“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
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.
Because it isn’t Dante in my doorway. It’s Gavin, Casanova himself, standing there with a goofy grin and a red rose. He holds the flower out to me, smiling, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Hi Gavin,” I tell him, taking the rose and burying my face in it. Its sweet smell fills my nose and I inhale again, trying to hide my disappointment. It’s not Gavin’s fault that he’s not Dante. “What are you doing here?”
Gavin is wearing a tux and his dark hair is freshly washed. I can tell because it’s still wet and I can see the comb tracks. I can also smell the soap from here.
He bows low. He’s not as tall as Dante, but he’s tall enough, maybe six feet or so. While his head is down, he reaches blindly and clownishly for my hand to kiss it. I smile and shake my head because he’s so idiotic sometimes that it is impossible not to like him.
“I’m here to escort you to dinner,” he tells me with a grin. “Dante sent me. Something came up and he can’t so I’ve been delegated. Are you honored by my presence?”
My disappointment was temporarily clouded with my amusement at Gavin’s gall. “Honored? Um. Yeah. That’s exactly what I am.”
Gavin knowingly shakes his head and holds out his arm. “I thought you would be. Are you ready to dine with the most stuck-up and stuck-on-themselves group in all of
Caberra?”
He cocks his head and waits thoughtfully for my answer, as though I actually have a choice in the matter. I’m a guest here. If they want me at their dinner, that’s where I’ll be.
“Well, if you put it that way, how can I say no?” I answer. It’s hard to stay disappointed with Gavin for long.
He leads me down the long hallway leading away from my rooms. I can see that the Old Palace has been spruced up for the dinner tonight. Fresh flowers and lit candles adorn practically every available surface and it looks beautiful. The soft candlelight is exactly perfect to hide the freckles on my nose and it creates the perfect intimate ambience… one that I would love to be sharing with Dante right now, rather than Gavin.
But, that’s not how it is. My hand is carefully tucked inside of Gavin’s black-jacketed arm. Not Dante’s.
“So, why are you here?” I ask curiously as we descend the stairs. “I mean, at the dinner.”
He waggles his slender eyebrows. Does he get them waxed??
“Because my father is Dante’s Minister of Interior.”
I stare at him, dumb-founded. Or maybe just plain dumb. I’m not sure.
“Your father is a member of Mr. Giliberti’s cabinet too?” A light goes on. “Do all of you have important fathers? Is that why you and Dante are friends?”
Gavin’s typically playful face goes all serious for a minute. I know that I won’t see this very often, so I pay close attention while it lasts.
“Pretty much,” he says. “Mine is the MoI. Mia’s is the MoD. Elena’s mom is the Minister of Foreign Affairs. And her dad is Dimitri’s best friend.” Yeah, I knew that part. But I didn’t know her mom was important, too. I gulp.
“And Nate?”
“Nate’s father is the Deputy Prime Minister, Dimitri’s second-in-command. He travels a lot in Dimitri’s stead for public relations purposes. That might be one reason for Nate’s constant bad mood. His dad is always gone. From the time we were small- his dad has always had to travel. Nate hates it.”
“Well, he’s certainly always in a bad mood,” I agree. I absently rub the bruise on my elbow. “Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”
Gavin shrugs. “We usually try to avoid these things like the plague. I came tonight because Dante asked me to. I think he asked Mia, too. He wanted to make sure you have friends to talk to.”
Warmth rushes through me at Dante’s thoughtfulness. He might be tied up elsewhere, but he’s still thinking about me.
“I don’t know if he asked Elena,” Gavin adds. He might as well have tossed a bucket of cold water on me. His words are just as dousing. Ugh. I could have done without hearing that. Because now I’m doubting Dante’s motives. Is he trying to be sweet because he like likes me, or is he just being cordial and friendly because I’m his guest and he is nothing if not polite?
That’s the new question of the year.
“Are you ready for this?” Gavin asks as we pause outside of a large set of ornate double doors. I eye the doors, then eye him.
Hell no, I’m not, I think.
“I think so,” I actually say.
I fidget with my dress, fighting the urge to hike up the front of it again. It hasn’t actually slipped down yet, but I’m sure it will. My chestal region is a hilly plains, not a mountainous terrain.
Gavin smiles.
“You’re ready. These are the things to remember: Smile. Look pretty, act polite. People will probably ask you a million questions about America. Just smile and answer and laugh. You’ll be fine.”
“Will I?” I scrunch up my face. “I don’t know.”
“You will,” Gavin assures me. “I promise.”
“But everyone hates Americans,” I practically whimper.
Gavin rolls his eyes. “We do not. We love you and your money.” He grins. “Seriously. Be likeable and they’ll like you. It’s that simple.”
Well. Once he put it that way, it did seem simple. And I suddenly felt a new responsibility to represent America accurately to these foreigners. We’re not all the obese selfish pigs that people seem to think we are. I square my shoulders, which I might add, are not obese shoulders.
Gavin nods at the guards guarding the doors. Each man is dressed in a blue and white uniform with a leather band criss-crossing his chest and a sword in a sheath at his side. Each has the ancient Giliberti family crest on his uniform, as well.
Mia had informed me earlier that with each Prime Minister, the royal guard changes their crest to match the incoming PM. And they are still called the Royal Guard even though there is no royal family anymore.
Caberra is weird.
But steeped in tradition and I have to respect that.
The guards open the doors and I suppress a gasp when I see the ballroom inside.
First, a ball room??
Second, there are so many people. So. Many. People.
They are all sparkling and glittering and dressed to the nines and holy-freaking-ballgown, Dante was not exaggerating when he said that it would be formal.
It is so formal.
Silver bows adorn each banquet table, along with mounds of flowers and flickering candles. Chandeliers hang overhead, so many of them, and each crystal-encrusted-string on each crystal-encrusted-arm sparkles like diamonds. For all I know, maybe they are actually diamonds. Every person here is immaculately attired and standing on a gleaming floor that is waxed to a shine so brilliant and bright that I can practically see up women’s dresses.
I am suddenly thankful for both my high-heeled-stilts-of-death and the fact that I twisted my hair into a chignon. I would have looked horribly out of place with plain hair and ballet flats.
But who am I kidding? I’m horribly out of place anyway.
I gulp and clutch frantically at Gavin’s arm. He seems so comfortable and relaxed as he smiles at the people who turn to look at us. I can see the curiosity on people’s faces as they stare at me. And it makes me blush. I only pray that they haven’t seen the stupid pictures on the stupid gossip websites. I think I hate Caberra. I suddenly wish that I could be at home, safe and sound in my bedroom.
I ignore the stares and search the room for the most important person.
No, not the Prime Minister.
The Prime Minister’s son.
I don’t see him and my heart plummets.
Where is Dante? There is no way that he would send me to this dinner and then not even show up himself. He wouldn’t do that, would he? Would he? I could be safely and happily ensconced in my room right now eating pizza straight out of the box and in my pajamas. But no. Here I am, trussed up in a strapless ball gown and ready to fall down in my heels at any slight misstep.
And Dante isn’t here.
I definitely hate Caberra.
I’ve looked at every inch of the room.
He definitely isn’t here.
“Where is he?” I hiss under my breath at Gavin.
He stares at me sideways.
“He’ll be here,” Gavin assures me. “What? Are you bored with me already?”
I’m in the middle of rolling my eyes at Gavin, when I sense his presence.
Dante.
I can feel him just as sure as I am living, breathing and miserable in my strapless bra.
I turn slowly, trying to be casual, trying not to break my neck as I hurry to find him.
And there he is, filling up the doorway with his own special golden awesomeness.
Breathe, Reece, I tell myself.
I am reminded once again that Dante is devastatingly handsome. Freaking hot, to tell the truth. He’s wearing a tuxedo with a deep purple tie and a smile and I want to melt into the highly waxed floor.
He steps down into the ballroom and makes his way through the throngs of people, nodding and smiling at everyone who greets him.
And then he is standing in front of me.
“Reece,” he says, his voice husky and sexy. “You look beautiful.”
My tongue is tied and I can’t speak. I stare
at him like an idiot. All of a sudden, I am overcome with feeling inadequate and excited and spellbound. All at once.
“Reece?” Dante asks in his oh-so-charming accent. And I shake my head, snapping myself out of it.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Thank you. And thank you for the dress. It’s absolutely lovely.”
He eyes it, then pulls his eyes back to mine.
“Not as lovely as you are wearing it,” he tells me seriously.
Not one of the boys back home could get away with that line without sounding ridiculous and out of place. But Dante pulls it off effortlessly. He’s got old world charm and modern good looks and I am finding more and more every day that it is futile to resist that particular combination.
And honestly, why would I want to? He’s practically perfect.
I realize then that Gavin is still holding onto my arm, only because he’s making gagging sounds and rolling his eyes.
I pull away from him before I even realize what I’m doing. With Dante in front of me, I simply want to gravitate towards him. And unconsciously, I take a step forward.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Dante asks, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “I was right on time.”
I could listen to his accent all day long.
He’s so tall and graceful. Yes, graceful.
Have his eyelashes always been that long?
Wait. What?
His words break through my reverie.
Why didn’t I wait for him?
I stare blankly at him, then at Gavin, who immediately looks guilty.
“Didn’t you send Gavin to pick me up?” I ask Dante, shooting daggers at Gavin.
Dante rolls his eyes and then punches Gavin good-naturedly on the arm.
“No, I didn’t,” he answers. He turns to Gavin. “Again? Really? There are thousands of girls on this island,” he says. “Do you really have to trick my date? Go bother someone else.”
He shoves Gavin slightly, and definitely not as hard as I’d like to shove him.
Gavin grins and bows to me.
“It appears that I’ve been caught red-handed,” he says without once ounce of chagrin. “But it has been lovely escorting you. I hope you have a wonderful evening.”
Dante's Girl (The Paradise Diaries) Page 10
