“Reece, I apologize. It appears that we must return to Caberra per safety protocol. I assure you, however, that we will get you to your father at the soonest available opportunity. I give you my promise that you will be safe with us.”
I nod and gulp, a loud sound in the silence. And then I remember my cell phone. This is the twenty-first century. I can call my father.
Right now.
And if I am, in fact, traveling with a psychopath or criminal, my father can come and get me. I mean, he works for the NSA. He has to have connections of some sort and satellites to track down my exact location. Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I power it on and slide my finger across the screen to unlock it. I punch in my father’s number with shaking hands.
No dial tone.
I try again.
This time, I connect with an automated message which wavers in and out, first in Dutch and then in English. All circuits are currently busy. Please try your call again later.
Great.
“Don’t worry,” Dante reassures me quietly, his hand on my shoulder. “It will be okay.”
“How do you know?” I challenge him.
“I just do,” he shrugs. “It always is.”
I can’t argue with that logic. In my seventeen years of life, there has never been anything that didn’t eventually turn out alright. But to be fair, I have never left an airport with a complete stranger who might possibly be an ax murderer before, either.
Holy cow. I’m such an idiot.
I’m totally screwed.
My dad is going to have to identify my body parts.
I’m sure of it.
We step out of the darkened terminal and find two large black SUVs with tinted windows waiting for us. An airport security person stands to the side. He takes our passports and ushers us on our way after speaking hurriedly with Russell.
I briefly consider telling Dante that I’ve changed my mind, that I want to stay, but something holds me back. I’m not sure what. Some niggling little thing in the corner of my mind tells me to just hang tight. My mother has always told me to trust my gut. And right now, for some reason, my gut is telling me that Dante is okay, that I am safe with him.
I sincerely hope my gut isn’t crazy.
The other four men in suits take the front SUV while Dante, Russell and I climb into the second one. I settle into the cushiony seat, the leather cool against my skin. I pull my shirt down to cover the exposed skin on the bottom of my back and then turn to Dante, who was sitting next to me.
“Who are you?”
“Dante Giliberti,” he answers, pronouncing Giliberti as Gili-Bear-ti and looking confused by my question. But he has to know why I’m wondering.
“Why does Dante Gili-bear-ti command such special treatment?” I demand impatiently, staring him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry if I seem rude, but I’m an American speeding away from an airport with a man that I don’t even know. You are clearly important or we would be stuck back there with everyone else- probably even still on that plane.” I shudder at the thought. “And while I’m very grateful to you that that isn’t the case, I would like to know who you are.”
“My father is Dimitri Giliberti. He’s the Prime Minister of Caberra.”
Dante says this calmly, casually and matter-of-factly, as though he was speaking of the weather, as though it is something that anyone might say.
My mouth drops open and I’m pretty sure that my vision blurs for a second.
“Prime Minister?” I stutter.
I can see mild amusement on Buzz Cut’s face, but I ignore it. At this moment, he doesn’t matter. Although, now at least it makes sense why Dante has a security team in the first place. Oh, sweet Mary. The guy has an entire security team. The realization makes me almost nauseous and I’m not sure why. I should be happy. Dante isn’t an ax murderer.
“Are you upset?” Dante asks in concern. “Are you alright?”
“Your father is the Prime Minister of a country,” I say out loud. Dante nods.
“Yes. Caberra. It’s a small island country in the Mediterranean. It’s not far from Greece.”
“I know where it is. You already told me,” I answer softly. “And your father is the Prime Minister.”
Dante nods. “Yes.”
I gulp. My father is a desk-jockey for the NSA. Dante’s father is the leader of a country. It’s just one more reason that I should feel inadequate when standing next to him.
“Don’t be intimidated by that,” Dante adds graciously. “You’re not sitting next to the Prime Minister of Caberra. You’re sitting next to me. And I’m a normal person.”
“A normal person with billions of dollars,” Russell mutters beneath his breath. Dante shoots him a glare.
“Billions of dollars,” I repeat weakly. “You have billions of dollars. You’re a billionaire.”
Dante doesn’t answer yes or no. Instead he says, “My family has been in the olive business for quite a long time. We export gourmet olives.”
He’s diplomatic, too. It must run in his family.
“Giliberti Olives,” I murmur, absently picturing a name that sits on a jar in my very own kitchen cabinets back home. My grandmother loves their garlic stuffed olives. If we even have them in Kansas, then they must be a huge company. Clearly, they ship all over the world.
“Yes, Giliberti Olives,” Dante answers pleasantly. “You’ve heard of us? We sell pretty much any kind of olive you can think of, as well as gourmet olive oils.”
“You’re a billionaire,” I repeat again.
I feel stupid, but I just can’t wrap my head around it. This handsome, sophisticated boy is a billionaire. And the son of a Prime Minister. It makes total and complete sense. The realization that I am safe barely registers with me. It is overshadowed by the fact that the beautiful boy that I am with is a billionaire.
“Does it matter?” Dante asks with a smile. “Money is money. It is only that. It doesn’t define us, does it?”
I’m pretty sure it does. I’m farm girl from Kansas and he’s the wealthy son of a Prime Minister. We are from completely different worlds. So different, that we are probably separated by two or three galaxies. He’s way out of my league. In fact, he’s in a total league of his own.