Dante’s Girl (4 page)

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 monstrosity, 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.

It’s not happening.

It’s impossible, in fact. 

I decide this twenty-eight minutes later as I stare into the mirror. 

I do, and always will until the end of time, look like the girl next door.  It is my curse.  My eternal fate. They’re probably going to put it on my tombstone. 

Here lies Reece Ellis, the cute little girl next door.
 

There’s nothing I can do about it.  I’ve tried a thousand times to be a bombshell, but it’s just not going to work for me.

My blonde hair is a pretty color with high and low lights, but it’s not sleek and sophisticated and doesn’t even have sexy round curls by any stretch of the imagination.  It’s wavy.  Just wavy.  Like it couldn’t make up its mind what it wanted to be.  And for lack of something better or more creative, it’s clipped back in a barrette right now.  My hair straightener is in my checked luggage which is still being held at Schiphol airport.  I only have what I was carrying in my carry-on.

And it’s true that my eyes are a pretty blue.  But they always seem to sparkle, which makes me seem young.  And pair that trait with the smattering of light freckles on my nose, and I will forever be the dreaded girl next door, not a glamorous Marilyn Monroe type of girl.  I sigh.  Oh well. I’ll just have to resign myself to being more like Doris Day.  That’s okay.  There are worse things in the world, probably.