I start cracking up and then Dante laughs.
He kicks off his black loafers into the grass, and I’m sure they are Italian leather and very expensive, and now one is completely covered in horse poo. The thought of it sends me into a new and fresh fit of giggles.
Dante rolls his eyes at me as he bends down and rolls up his slacks.
“Aren’t you going to get another pair of shoes?” I ask when I can finally breathe. He shakes his head.
“Nope. I don’t need them. Where we’re going, I don’t need shoes.”
I stare at him, my curiosity freshly piqued.
“Hmm. A riddle,” I murmur.
And I take the hand that he offers me once again.
This time, it goes off without a hitch and he helps me into the beautiful little carriage without incident. And I feel sort of like a princess. With a barefoot prince. Dante nods towards someone that I can’t see and a groomsman emerges from the edge of the house. He’d been waiting for Dante’s signal. He climbs up to the driver’s seat and looks back at Dante.
“Where to, sir?”
“To the docks,” Dante answers.
I’m busy looking at the carriage. It could honestly have been taken directly out of a fairy tale. It’s roundish and plush. And pretty large on the inside, actually. There are a couple of folded up jackets, a picnic basket and a bouquet of flowers sitting on the seat across from me.
Dante picks up the flowers and hands them to me.
“You look beautiful this evening,” he tells me. His eyes are sparkling again. “Do you like your surprise? You’ll be able to ride him now, whenever you’d like. And you can teach me, too. If you’re willing, I mean.”
Oh, I’m willing.
Oh. Wait. He meant willing to give horse-back riding lessons.
I’m willing to do that too. Of course I am. He can have anything he’d like.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I nod.
“Of course. I’d love to teach you.”
Dante settles back into the seat and stretches his arm out on the seat behind me. I lean into it, into his warmth. I’ve never been more comfortable in my entire life. I tell him that and he laughs.
And life is officially perfect.
The horse’s hooves clip-clop on the road and cars pass us. The Caberrans inside of them gawk at us because it’s definitely not a common thing to have horses strolling along the highway. I don’t see Dante’s security detail, but I’m sure they are following us somewhere. But I don’t mention it. I don’t want to bring up anything annoying tonight.
Because tonight is perfect.
The sun is really setting now and it’s beautiful. The oranges and reds and golds are shining over the horizon and onto our skin and everything is romantic and dreamy.
It’s like a dream, actually.
I lean up and kiss Dante’s cheek and he smells like the ocean and the salt and the sun. And maybe the woodsy scent of the olive groves. I sigh. There’s no way that life gets any better than this. I settle back into his side for the drive and he wraps his arm around me.
I know when we are close to the docks because I see sails peeking up into the sky. Sails of every color- white, blue, red, orange, yellow. Boats of all sizes are docked in neat slips along the various piers. The carriage pulls up to a quaint little boardwalk and stops.
Dante climbs barefoot down the little steps with the picnic basket and waits with his hand outstretched to help me down. And then he leads me onto a pier. At the end of this pier, I can see his boat. I know it is his because the name Daniella is huge and gold on the stern and I can see it from here.
And it’s not really a boat so much as it is a yacht.
A really big yacht.
“Are you ready for that alone time that I promised?” Dante asks me.
I look at him.
And I know that I’m ready for alone time with him.
And that includes anything that alone time with him might entail.
I’m readier than I’ve ever been for anything in my entire life.
I nod and take his hand and he leads me to the Daniella.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Daniella is amazing.
It’s huge and luxurious and is everything that I ever thought a yacht would be. It’s got rooms and furniture and decks. It’s filled with chandeliers, crystal, linens, silk curtains. It’s pretty much a floating mansion.
It’s amazing. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. And in my head, I’m already composing the email that I’ll send to Becca about this experience.
I can’t wait to see how the email will end.
What will happen here on this boat?
My stomach flutters as the butterflies start flying.
“This is beautiful,” I tell Dante needlessly. We step into a sitting area in the front of the stern and I sit on a cushion, looking out over the water. The sea is like blue glass tonight, still and majestic.
Dante sits next to me and picks up my hand.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells me. “I’ve been thinking about having you to myself all week long.”
“Me too,” I say. And then I silently kick myself. Seriously? That’s all I can think of to say?
Dante doesn’t seem to mind. He leans over and kisses me in the most ultra-soft of all kisses.
And the butterflies are back.
But that’s okay.
That’s a good thing in this situation.
They’re just letting me know that something good is about to happen.
Dante runs his hands over my back, so lightly. I lean into his touch, into his arms, feeling the hardness of his chest against mine and I wonder if he can feel my heart beating. If he can, then it is a dead giveaway of how nervous I am, how excited.
The stars shine brightly above us and I’ve never seen a more romantic setting than this one. I can see the email to Becca now.
Becks, the yacht was amazing, the night was perfect and romantic. We were under the stars and--
And then I hear voices.
And then I hear voices? That’s not how the email is supposed to go.
But I do hear voices. I sit still and listen and Dante does too.
Somewhere, from the inside of the boat, there are voices.
“Is someone here?” I ask. “Is there a crew or…”
Dante shakes his head. “There is a crew, but since we aren’t going anywhere, they shouldn’t be here tonight. We should be alone.”
We are whispering and I wonder what we should do. I know that Dante’s security detail will be lingering near the boat and for the first time, it is a comforting feeling and I’m glad that they are here. Somewhere. Wherever they are.
Dante stands up and pulls me behind him. Then he walks softly and quietly and barefoot toward the doors leading into the ship. I am quiet as a mouse as I follow him and I can only hope that no one can hear my heart pounding. Because it is. And it isn’t pounding in a good way like it was pounding a moment ago.
We creep into a dining room just as two shadowy figures burst through the doors on the other side of the room.
“Stop!” Dante calls out.
And the two figures stop.
“Dante?”
It’s Mia’s voice.
What the hell?
“Mia?” Dante sounds as surprised as I feel.
He flips on a light and Mia and Vincent are standing there, looking sheepish and guilty, flushed and disheveled. I instantly wonder what the heck they are doing here and then by the bright red blush staining Mia’s cheeks, I know what they’ve been doing.
“Um.” I don’t know what to say. And apparently Dante doesn’t either.
“What are you doing here, guys?” he finally asks. And he doesn’t sound angry. Just curious.
“I’m sorry, D,” Mia says and her voice is genuine and apologetic. “We wanted to be somewhere quiet. My parents are on our boat and Vincent said he would love to see yours, so we came here. I should’ve
asked. I’m really sorry.”
Dante is quiet for a moment. But then he smiles.
“It’s alright. Just check first next time, alright? I’d hate to accidentally beat you over the head, thinking that you are an intruder.”
“I’m too sexy to be an intruder,” Mia announces and the tension is broken and everyone laughs with her. “What?” Mia demands. “Green stripes are sexy!” and she flips her green-striped hair with her fingers.
A part of me is incredibly and insanely disappointed that we’re no longer alone. I think this as we spread the contents our picnic basket out on the massive dining room table and we all share it.
The four of us.
And then another part is just slightly relieved.
Only slightly.
Because I know what probably would have happened tonight out on the cushions under the stars.
And while I’m so ready for it, I’m a little scared too.
Because I’m a virgin.
But it turns out okay. Seated around one end of the huge table, we laugh and joke and get to know Vincent and it feels like a little party. We eat the expensive cheese and bread and wine that Dante has brought along with the olives, of course, and the little sandwiches cut into triangles.
I notice, too, that the wine is not from the Kontou Winery. Dante gets a point for that. Make that two points. It doesn’t make up for the fact that he let Elena kiss him, though. He lost a million points for that little maneuver. He’ll be making that up for a while. That thought makes me smile.
“Why do you look like that cat who swallowed the canary?” Vincent asks me. He’s sitting next to me, and Dante and Mia are involved in an animated conversation about the pro’s and con’s of 3D movies. I have no idea how they got onto that topic, because I have been lost in a daydream. “Reece?”
Vincent brings me back to earth. I look at him.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“You’re in your own little world.” Vincent reaches for another little sandwich. I briefly daydream about Dante feeding me that little sandwich. After all, we were supposed to be alone here tonight.
“I know, “I tell Vincent. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I was just thinking about my summer. Life here is very different from back home in America. Were you born and raised in Caberra?”
I’m proud of myself for making polite conversation and keeping my head out of my daydream. It’s quite the feat and I’m doing it gracefully, if I do say so myself.
Vincent nods, then takes a big gulp of the expensive wine. And then another big gulp, draining his glass.
Interesting. Everyone else here, all of the people who know wine and other fine things, sip at their wine. Vincent gulps it. He’s clearly not a dignitary’s kid.
I pick up my own glass as he tells me about his home in the valley, how his father is a farmer and his mother stays at home. Apparently, they are fairly poor and so he is fascinated by stories about the wealth of Americans. Then I spend a few minutes explaining American economics and social structure and political structure and dispelling a few myths about Americans.
Like, we’re not all super rich and morbidly obese and we don’t all drive Porsches.
“I drive a used Honda Civic,” I finish up. I feel sort of good about that right now. Like the fact that I live on a farm and drive a used car keeps me grounded or something.
“Interesting,” Vincent nods. “You’re different than I expected. In a good way,” he hurries to add. I smile good-naturedly. I’ve heard that a lot this summer.
After we eat, we talk for a while longer and hang out around the table and then Mia finally, finally says, “Vincent, we should probably go. Don’t you think?”
Vincent immediately agrees and pushes away from the table.
He turns to me. “Thank you for the lesson on American culture. It was a pleasure to meet you away from the groves.”
His smile is sexy and charming and all, but Vincent doesn’t hold a candle to Dante. I smile back, though, and Mia and I exchange glances. I can tell that she is sort of happy to leave, too. Alone time is apparently a very valuable commodity. Dante and I walk them to the pier. We watch as they disappear into the shadows and then we turn to each other.
“What just happened?” Dante asks with a laugh. “That was not at all like I pictured this evening going.”
“And how did you picture it?” I ask. The waves are lapping gently at the pier and the stars are still twinkling overhead. The air is just turning chilly and I shiver slightly as the breeze hits my bare arms.
“Are you cold? Let’s go back on board,” Dante says. We walk back onto the yacht and return to the cushioned couches on the stern. He slips a jacket around my shoulders as I tuck my feet under me and then I face him while he settles into the cushions.
“Where were we?” I ask.
I’m nervous. Jittery. And I don’t know why. For some silly reason, I feel vulnerable. Like even though I am offering him something that I am ready to offer, it might backfire and crush me. And Dante would never, ever hurt me. I know that. I know it more surely than I know anything else. And I just said surely again.
Drat.
“It doesn’t matter where we were,” Dante says casually. “This is where we are now. And I like what we have, don’t you?”
I nod. Of course I like what we have.
“And I don’t want you to ever think that we need to rush things. Not for me, not for anything. Okay?”
Dante’s face is so sweet, so serious. So considerate. And I swear to everything holy that I can’t possibly love him anymore than I already do. It’s physically impossible. My heart can’t hold any more love.
And suddenly, it’s like an epiphany and it hits me in a white-hot enlightening rush. Love is all that matters. Everything else is just details. Having sex/making love/physical intimacy is going to be great, I’m sure. Scratch that. It will be freaking awesome. With Dante. But love itself is the important thing. And I so, so, so love him.
“Okay,” I nod. “Did you feel like you were rushing me?”
He considers that as he hugs a pillow to his strong chest. I find myself wishing that I was that pillow.
“Not purposely. But sometimes, things can be construed differently than they are intended,” Dante says carefully. “I don’t want you to ever think that I’m pressuring you. Because I’m not. I won’t. I promise. What we have… it’s so unexpected. And I think it’s amazing. And I’m not going to jeopardize that by trying to rush you.”
My heart will soon explode from love for this boy. I know that much is true.
I shake my head and smile and pick up his hand, grasping it tightly in mine.
“Dante, that is the most beautiful and sweet thing anyone has ever said to me. Boys back home just don’t talk that way. I love it. And I love you.”
HolySweetBabyMonkeys.
I said the words.
I said the words.
I said the words.
I’m such an idiot. He’s going to think that I’m a ManiacCrazyPerson. We’ve only known each other for six weeks. And I said the L word. Out loud. To Dante. Giliberti. I’m. So. Stupid.
“I love you, too.”
Dante’s words are husky and low and sexy in the night and OHMYGOD.
He loves me too.
I can’t breathe.
“Reece?”
Dante is looking at me in concern. Because I’m staring at him like an idiot.
“I’m fine,” I rush to assure him. “I just felt silly for a second. But now I don’t.”
“Good,” he says. “I don’t want you to ever feel silly around me. If I can step in horse manure in front of you, there’s probably nothing you can ever do more embarrassing or silly than that.”
“Is that a challenge?” I ask with a smile as I snuggle into his arms.
He tightens them up around me and suddenly we’ve got a full-on, loving embrace going on. Dante kisses my hair and it’s so perfect. And the idea of having sex tonight
can’t be further from my mind anymore. It’s been overshadowed by this sweet conversation and the stars and the sea and his smell and the fact that DanteGilibertiLovesMeTOOOOO.
The world doesn’t get any better than this.
Chapter Twenty-Four
To: Becca Cline
From: Reece Ellis
Subject: OHMYWORD
Becks,
I told him I loved him. And he said it back. I can’t wait for you to meet him. You’re going to love him, too.
Xoxo,
Reecie
PS
Don’t mention this to my mom. I don’t want her texting me twenty times a day for details.
I’m still floating on a cloud.
I barely slept last night, even after being driven back to Giliberti House in the carriage under the stars. Actually, especially after being driven back in a carriage under the stars. Dante’s arm was wrapped around me the entire way home.
I was awake when the sun came up and started shining in my windows. I carried my coffee out to my balcony and curled up at my bistro table, hoping that Dante would come out to his.
But he didn’t.
And I don’t have the guts to slip into his room.
Not yet.
I thought about it.
In the night, when I couldn’t sleep and I was staring at my ceiling and the moon was passing across my walls and the shadows were moving along the floor, I thought about it. I won’t lie.
But then I thought the better of it.
Marionette is a force to be reckoned with. And I have a feeling that she would know the second that I crossed the threshold and there would be hell to pay. She’s sweet and adorable, but Dante wasn’t lying when he said that she runs Giliberti House with an iron fist. It may be tiny, but it’s still iron.
I smile as I cross the room to leave and then I stop still in front of my door.
And smile wider.
Dante’s Girl Page 18
