One thing about me: I don’t lie to myself. I might stretch the truth for my parents from time to time when necessary, but never to myself. And I’m pathetically fascinated by this boy.
Finally, the aircraft shudders a bit and noses forward and I startle, gripping the arms of my seat. My fingers turn white and I am certain that I am leaving permanent indentions in the cracked vinyl arm-rests.
“Don’t worry,” Dante says quietly, unpeeling one of my hands and grasping it within his own. “It will be fine.”
The feel of his hand distracts me. Strong and warm, it cups my own carefully, like he is holding something very fragile. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling. I only have a couple of minutes to soak it in, however.
As the plane moves down the runway in preparation for take-off, something happens. Something isn’t right.
Our plane rocks a little, then quivers, like it is being moved by a strong gust of wind. I feel it a brief moment before Dante tightens his grip on my hand, a split second before light explodes from outside of my eyelids. I open them to discover fire tearing down the runway past my window. Before I can react or even scream, all hell breaks loose.
Chapter Two
Things start happening more quickly than I can even register, all of them occurring in a huge colorful blur.
First, it is as if things are in slow motion as I struggle to make sense of what had happened.
Flight attendants rush around the plane as fire continues to blaze around us. The pilot speaks into the intercom again, but I can’t hear him now because of the din in the cabin. Everyone is chattering nervously, wondering what had just happened as sirens immediately begin to wail in the distance. And then, when the sirens start, a hush falls over the plane. And even in the fog of my shock and confusion, I have to give the emergency workers credit for their quick response time.
I gather up my courage and look out the window. From the edge of the runway, half in and half out of the grassy dirt, the skeletal remains of another airplane burn. I can see the white shell of its tail melting away and revealing the metallic bones of the aircraft. Black, toxic smoke billow from it into the heavens but perhaps the most troubling was the absence of one thing.
The rescue slide doesn’t emerge from the side of the plane. The carcass is still and silent, with only grotesque, loud popping noises coming from the flames.
“Oh, my god!”
A woman in the back of our plane breaks the eerie silence when she starts screaming. She cries, pointing out of her window, her hand shaking. The people on the burning aircraft are clearly dead. We can’t see them, but we know. There is a pall in the air, a shocked and unspoken sentiment that ripples through every passenger on our plane.
“What happened?” a little boy across the aisle asks his mother.
His mother is ghostly white, all color leached from her face as she stares outside of her window. Shaking her head grimly, she slides her plastic window-shade closed. Glancing my way, her eyes meet mine for a scant moment, before she lowers her head. We just witnessed a tragedy. The problem is, I’m not sure exactly what kind. I’m not sure of anything at all.
“What happened?” I ask Dante frantically. “What happened to them? Were they taking off or landing?”
He peers at the wreckage. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I can’t tell.”
The men in suits appear out of nowhere by Dante’s elbow.
“Come, Dante. We need to move.” A tall man with a blonde buzz cut and tanned skin commands Dante urgently. “We can’t stay here.”
“What?” Dante answers blankly, staring up at the man. “How are we going to go anywhere?”
Buzz Cut grasps Dante’s arm, his fingers thick like sausages.
“There’s no time to discuss. We have to move.” He leans down and murmurs something into Dante’s ear. The only word I catch is “terrorists.”
I gasp and Buzz Cut looks at me, his flat blue eyes solemn. Raising a beefy finger, he pushes it to his lips, cautioning me to be silent. I bite my lip and Dante turns to me.
“Get your bags, Reece.”
“What?” I ask in confusion.
“Just grab your things,” he says quickly as he stands up. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
Grasping the handle of my carry-on as I heft my purse onto my shoulder, I file down the aisle quietly and quickly after Dante. I don’t even know this guy but for some reason, in this moment, I trust him. I’d definitely rather be with him than out here on this flaming tarmac. That much is certain.
The flight attendants close around us in a protective barrier as we wait by the door. Behind us, I can hear the dismay of the other passengers as they loudly voice their concerns over why we are able to leave and they aren’t. It’s actually a valid question and one that I don’t know the answer to.
As the airplane taxies slowly across the tarmac toward the opposite side of the airport, I stare out the window in shock.
Pieces of the burning aircraft are scattered everywhere. Small twists of metal, bits of clothing, burned rubber. My gaze flies to the aircraft itself and I find that a jagged hole has been torn into the belly of the plane. I gasp again and tear my eyes away. But that doesn’t help. For one thing, I catch a glimpse of a blackened doll lying in the grass by the airplane’s wheel, its face melted away. For another, the images have been seared into my mind, probably forever. I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for the plane to stop moving.
A few minutes later, we draw to a stop. I open my eyes once again and find that we are docked in a quiet, dark area of the airport.
Buzz Cut moves quickly to open the aircraft’s door. Glancing outside, I find that a tall mobile staircase has been dragged out to the airplane, the same kind as you would see the president climbing for Airforce One.
I gulp.
How is Dante able to garner this kind of special treatment?
But there is no time to ask. The men in suits are hustling us down the steep stairs and it is all I can do to keep up, to keep my feet moving so that I don’t fall. These guys clearly mean business. I can hear the loud protests of the passengers still on the plane, right up until the door is clicked closed behind us.
“It’s alright,” Dante tells me quietly as we walk toward the terminal. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Where are we? Where are we going?” I ask. “Why are you taking me with you?”
“I didn’t want to leave you back there,” he explains calmly. “No one knows what happened. They think it was terrorists. They’re locking the airport down. You could be here for hours or even days. I don’t want that. We’re in a secure, unused terminal. I promise you that you are safe with me. We’re going to cross back under Schiphol through a security tunnel and then we’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
“Well, where are you going?”
“I was going to join my father in London,” Dante says, his eyes slightly concerned. “But now I will probably return home.”
“But how?” I ask in confusion. “You just said they’re closing down the airport.”
“I’m not sure,” he answers. “Russell? How will we be getting home?”
Buzz Cut turns around.
“Private helicopters are en route to meet us as we speak. We’ll fly to Thessaloniki, then charter a boat to Caberra. We’ll be home in no time. And we’re not making any detours, Dante.”
“Home?” I cry out, before I can stop myself. “As in, your home? Caberra? My father is going to kill me. Can’t you just drop me off? I can take the Chunnel.”
I’ve always liked riding the train underneath the English Channel, anyway. And it’s name, Chunnel, is fun to say.
Buzz Cut is already shaking his head.
“Obviously, if the airports are closed down, they’ll close the Chunnel down too. I’m guessing that all public transportation will be closed until they ascertain if this was a terrorist attack.”
Dante stares at Buzz Cut. “We have to drop Reece off,” he says calmly. “Her father
will be worried.”
“It is not that simple,” Buzz Cut answers. “I’m sure the ferry won’t be running. Your father wouldn’t want me to detour, Dante. I’m sorry. Your safety is what I’m paid for. We will all travel home. Reece can call her father from there. End of story.”
“Russell,” Dante begins, his gaze turning icy. “You do not get to order me. I wish to drop Reece off safely with her father. Make it happen.”
“Mr. Giliberti,” Russell replies formally. “I do wish I could accommodate you. But we have specific evacuation procedures in place to ensure your safety. Per your father’s direction, I am never authorized to deviate from the plan in these situations. I apologize. In this situation, your father’s order trumps yours.”
Dante stares at him silently for a moment with daggers in his eyes.
“Very well,” he finally answers with icicles dripping from his words.
Yikes. There is no love lost between these two. That much is apparent. Should I be worried? This guy isn’t in the witness protection program or something, is he? And these guys are his handlers? What the eff?
Dante turns back to me, the tone of his voice changing to congenial and charming.
“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.
Chapter Three
“Why did you bring her in the first place?” Buzz Cut demands of Dante.
They are standing approximately five paces from the SUV as we wait for the helicopter to prepare for our flight. They must think that I can’t hear them over the whir of the helicopter’s engine. I want to tell them that I’m not deaf, but instead I cringe from the agitation in Russell’s voice.
“Because I couldn’t leave her there,” Dante answers icily. “And I don’t answer to you, Russell. I do as I please and you will do as I say.”
&n
bsp; The bodyguard glares at Dante for one long moment before he pivots on his heel and stalks over to speak with the crew chief of the helicopter.
Honestly, I’m impressed with how quickly the flight crew had reached us.
We’d only driven for a half an hour before the helicopter met us on the road, touching down in a field next to us. We’d pulled over and now, ten minutes later, we are about to board. It’s surreal. Larger than life.
And if my mother knew this, that I am about to travel to an island nation with someone I’ve never met before, or in fact, about any of it, she’d have a heart attack. As it is, I still don’t have a cell signal so I’m safe for the time being. I’m with the son of a Prime Minister, after all.
Dante strolls back to where I am leaning against the car, his shoulders all wide and strong and distracting. He smiles casually and you’d never know from his face that he had just gotten into a little verbal altercation with his massive bodyguard.