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.
And why am I comparing myself to classic movie stars, anyway?
A knock on my door interrupts my ridiculous musings.
He’s here. Right on time. Right outside my door, actually. My heart picks up again as I open my door and then I inhale deeply, trying not to hyperventilate.
Dante is more beautiful than he was before and he practically fills my doorframe. Was he this tall yesterday? He’s wearing a pair of khaki shorts, a white t-shirt and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He’s casual and smooth and sophisticated, everything that I want to be but am not. I’m a farm girl, born and raised and I have never been more aware of that fact than I am right now. I fight the urge to stuff my hands in my pockets to hide my peeling purple nail polish.
“Good morning,” Dante tells me again. His smile is radiant and dazzling and my knees literally grow weak from staring at it.
Trembly knees, much?
“Good morning,” I smile what I hope is a confident smile.
“You look lovely,” he announces, his blue eyes warm. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby,” I lie.
He cocks his head and the light catches the gold in his hair.
“Do you know that saying that would actually indicate that you slept horribly? Babies wake up a million times in the night. It’s the same thing as when people say that they eat like a bird when they mean to convey that they don’t eat much. It’s not accurate. Birds actually eat half their body weight every day. They have such a high metabolism that they need all of those calories.”