Dante's Girl (The Paradise Diaries)

by Courtney Cole

  It seems so intimate.

  He leads me down a wide hallway with portraits of Giliberti ancestors hanging on each side. They all seem to frown at me, like they know that I am thinking impure thoughts about their descendent.

  And I am.

  As we continue down the hall, I feel like there are a hundred pairs of eyes staring a hole between my shoulder blades. I glance behind me and there are a hundred pairs of painted eyes.

  And they all seem to be looking at me.

  Because they are.

  It’s creepy.

  “I should probably mention, there isn’t much cell reception out here,” Dante says apologetically. “Do you still want to stay?”

  Again, there’s no way that I can tell him no. Not when the idea of staying here makes him so happy. And honestly, not having cell reception isn’t that much of a deal breaker anyway. Becca and I are fighting, so I won’t need to text anyone two times a minute.

  “Of course I do,” I assure him. “There’s a house phone. And there’s a wireless connection for internet, right?” He nods. “So, I’ll be fine. As long as I can email my parents so they don’t worry.”

  “I think you’re going to love it here,” he tells me knowingly.

  “I think you’re right,” I answer.

  And then he opens up the door to what will be my bedroom.

  And OhMyWord.

  It’s a girl’s paradise.

  A dreamy four-poster bed stands in the center of the room with white gauzy drapes surrounding it. Fluffy white bedding sits atop the bed and heavy furniture is artfully placed in the perfectly decorated room. And I have a balcony.

  I cross the room and open the glass French-doors.

  “My word,” I breathe.

  My bedroom overlooks the back of the estate and I can see olive trees for miles and miles. They line rolling hills and everything is green and shady and beautiful.

  “That’s my balcony,” Dante points right next to me. “So we can stare at each other when we’re having our morning coffee.”

  And that’s when I notice that there is a small bistro table in the corner of each of the balconies. I can sit out here in the serene solitude and have coffee, breakfast, scribble in a journal, or think about Dante.

  I’ll probably be thinking about Dante a lot.

  Especially now that I know that his room is literally right next door to mine.

  I love him.

  I make that realization with a start.

  Because it’s startling.

  Is it possible to love someone that you’ve only known for a couple of weeks?

  It has to be possible. Because I love him.

  I love thinking his name.

  I love saying his name.

  I love looking at him.

  I love everything about him.

  “Dante,” I whisper.

  He turns to me, beautiful in the sunlight.

  “Yes?”

  Holy crap. Did I say that out loud? I scramble to think of something to say.

  “I love your house.”

  He smiles.

  “Me too. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Me too.

  Chapter Nineteen

  To: Reece Ellis
  From: Becca Cline
  Subject: A package

  Reecie,

  Thank you for the turtle. I love him and he’s adorable. Question, though. Don’t olive branches mean a peace offering? Um, did you notice that the turtle is eating your peace offering? Just an observation.

  I hate fighting with you too. I love you like a sister. And I know that you don’t want Quinn anymore. So, let’s make up, okay? I’m sorry I freaked out. It wasn’t all your fault.

  I actually decided to take a break from Quinn. That’s why I’ve been so upset. For a long time I’ve felt him slipping away. We’re young and he needs to experience other things- other than me. Other girls. I’m not that upset now—I’d rather this happen now than later.

  Your mom told me that you’re staying there for the entire summer. What the eff?? What about senior pictures?

  Xoxo,

  Becks

  PS. Who were you talking about when you said that you might like someone else? Details please. And pictures.

  Holy cow.

  I stare at the laptop and then sigh a huge sigh of relief. It’s like a weight has been taken off of my shoulders and I didn’t even realize that it was there.

  But what a relief.

  Becca and I have never had a fight as big as this one was. And I seriously thought that she might never talk to me again.

  But she and Quinn have broken up? That thought makes it feel like the earth is a little off its axis or something. They’ve dated for years. Becca-and-Quinn. It’s like a staple back home. It’s the way it is. Becca-and-Quinn.

  But things change, I guess.

  Oh, how they change.

  I’m sitting on my own personal balcony right now using the laptop that Dante had brought for me. My things have already been moved here and this will officially be my home all summer long. And I hadn’t thought of senior pictures until Becca mentioned them. I briefly wonder if there is photographer here that I could use because OhMyWord it would be awesome to have senior pictures taken here in paradise. I make a mental note to ask Dante.

  I stare absently over the olive groves and watch the various workers tending to the trees. I think they are pruning them, but I can’t be sure. They are out there with sharp cutters and they are so very gentle, as though the trees are made from gold. And as much money as the Giliberti’s make from the olives and olive oils, I guess they might as well be.

  I watch as Darius, the foreman, visits random trees and inspects the budding olives. It’s barely past breakfast. The sun hasn’t even been up that long. But Darius lives for his job. Or so Marionette tells me.

  I watch Dante out there, too. He’s up early and working with Darius. He’s wearing a short-sleeved dark blue tee and khaki shorts. Even at work, he’s sort of dressed up. Boys back home would probably be wearing cut-offs. And I’ve got to stop comparing him to boys back home. There is no comparison.

  Dante looks up and meets my gaze and grins. His smile is like a hundred suns and I smile back, waving. And then Darius calls him and Dante returns to work.

  I sigh and close my laptop.

  And then there’s a knock at my bedroom door.

  I tighten the thick robe that Marionette gave me and open the door.

  Mia stands there with a hot croissant, a coffee and a folded-up shirt.

  “Here you go,” she tosses the shirt at me without any other greeting. And that’s slightly odd since I haven’t seen her since I left the Old Palace a couple of days ago.

  “Well, good morning to you too,” I raise my eyebrows and look at the shirt. And then I realize that she is wearing a matching one. A forest green polo shirt with a gold G embroidered on the lapel. “What’s this?”

  “Your uniform,” she tells me as she sets the food on my dresser. “And I brought you breakfast too. You’re welcome.”

  I smile and thank her. And then I notice that she now has bright green streaks in her jet black hair.

  “I like the hair,” I tell her. She nods.

  “My dad didn’t,” she smirks.

  “Isn’t that the point?”

  She grins. “I love how you get me.”

  I laugh and bite into the croissant. And then I want to die. Right after I eat a hundred more rolls.

  “OhMyGosh. This is the best croissant I’ve ever had,” I tell her in all seriousness. She nods.

  “Marionette is French and she makes them from scratch. I honestly think it’s the best thing about Giliberti House. I’ll probably gain ten pounds this summer.”

  Wait. What?

  I just realize that her shirt matches mine. And she’ll gain ten pounds this summer?

  “Are you working here too?” I ask. “No one mentioned this to me.”r />
  “Yep,” she nods. “I worked for them last year. It’s the easiest job in the world and it will look good on the college applications. We’ll both be in the gift shop.”

  I look at her questioningly and she explains that there are tours of the olive groves and the estate and that at the end, the tour groups are brought into the gift shop. The tourists get samples of the olives and snacks made from the olive oil.

  “They sell wine in there from Miss Bitch’s family winery too,” Mia adds.

  Ugh. Elena. The thought of Miss Perfect puts an immediate bad taste in my mouth.

  “But it’s fun,” Mia continues. “Dante is here all summer and he’ll be in and out of the shop and there are tons of kids our age that are hired for summer help in the groves. You’ll like it. But put your shirt on. It’s time for us to go to work.”

  It actually does sound like fun.

  Particularly the part where Dante will be in and out of the shop.

  I smile and turn to strip off my pajama shirt and as I do, I see that Dante is standing with Elena on the edge of the groves.

  I freeze and my shirt falls to the floor.

  I am rooted to the spot as I watch them.

  Elena is close to him, way too close, and Dante is talking. Her hand is on his chest and he doesn’t push it away. After a few minutes, she leans up on her toes and kisses him on the mouth. It’s a soft kiss, not long but way too long at the same time. Because he doesn’t push her away. They talk for another brief minute and then he turns around and walks away.

  Elena watches him for a second, then she turns to walk away in my direction. And as she walks, her green eyes find me, focusing in on me with laser precision and she glares with the most malice and hatred that I’ve ever seen.

  I gulp.

  “What’s wrong?” Mia asks from behind me.

  She marches over and sees Elena and before I can even think, she gives Elena the bird. Elena rolls her eyes and stalks away.

  “What’s she doing here?” Mia asks me.

  As if I know.

  “A better question is why is she kissing Dante?” I ask miserably.

  “What?” Mia asks, her mouth open. “Not possible. I’ve seen him lately. He lights up like a neon sign at the mere mention of you. He’s got it seriously bad.”

  I feel like a thousand rocks are sitting on my chest. Or someone kicked me in the stomach. Or someone punched me in the face. I sink onto my bed. I’m numb and I can’t think straight. I can’t think at all, actually.

  “He didn’t push her away,” I practically whimper. I want to curl up into a ball, but that would be pathetic and I’m being pathetic enough. Strong girls don’t freak out about stuff like this. And I’m a strong girl. Corn-fed-meat-eating-Kansas-girl-strong.

  But still.

  This took me so off-guard.

  My heart has apparently forgotten my supposed strength for the time being.

  Mia sits next to me and is uncharacteristically sympathetic. She wraps a thin arm around my shoulders and sits silently.

  “Wanna go slash her tires?” she suggests evilly. I shake my head.

  “No. I want to sit here and be miserable.”

  “Sorry,” she says. “You can’t. We’ve got to work.” She stoops down and picks up my shirt and hands it to me. “You can be miserable at work.”

  I sigh and put my shirt on, then pull my hair into a ponytail.

  “K. I’m ready.”

  Mia looks at me doubtfully. “Are you? I don’t want to see you moping around in front of Dante. You’re going to totally look like you couldn’t care less. Alright?”

  I return her doubtful look. “I don’t know.”

  “I know,” she says firmly. “This is what you need to do. Trust me. You are strong and confident and you don’t need him. He needs to know that.”

  And with that, she takes my arm and leads me out of my room and out of the house. We hop into a little golf cart and she drives us across the property to a quaint little building next to what looks like a factory. A very clean, very large factory.

  “This,”Mia says as she gets out of the cart, “is the gift shop. Yes, I know that it looks like Snow White’s cottage. That,” and she points to the factory, “is where they process the olives. And that,” she points at another large building, ”Is where they make the olive oil. Any questions?”

  “Not yet,” I tell her as we crunch across the gravel and she unlocks the gift shop. It’s clear that she’s done this many times before. She’s very comfortable and knows where everything is. She flips on the light switches and immediately counts the money in the cash drawer. As she does, she explains the various processes and procedures. It sounds simple enough.

  The entire time, I keep one eye looking through the window, hoping to see Dante.

  And then I feel pathetic.

  I’ve got to remember that I’m pissed at him.

  And then I feel pathetic because I still secretly hope to see him.

  What is wrong with me?

  “Are you listening?” Mia asks as she hands me a green apron with the Giliberti G on it. I snap back to reality.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “No, you’re not,” she says, shaking her head. “In a little bit, Marionette will bring us homemade treats to give out as samples. The tourists love them. We open the door at 9:00 a.m. And you’d better perk up. I’m sure Dante will pop in here before then. Also, I just noticed that there is a case of Kontou wine by the back door. Maybe Elena was here to deliver it?”

  I have a brief spark of hope and then I’m deflated.

  “It doesn’t matter if that’s the case,” I say sadly. “Because she was kissing him. He didn’t have to let her.”

  Mia shakes her head. She knows, I can tell, that she can’t say anything that is going to stick right now. I want to dwell on it for the time being.

  So I do.

  For hours.

  The shop door opens at 9:00 a.m. like Mia said and it wasn’t long before our first group of tourists comes through. My job is to hand out the samples and smile while Mia takes care of the cash register.

  Everyone is very nice and friendly and hungry. I hand out more samples than I ever thought possible. And I conceal my mopiness with a blank smile and so no one is the wiser.

  And then, when I don’t expect it, the pair of hands that reach for a sample are Dante’s.

  And I freeze.

  And then Mia catches my eye from across the room and gives me a look, so I smile at him. The same polite smile that I have given everyone else all morning.

  Polite, sterile, matter-of-fact.

  And it is so hard to stay blasé and casual because he looks so very good.

  Sweet baby monkeys.

  He is slightly sweaty, but just enough so that he looks manly and rugged. I want to wrap myself around him and kiss him hard, but then I remember that his lips have just been on Elena’s and so I manage to restrain myself.

  “Hi,” he says quietly, his voice husky as he reaches for a cracker spread with olive oil and cheese.

  “Hello,” I say politely.

  “You look nice in your shirt,” he tells me solemnly as he pops the cracker in his mouth, his eyes glued to mine. Why do his have to be so freaking blue?

  “Thank you,” I say, as casually as I can. Am I supposed to act like nothing happened? Is that what being strong means?

  I swallow.

  Then swallow again.

  Okay. My plan is to act normal and see what happens. Because I’m strong. I’m not needy and I don’t need for him to explain. I’ll keep an eye out and see how he acts, and see what happens with Elena. And see what happens with me.

  I’m strong.

  I’m strong.

  I’m strong.

  I’m freaking strong.

  I repeat this over and over in my head.

  “Why were you kissing Elena?” I blurt out quickly and Dante looks at me, startled.

  I guess I’m not so strong.

&
nbsp; He is hesitant and stands still. He isn’t looking me in the eye so my heart drops. I don’t know what I expected. A miracle? He was kissing a perfect, beautiful girl. Of course he liked it.

  “You don’t understand,” he tells me quietly. “Everything is comp—“

  “Yeah, I know,” I snap. “Complicated. I’m tired of hearing about how complicated your life is. Life is not that complicated. Either you like someone or you don’t. Either you are true to them and your heart or you aren’t. Pretty simple, actually.”

  I glare at him and he is staring at me, unsure of what to say, probably surprised by my outburst or amused that I actually said the words True to them and your heart. What a goofy thing to say, but I don’t focus on it because it’s the truth.

  I take my tray and stalk away into the back room of the shop.

  He’s either going to be true to me or we’re not going to happen. I love him, but I deserve to be loved back. When you love someone and they love you, you deserve to be the most important thing to them, as important as breathing.

  Dante doesn’t follow me, but that’s okay. I need a second to compose myself alone.

  I stand still in the quiet back room, allowing my ragged breathing to slow and even out.

  I feel a little shattered, but I feel good about one thing, too.

  I’m strong after all.

  Chapter Twenty

  Strength is overrated.

  I decide this as I soak in the bathtub of my massive bathroom.

  It’s the bathroom of a dignitary or a millionaire or a princess. And I am none of these things. I know this because a dignitary or millionaire or princess probably wouldn’t be depressed and crying over Dante Giliberti.

  But I am.

  I’ve been mopey since yesterday. Since I stalked away from the most beautiful boy in the world and cried about him in the back room of his father’s gift shop. I had dinner alone in my room and I haven’t spoken with Dante since, even though he texted me and asked if we could talk.

  I told him no.

  Then he said please.

  And then I considered it.

  But then I didn’t have to answer because he was called away to meet his father at the Old Palace. So I was granted a reprieve. But it won’t last forever.