is a big fan of your olives, by the way. Sunflowers grow like crazy in Kansas and my mom has a small field of them behind one of our barns just because she likes them. We always seem to have a vase of them sitting on the kitchen table. We have horses, cows, goats. My horse’s name is Mischief.”

  “I’ve always wanted to learn to ride,” Dante muses.

  “Then why haven’t you?”

  “There aren’t any horses in Caberra,” he tells me. “I suppose my father could have one shipped in for me, but I’ve never asked.”

  “Well, if you ever come to the States, you’ll have to come visit me and I’ll give you a riding lesson,” I tell him.

  “I’d like that,” he answers. And he sounds really sincere. I try to picture him on a horse. But I keep picturing him in his suit, or a set of linen trousers and I just can’t see him on a farm.

  “Look,” Dante points. “We’re almost there.”

  A bonfire glows in the distance in what appears to be a little inlet.

  “We’re really out here,” I observe. “Surely the media can’t find you here.”

  “Even if they could,” Dante says, “They would be trespassing. This is a private beach now. And in this particular spot, it’s hidden from public view. Even with zoom lenses, they can’t see us.”

  For a second, I ponder this. Dante has to live his entire life thinking about how he can go places without getting his picture taken, how to not get followed, how to not get hounded by photographers. It must get really tiring.

  “Do you ever get tired of having to be so careful?” I ask. “Isn’t it exhausting? I mean, you didn’t ask for this. It’s your father’s job. Not yours.”

  “That’s true,” Dante answers thoughtfully. “But I would never ask him to not do it. Apparently, ever since my mother died, he hasn’t been the same. This job gives him something to focus on. It makes him happy.”

  “How old were you when your mother died?” I ask. “Do you mind talking about it?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I don’t mind. She died giving birth to me, so I don’t remember her at all. I have pictures of her so I know that I look like her. My father tells me that I act like her. But I never knew her.”

  “She died giving birth?” I’m appalled. “I didn’t know that happened these days.”

  “It doesn’t usually,” he agrees. “But apparently, the placenta detached during the birthing process. She hemorrhaged internally and there wasn’t anything they could do. It happened very fast. My father was devastated. My grandmother helped him raise me until I was five and then she died, too.”

  “You grew up with your grandmother?” Then we have one thing in common, at least. My grandparents are a huge part of my life.

  Dante nods. “Yes. She was like a mother to me.”

  My heart is happy that he had the experience of having a mother-like figure. I can’t imagine growing up without a maternal influence of some sort. And his entire situation tugs at my heart strings. Here he is… so beautiful and the son of such an important person and a billionaire to boot, yet he experienced tragedy at such a young age. It just goes to show that money really can’t buy everything.

  I reach over and grab his hand. I find that I want to offer him comfort, even tho
ugh his injury happened so long ago. He squeezes my fingers and then all of a sudden, we are at the party.

  Kids are laughing and joking, the fire is blazing in a warm glow that reaches into the dark sky, and the moon hangs heavy overhead. The evening breeze is just slightly chilly, but in a good way.

  “Cold?” Dante asks me as I shiver. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and his warmth makes me feel like I am home.

  And then I feel stupid for thinking something so corny, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

  “Reece!” Mia shouts from the perimeter of the party. She’s dressed in an off-the-shoulder dark purple sundress and is standing with Gavin. He grins from ear to ear when he sees me.

  “Good luck with that,” Dante murmurs into my ear. I smile. If the worst thing I have to deal with is a good-natured Casanova, I’m in pretty good shape.

  I head over to Mia while Dante gets waylaid by a group of boys that I haven’t met yet. They’re wearing swim trunks and I can’t imagine why they aren’t shivering to death.

  “Reece,” Mia greets me, handing me a wine cooler.

  I take it, even though I don’t drink. It’s not because I’m afraid to break the rules because I’m not. I just don’t like the taste of alcohol. I figure it’s an acquired taste and I simply haven’t acquired it yet. I’ve put it on my list of things to do later.

  “We’re going to have to go shopping tomorrow,” Mia tells me as she looks me up and down. “Dante said that your bags are still in Amsterdam.”

  “Yep,” I answer, grimacing at my one outfit of clothes. “They’ll be stuck there until the airports open. But when the airports open, I’ll be going to my dad’s anyway, so I guess my luggage will never make it to Caberra.”

  “Well, here’s to an excuse to shop!” Mia toasts, clinking her bottle to mine. “I never need one, but it’s always nice to have.”

  I laugh at her because it’s apparent that she’s buzzing. She was pretty reserved this afternoon and now she’s practically exuberant. She’s done a complete one-eighty.

  “Thanks,” I tell her. “My mom gave me her credit card to use in an emergency, and I think this probably qualifies.”

  “Dude, this totally qualifies,” she agrees. “I’ll come pick you up at 11:00 a.m. Will that work?”

  “That will be perfect,” I tell her gratefully.

  Gavin chimes in, wrapping his arm around Mia’s slender waist. “I’ll tag along, too, if you don’t mind. I don’t have plans.”

  “Nope,” Mia tells him, leaning heavily into him. “It’s a girl’s day. And you don’t qualify. You don’t have the right parts.”

  “It’s better to have too many parts then not enough,” he informs her and she laughs.

  “Gavin, I love you. I really, really do.”

  He kisses her cheek and then behind her back, he mouths words to me.

  She’s REALLY drunk.

  I nod. That much is obvious. I only hope that she remembers that we have a shopping date. If I have to wear these clothes one more time, I might die.

  “Can you take her for a minute?” Gavin asks, slipping Mia to me like she’s a child or something.

  I put my arms around her shoulders so that she is leaning on me. Gavin saunters off, already mouthing off to Dante, who is across the fire from us. And then I realize that he totally just made an escape. And now I’m Mia’s caretaker.

  “I’m fine,” Mia insists to me. She takes a step away from, stumbles, then slumps back into my side. “Fine.”

  “Yes, you’re fine,” I agree with her, tightening my hold. I wonder if she will pass out, then tighten my hold even more. She winces, but doesn’t shirk away.

  “Dante likes you,” she confides to me, in a not-so-quiet whisper. “I can tell.”

  I look around quickly to see who is within hearing distance. Thankfully, no one.

  “What makes you say that?” I ask curiously, my heart starting to stutter. Dante doesn’t like like me. There is no way.

  Mia shrugs. “I can’t explain it. I just know it because I know him.”

  Well, that’s helpful. I want to know exactly how she knows so that I know if it is just drunken musing or if it actually has credibility. Which it doesn’t, because there is no way on God’s green earth that Dante likes me.

  “But what about Elena?” I ask her.

  I figure I might as well get as much information as I can tonight while Mia’s still chatty. And by chatty, I just mean ‘pump her for information while she’s drunk’. I should feel guilty, but I don’t. I like Mia and I’ll never tell anyone anything that she says. It’s for my info only.

  Mia snorts. “Elena is a bitch. Utter and complete bitch.”

  Tell me something I don’t know, I think.

  “What makes you say that?” I actually say.

  Mia stares at me incredulously, her green eyes slightly unfocused. “Have you actually spoken with her? Utter bith.”

  Oh, great. And now she’s slurring. And she’s leaning more and more on me. For such a little thing, she’s actually kind of heavy and my arm is going to sleep.

  “Just because their fathers are friends, she thinks she’s going to marry Dante. And connect their families and then they’ll have wine and olives.”

  “She owns a winery?”I ask, appalled again.

  I own cows. Elena owns wine. What’s wrong with this picture?

  “Her father owns a winery,” Mia corrected. “But it will be hers someday. She wants to marry Dante and he probably will because he likes to please his father. Dante is a pleaser,” she explains. “He always does what is expected of him. But that’s a shame. Because he likes you. Oh, look. Speak of the she-devil now.”

  I follow Mia’s drunken gaze and my breath freezes in my throat. Even though it is cold out here on the water, colder than a witch’s you-know-what, there stands Elena, draped on Dante’s arm and wearing a miniscule, barely-there white bikini.

  And she is beautiful.

  And her boobs are hanging all over Dante.

  And I hate her.

  And as she turns and locks eyes with me, I can see that she hates me too.

  Chapter Nine

  I settle Mia on a folding lawn chair, making sure she has a bottle of water before I leave her. I turn back to look and she’s curled around the bottle, her head slumped on the arm of the chair. She’ll be passed out within the minute.

  I look around and marvel at this party. They really know how to do a party up right here. Someone has lugged in countless folding chairs, tables, coolers, and cookware. They are boiling seafood and heating what looks to be butter. I can’t imagine how long it took to lug all of this stuff in. And I try to imagine kids from back home doing this, but there’s no way. They wouldn’t go to all of this trouble. We just sit on old logs at the river and drink from red plastic cups.

  “Reece!”

  Dante waves from a seat near the fire. He’s holding what appears to be a giant claw and I gulp as I make my way to him.

  “Do you like crab?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “I’ve never had it.”

  He looks at me as though I’ve suddenly grown another head.

  “You’ve never had it?” Elena asks disdainfully. I didn’t even realize she was standing there. “How is that even possible?”

  I stare at her coolly. “I grew up in the middle of the United States, a thousand miles from the nearest ocean. Fresh seafood isn’t exactly easy to come by there.”

  “Ah, right,” Elena pretends to remember. “You’re a little farm girl. You’ve never experienced culture. Well, welcome to Caberra, sweetie.”

  She waves her arm in a sweeping, condescending gesture and I found that I would like to break it. Her arm, I mean.

  “We’ve got plenty of culture,” I reply through my teeth. “Just not an ocean nearby.”

  I turn my back on her and sit in the empty seat next to Dante. I’m surprised that Elena’s not already sitting there, but I try to put her out of my min
d as I kick my shoes off and scrunch my toes into the soft sand.

  Dante glances at me while he sticks a crab leg in a nut cracker. He crunches it and I cringe at the horrid sound. Why would anyone want to eat that?

  “You’ve really never had crab legs?” he asks doubtfully as though it couldn’t possibly be true.

  “Nope,” I confirm. “Never.”

  “Well, then, my little Sunflower, you’re in for a treat,” he announces.

  I freeze at the nickname. Is he making fun of me? I look at him and he doesn’t seem to be. He’s busy pulling stringy white meat from the broken crab legs. He was just being sweet.

  It’s an endearment, you idiot, I tell myself. So what does that mean? I’m starting to become endeared to him? And is endeared even a word?

  “Here, try this,” Dante instructs me, holding out a piece of crab dripping with melted butter on a small fork. I study it for a second and Dante rolls his eyes.

  “Just try it,” he tells me. “It’s not going to bite.”

  I let him stick the fork in my mouth, expecting to taste a piece of Heaven, like I did when I tried the gelato.

  But no.

  That is most certainly not what I receive.

  This isn’t Heaven.

  This tastes like a dead fish in my mouth, which is actually true.

  I try to resist spitting it out, instead concentrating on chewing up the hateful piece of meat. Dante looks at my face and then dies laughing.

  “Can I assume you don’t like it?” he asks, his face lit up like a Christmas tree in his amusement. He hands me a napkin.

  I spit my crab into it and fold it in half, then in half again. Dante holds out his hand and I reluctantly hand him the chewed-up crab carcass and he throws it into a trash can. They even thought to bring trash cans? What kind of teenagers are these, anyway?

  “It’s alright,” he tells me. “I think maybe it is an acquired taste. Which would also probably rule out oysters for you. Those are also an acquired taste. Have you ever had them?”

  I shake my head. “Not unless you count Mountain Oysters. Which I definitely do not.”

  “Mountain Oysters?” he looks confused.