Dante’s Girl (18 page)

Chapter Eighteen

The countryside is beautiful.  I can hardly take my eyes from it as we wind our way through the smooth country roads.  Being from Kansas, it is hard for me to believe that there are no dirt roads here. But even the country roads are paved and immaculate, perfect like everything else.  

The landscape is rugged and green, with rocks dotting the hills and tall grass waving.  The highway that we are on winds above the ocean and below us, the blue sea crashes against the rocks.  Above us, the sky is just as blue.  It’s truly breathtaking.

The wind blows my hair and the air smells like the sea.  It’s salty, vast and earthy.  I know that I will never forget this smell.  It smells like Dante.

He looks over at me. 

“What do you think?” he asks with a smile.

He is happy now, now that we are racing away from the Old Palace.  I can see it on his face, by the way he is relaxed in the driver’s seat. 

And I’ve not been out of Valese, so this is the first time I’ve seen the country here in Caberra.  He knows what I think.  I can see it in his smile.

“I think it’s beautiful,” I confirm.  “You are so lucky to live here.  It’s so pretty.  It’s perfect.”

“It’s only perfect when you are here,” he tells me seriously.  And I laugh.  Dante has the ability to say so many corny things without seeming corny at all. It’s a true gift.  He reaches over and grabs my hand, nestling it within his on his leg.

I suck my air in.

My fingers are on Dante’s thigh.

It seems so intimate. 

It
is
so intimate.  OhMyWord.

My lungs have a spasm and I practically choke.

Have I mentioned to him that I’m a virgin? 

Breathe.

Breathe.

Why am I such an idiot?

We’re simply holding hands. 

On his thigh
.

He looks over at me and grins an ornery grin.  And then he guns the engine. We whirl down the winding road and my hair twirls above my head, whipped by the wind.  I clutch the handle on the door, but I don’t say a word.  The car hugs the ground and Dante drives it expertly. 

“If you think you’re scaring me, you’re crazy!” I call above the wind.  “I grew up sliding around dirt corners in farm trucks.”

Dante laughs and shifts gears and we race even faster along the silvery road.  I clutch the door handle harder, but I’m really not afraid. I just don’t want to slide around in my seat. I trust him.  He’s too responsible to get out of control with the car. 

We breeze onto a side road and the landscape around us became twisted and viney and even more rugged, but still gorgeous.  It looks like orchards line the road.  But I look closer and see that tiny olives are on the tree branches.   They look almost like pebbles from here.

“Are these yours?” I ask, motioning around us.

Dante nods and I realize that the car is slowing down.  I futilely mess with my hair but it’s a lost cause.  So I give up, wrapping it up in a ponytail holder.  I’ll deal with the tangles later.

We pull up to two massive wrought-iron gates that are standing wide open.  There are G’s on each gate. 

Giliberti. 

I look at this majestic arched iron gate and then picture the old faded white wooden fence that lines our property back home and sigh.  The only gates that we have are to keep the cows and horses in.  They are fastened together with a thick chain and the cows chew at the fence, so there are bite marks everywhere. 

There are no bite marks here, of that I am certain.  What I am looking at is surely a scene straight from a painting.  A four feet high stone wall frames in the property and even though it is probably very old, it is in immaculate condition.

As we pass under the arch, trees line each side of the shady lane now, but not olive trees. These are trees with white blossoms of some sort.  The blossoms drift peacefully down and flutter along the road, beautiful and tranquil.

“Callery Pear trees,” Dante tells me before I have a chance to ask. 

I can smell the sweet scent all around me.  It’s in the air, permeating my clothes, soaking into my hair.  Combined with the cool breeze that brings in the scents of the ocean, it’s amazing.  The leaves on the trees above us rustle soothingly and I reach over and grasp Dante’s hand again.

“Your home is beautiful,” I tell him.  “It’s like paradise.”

“I know,” he answers.  His golden hair is fluttering in the breeze and his face is so happy, so perfectly serene.  I can truly see that this is where he belongs. Not in the Old Place in Valese.   But here.  In the cool, calming olive groves.  He even looks at home here.  He might say that he wants a choice in his future, but I know right here and now, that his choice will always involve this estate. 

A house looms massively ahead of us on the left.  It looks like something you would find on an old Southern plantation, except it is made from white stucco. And it’s bigger. It’s beautiful, like everything else here.  It sprawls far and wide and has tons of windows facing us.  It looks warm and welcoming. 

It looks like Dante’s home.

I look at him and he’s practically glowing as he noses the car into a parking slot in a semi-circular parking area in front of the house.  The tires crunch on gravel and the car comes to a smooth stop.

Dante leaps from the car and flies around to open my door in two seconds flat.  He’s anxious for me to see his home and I think that’s sweet.   And honestly, I’m sort of anxious to see it too.  I want to learn more about Dante and I have a feeling this is where I will learn it.

It sounds stupid to say, but I can feel him here.  In everything around me, I feel Dante. And while I know it sounds stupid to say, it’s the truth. 

We walk up to the house and the white stone steps are wide. The porch wraps around most of the front of the house, which is unusual for this type of home.  There is wicker furniture here with white silk cushions and large antique looking rugs.  The front doors are huge and heavy and mahogany, also unusual for this type of home.  It’s clear that this home was personally designed by someone and it has an eclectic, unique feel.

Dante pushes the front doors open, bows slightly and gives an “After you” motion with his arm. 

I step ahead and pause inside, looking around.

And I stare, practically wonderstruck.

It’s beautiful here.  Warmth and sunlight swirl around and it feels like I’m wrapped in a cozy, peaceful blanket.  The feeling around me is serene and soft, like I’ve stepped into a beautiful painting or an enchanted place.  I feel instantly at home, instantly at peace.

“Welcome to Giliberti House,” Dante says with a proud grin. “This is the foyer.  The wood on the banister there,” and he points to a huge staircase spilling into the foyer, “Is made from six hundred year old trees.  The marble that you are stepping on right now was brought in by hand hundreds of years ago by Gilibertis.  Gilibertis built this house and there has been a Giliberti in it ever since.”

The pride in his voice makes me feel warm all over.  It’s so refreshing.  I want to reach over and brush the hair out of his eyes, but I don’t. 

A tiny elderly woman with gray hair walks in and Dante greets her with a hug and a kiss on each cheek.

“Marionette,” he grins.  “It’s been too long, mami.”  He turns to me. “Marionette is French.  She moved to Caberra long ago to marry her young groom.  And they are still happily married today.  Her husband, Darius, is the foreman here.  He’s worked for us for a very long time.”

Marionette nods, her wrinkles crinkling around smiling blue eyes. 

“Oui,” she nods.  “My husband worked for Dante’s grandfather.  That is how long my Darius has been with the Giliberti’s.  Me and him, we’re like family.”  She reaches a tiny arm around Dante’s shoulders and squeezes him.  “I knew his grandmere before she died.” With this last statement, Marionette makes the sign of the cross on her chest.  “May she rest in peace, God bless her kind soul.”

“Also, you should know that Marionette knows fluent English,” Dante tells me.  “She may pretend not to from time to time, but don’t let her fool you.”

Marionette slaps at his arm and she looks so funny because she’s so small and Dante is so big. 

“You are not too big for me to beat, Mr. Giliberti,” she tells him.  “But tell me, who is this pretty girl that you are showing off for?”

“Where are my manners? I’m sorry, Mami.  This is Reece Ellis.  She will be working for Giliberti Olives for the summer.  Reece, this is Marionette Papou.  She runs this entire estate with a steel fist.  Don’t cross her. She’s as mean as they get.”

She slaps at him again and I have to laugh.  She’s ancient and tiny and adorable. And it’s clear that she loves Dante. And he loves her too.  Does Mami mean mom in French? I’m so clueless. But I decide that it is safe to assume.  He must be very close with her.  I make a mental note. 

They show me the rest of the main floor and it is apparent that they are both very proud of Giliberti House.  As well they should be.  It’s beautiful.  And perfect.  Just like its owner.  Well, owner-to-be.  I’m assuming that it will all be Dante’s someday.   After the tour, Marionette leaves to get us fresh lemonade.  And I stand still, soaking in the atmosphere here.  It is truly peaceful and refreshing. 

It’s beautiful and silent.

Almost reverent.

Dante is standing directly inside huge double glass doors leading out to one of the numerous porches.  The sun shines onto him, illuminating him with golden, brilliant light.  As he turns to smile at me, with his broad shoulders and slip hips, he truly seems otherworldly.  He’s just that beautiful.  And suddenly, I feel speechless and tongue-tied again.  This all seems so unreal again. 

You don’t belong here
, a tiny voice whispers in my head. 

Shut the hell up
, I silently whisper to my stupid inner voice. 
What do you know anyway?

“What do you think?” Dante asks, walking to my side.  I can’t help but stare at him as a million thoughts speed through my head. 

“It’s lovely.  Absolutely lovely.  I never want to leave here.  And I can’t believe you do!  If I were you, I’d stay here all of the time.”

He grins ruefully.  “I’d like to, to be honest.  Should I tell you a secret?”

He steps closer to me and talks even quieter, low and husky in my ear. 

“I feel my mom here,” he says.  “I feel her all around me. She decorated many of the rooms and my dad hasn’t changed them.  It’s one of the reasons that I love being here so much, because I know that she is here, too.”

I look at him and my insides melt.  How could anyone’s insides stay intact after hearing someone say such a sweet thing?  It’s impossible.  I’ve heard other girls complain that their boyfriends are Mama’s Boys and how annoying it can be. But this boy, this beautiful boy, never had a chance to be a mama’s boy.  It breaks my heart.

And this time, I do reach up and brush the hair out of his eyes.  He leans into my hand and his face is cool under my fingers.  I can feel the slight stubble on his cheekbone and the flutter of his eyelashes as he closes his eyes. 

I want to kiss him.

I want him to kiss me.

Something.

Anything.

But his impossibly blue eyes pop open. 

“Hey, would you like to stay here instead of the Old Palace?” he asks, excitement apparent on his face.  He’s animated now, energetic.  Hopeful.  “We’d have to drive out here every day anyway.”

He looks at me and there’s no way I could ever say no. 

“Of course,” I tell him.  “I’d love to stay here. Who wouldn’t?”

Dante grins happily and reaches for a nearby cordless phone handset.  He calls his father and asks for permission and while he is talking, I wander around the large room looking at the various wall-hangings and paintings.  Two minutes later, Dante is by my elbow. 

“My father approves,” he tells me.  “We’ll stay here for the summer. It will be perfectly respectable, I promise,” he says.  “Darius and Marionette sleep here in the house, so we won’t be alone.”

That was the furthest worry from my mind.

In fact, as he leads me upstairs to show me the bedrooms, I’m silently hoping that mine is close to his.  And then I feel scandalous for thinking such a thing, but it’s the truth.  I want to know that he is sleeping somewhere close to me.  I just like the thought, the idea, that his bed is close to mine.

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.