to mine. “I never need one, but it’s always nice to have.”
I laugh at her because it’s apparent that she’s buzzing. She was pretty reserved this afternoon and now she’s practically exuberant. She’s done a complete one-eighty.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “My mom gave me her credit card to use in an emergency, and I think this probably qualifies.”
“Dude, this totally qualifies,” she agrees. “I’ll come pick you up at 11:00 a.m. Will that work?”
“That will be perfect,” I tell her gratefully.
Gavin chimes in, wrapping his arm around Mia’s slender waist. “I’ll tag along, too, if you don’t mind. I don’t have plans.”
“Nope,” Mia tells him, leaning heavily into him. “It’s a girl’s day. And you don’t qualify. You don’t have the right parts.”
“It’s better to have too many parts then not enough,” he informs her and she laughs.
“Gavin, I love you. I really, really do.”
He kisses her cheek and then behind her back, he mouths words to me.
She’s REALLY drunk.
I nod. That much is obvious. I only hope that she remembers that we have a shopping date. If I have to wear these clothes one more time, I might die.
“Can you take her for a minute?” Gavin asks, slipping Mia to me like she’s a child or something.
I put my arms around her shoulders so that she is leaning on me. Gavin saunters off, already mouthing off to Dante, who is across the fire from us. And then I realize that he totally just made an escape. And now I’m Mia’s caretaker.
“I’m fine,” Mia insists to me. She takes a step away from, stumbles, then slumps back into my side. “Fine.”
“Yes, you’re fine,” I agree with her, tightening my hold. I wonder if she will pass out, then tighten my hold even more. She winces, but doesn’t shirk away.
“Dante likes you,” she confides to me, in a not-so-quiet whisper. “I can tell.”
I look around quickly to see who is within hearing distance. Thankfully, no one.
“What makes you say that?” I ask curiously, my heart starting to stutter. Dante doesn’t like like me. There is no way.
Mia shrugs. “I can’t explain it. I just know it because I know him.”
Well, that’s helpful. I want to know exactly how she knows so that I know if it is just drunken musing or if it actually has credibility. Which it doesn’t, because there is no way on God’s green earth that Dante likes me.
“But what about Elena?” I ask her.
I figure I might as well get as much information as I can tonight while Mia’s still chatty. And by chatty, I just mean ‘pump her for information while she’s drunk’. I should feel guilty, but I don’t. I like Mia and I’ll never tell anyone anything that she says. It’s for my info only.
Mia snorts. “Elena is a bitch. Utter and complete bitch.”
Tell me something I don’t know, I think.
“What makes you say that?” I actually say.
Mia stares at me incredulously, her green eyes slightly unfocused. “Have you actually spoken with her? Utter bith.”
Oh, great. And now she’s slurring. And she’s leaning more and more on me. For such a little thing, she’s actually kind of heavy and my arm is going to sleep.
“Just because their fathers are friends, she thinks she’s going to marry Dante. And connect their families and then they’ll have wine and olives.”
“She owns a winery?”I ask, appalled again.
I own cows. Elena owns wine. What’s wrong with this picture?
“Her father owns a winery,” Mia corrected. “But it will be hers someday. She wants to marry Dante and he probably will because he likes to please his father. Dante is a pleaser,” she explains. “He always does what is expected of him. But that’s a shame. Because he likes you. Oh, look. Speak of the she-devil now.”
I follow Mia’s drunken gaze and my breath freezes in my throat. Even though it is cold out here on the water, colder than a witch’s you-know-what, there stands Elena, draped on Dante’s arm and wearing a miniscule, barely-there white bikini.
And she is beautiful.
And her boobs are hanging all over Dante.
And I hate her.
And as she turns and locks eyes with me, I can see that she hates me too.
Chapter Nine
I settle Mia on a folding lawn chair, making sure she has a bottle of water before I leave her. I turn back to look and she’s curled around the bottle, her head slumped on the arm of the chair. She’ll be passed out within the minute.
I look around and marvel at this party. They really know how to do a party up right here. Someone has lugged in countless folding chairs, tables, coolers, and cookware. They are boiling seafood and heating what looks to be butter. I can’t imagine how long it took to lug all of this stuff in. And I try to imagine kids from back home doing this, but there’s no way. They wouldn’t go to all of this trouble. We just sit on old logs at the river and drink from red plastic cups.
“Reece!”
Dante waves from a seat near the fire. He’s holding what appears to be a giant claw and I gulp as I make my way to him.
“Do you like crab?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I’ve never had it.”
He looks at me as though I’ve suddenly grown another head.
“You’ve never had it?” Elena asks disdainfully. I didn’t even realize she was standing there. “How is that even possible?”
I stare at her coolly. “I grew up in the middle of the United States, a thousand miles from the nearest ocean. Fresh seafood isn’t exactly easy to come by there.”
“Ah, right,” Elena pretends to remember. “You’re a little farm girl. You’ve never experienced culture. Well, welcome to Caberra, sweetie.”
She waves her arm in a sweeping, condescending gesture and I found that I would like to break it. Her arm, I mean.
“We’ve got plenty of culture,” I reply through my teeth. “Just not an ocean nearby.”
I turn my back on her and sit in the empty seat next to Dante. I’m surprised that Elena’s not already sitting there, but I try to put her out of my mind as I kick my shoes off and scrunch my toes into the soft sand.
Dante glances at me while he sticks a crab leg in a nut cracker. He crunches it and I cringe at the horrid sound. Why would anyone want to eat that?
“You’ve really never had crab legs?” he asks doubtfully as though it couldn’t possibly be true.
“Nope,” I confirm. “Never.”
“Well, then, my little Sunflower, you’re in for a treat,” he announces.
I freeze at the nickname. Is he making fun of me? I look at him and he doesn’t seem to be. He’s busy pulling stringy white meat from the broken crab legs. He was just being sweet.
It’s an endearment, you idiot, I tell myself. So what does that mean? I’m starting to become endeared to him? And is endeared even a word?
“Here, try this,” Dante instructs me, holding out a piece of crab dripping with melted butter on a small fork. I study it for a second and Dante rolls his eyes.
“Just try it,” he tells me. “It’s not going to bite.”
I let him stick the fork in my mouth, expecting to taste a piece of Heaven, like I did when I tried the gelato.
But no.
That is most certainly not what I receive.
This isn’t Heaven.
This tastes like a dead fish in my mouth, which is actually true.
I try to resist spitting it out, instead concentrating on chewing up the hateful piece of meat. Dante looks at my face and then dies laughing.
“Can I assume you don’t like it?” he asks, his face lit up like a Christmas tree in his amusement. He hands me a napkin.
I spit my crab into it and fold it in half, then in half again. Dante holds out his hand and I reluctantly hand him the chewed-up crab carcass and he throws it into a trash can. They even thought to bring tras
h cans? What kind of teenagers are these, anyway?
“It’s alright,” he tells me. “I think maybe it is an acquired taste. Which would also probably rule out oysters for you. Those are also an acquired taste. Have you ever had them?”
I shake my head. “Not unless you count Mountain Oysters. Which I definitely do not.”
“Mountain Oysters?” he looks confused.
I blush and Dante looks immediately interested.
“What? What’s wrong? What are mountain oysters?”
I hesitate. Then decide to pull my big-girl panties up and explain. Holy crap. I’m not a child. I can totally do this without blushing. I can.
“Mountain Oysters are bull balls. Bull testicles, if you want to be technical. I accidentally tried them when Connor and Quinn tricked Becca and I into eating them at a rodeo.”
I’m blushing. My cheeks are red-hot.
“A rodeo?” Dante looks both curious at that and appalled and disgusted at the notion of eating a bull’s balls.
“It’s a sporting event,” I tell him. “I can explain it later. Is there anything else to eat here?”
Dante looks around and then shakes his head regretfully.
“I’m sorry. No. This is sort of a tradition. We cook fresh seafood on the beach at night. Our parents did it, our parents’ parents did it. And so on. We’re not civilized enough to bring bread or anything.” He grins and touches my arm.
I feel the heat from his touch long after his hand is gone.
A perfect imprint of his hand is emblazoned on my arm.
It might be there forever for all that I know.
“Are you ready?” Dante asks, in a tone that suggests that he’s repeating himself.
“What?” I look at him dumbly.
He stares back patiently.
“Are you ready to go? I’ll get you something to eat in the Palace kitchens.”
“Oh. We don’t have to go so soon. We can just eat when we get back. No big deal.”
Dante looks around and I follow his gaze.
There are two girls leaning into each other on the sand near us. It looks like they will pass out at any given moment. The group of boys in swim trunks have moved their party to the water and are rough-housing in the cold waves, shouting and hollering. Gavin is busy trying to score with a petite blonde who still seems a tiny bit sober and all around us, drunken laughter splits the night. It seems that we are the only two completely sober people here. I don’t see Elena anywhere.
“I’m ready,” Dante tells me. I realize then that I haven’t seen him with a drink in his hand all evening.
“Do you not drink?”
He looks down at me, his face oh-so-handsome in the moonlight. The silvery light washes across his cheeks, illuminating his cut-cheek-bones and I find that I want to touch him. I want to run my fingertips across his skin and inhale his man smell. Oh, Lord. What is wrong with me?
“I don’t,” he tells me. “Not usually. Some champagne here and there at my father’s functions, but not really anything else. The last thing I need is for pictures of that to hit the papers. I can see the headlines now: Caberran Prince parties himself to an early grave.”
“It must be hard to be you,” I say softly. “You have to think about every little thing you do.”
He stares down at me again, his eyes dark blue in the night.
“It’s not so hard to be me,” he tells me. “And sometimes, it’s better than others.”
He brushes against me then, his hand lingering slightly against my hip. It stays there for a second, then another. Did he mean to do that?
Surely he knows where his hand is.
I feel connected to him, like there is electricity jolting in the air, just like it felt on the plane. His eyes are staring into mine and my heart is taking off like a galloping race horse. He takes a step closer to me and now he’s definitely in my personal space. But I like it. I can feel the heat emanating from his body and it’s pulling me to him. If I wanted, I could take one little step and push myself against his chest.
If I wanted.
Which I do.
Want to.
And then, just when I start to move my foot, I hear my name.
A plaintive, pitiful mewl.
“Reece.”
A whimper.
I turn, only to find Mia on her hands on knees next to the chair that I left her in. She stops whimpering and throws up gallons of purple wine-cooler. I wince. And she throws up more. Then she’s crying.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur to Dante and then I rush for Mia.
I feel him behind me, but I don’t look. I just sink to the ground next to Mia and hold her short hair out of her face while she pukes.
Because this is what a friend does. They take care of their friends even when it is inconvenient or inopportune. Am I her only friend? I look around, but don’t see anyone else coming to help. But to be fair, half of the people here are in her same condition.
“Reece, I feel so horrible,” Mia whines.
“Of course you do,” I soothe her, patting her back. “We should get you home.”
She sits up and throws her arms around me. “Thank you, Reece. You’re a really good friend.”
I’m about to answer her with a sweet reply when she starts heaving again and before I can turn her around, she throws up on me. Her orangey-purplish vomit runs down the front of my shirt and the smell makes me want to throw up too.
“Oh, jeez,” Dante cringes. “I’m sorry, Reece.”
He scoots around me and picks up Mia gently by her arms. “Mia, sweetie, we’ve got to get you home.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket with one hand and murmurs something into it. Within two minutes, Buzz Cut and another security guard are at Dante’s side. Were they out here on stand-by this whole time? The thought impresses me and creeps me out at the same time. Does Dante ever get any privacy?
“Mia, Russell is going to take you home,” Dante tells her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
Mia nods in her barely cognizant state and then her head flops limply against Russell’s chest. It looks like Russell glares at Dante before he stalks away, but I can’t be sure.
Dante turns to me. “Let’s go get that rinsed off.”
I nod mutely and let Dante take me by the arm again. He leads me away from the party, down by the water, away from the splashing boys. We’re in a quiet little inlet where my feet sink into the wet sand and I look around. Were the rest of his security detail close-by and watching?
I bend down and try to wash my shirt off.
It’s not happening. It’s too difficult while I’m still wearing it on my body.
“Okay,” Dante assesses the situation. “You’re going to have to take it off.”
My gaze flies to his face in surprise.
“No.”
Is he really just like every other boy?
He just wants to see my boobs?
I thought he was different.
Dante sighs patiently.
“I mean, I’ll give you my shirt to wear and you can rinse yours out in the water before it stains. I’ve never actually seen it specifically mentioned on laundry detergent commercials, but I’m guessing that bright purple vomit will stain a shirt.”
“You’re probably right,” I cringe as I feel the nasty stuff soaking through and touching my skin. “Okay. You’re definitely right. I need to take it off.”