Dante's Girl (The Paradise Diaries)

by Courtney Cole

  Like, oh, life.

  “Hellooooo? Reecie-Peecie? Helllllo?”

  I come back to earth and stare at Becca.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I was thinking about something else.”

  “Don’t you mean someone else?” she rolls her eyes. “I love you, Reecie, but all you do lately is think about him.”

  I have to give her that.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize. “Really. I just miss him. It’s really hard.”

  And Beck’s eyes soften up then, because she knows. She misses Quinn like crazy too. They’re still broken up because it’s for the best but Becca is miserable.

  “It’s alright,” she tells me. “Do you want to go into town tonight and get some ice cream? I think we both need it. Chocolate chocolate chip. With chunks. And cookie dough. And maybe hot fudge, too.”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  I really don’t. But what else am I going to do? Sit in my room and mope? Listen to my grandpa’s radio program about the price of hogs? I think not. I have some dignity left.

  “Okay,” she answers as she crawls to her feet and back down the ladder. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “K,” I answer.

  And I’m alone again.

  I make my way back inside and sit down at the kitchen table. My grandma is making fresh lemonade, which of course reminds me of Caberra. Only my grandma doesn’t put mint leaves in hers. I almost tell her that she should, but then I don’t. I don’t need another thing to remind me.

  As if everything doesn’t remind me of Dante and Caberra anyway.

  “Honey,” my grandma says as she turns around and hands me a fresh glass. “I know you’re miserable. But it will be okay. Your grandpa and I were separated by thousands of miles when he was in the Army and we turned out okay.”

  I stare at her. “Grandma, that was during a war. Everyone was separated. I think that’s a little different.”

  “Perhaps,” she says as she sits next to me and looks at me with her wise old eyes. “But probably not. Separation is separation, no matter how you look at it. And absence does make the heart grow stronger, you know. It’s cliché, but true.”

  “It can’t make you stronger if it kills you,” I mutter.

  She pats my hand.

  “You’ll be okay,” she tells me again before she gets to her feet and goes to the sink to wash dishes.

  I’m really tired of hearing that.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out. Becca probably wants to change our plans for tonight already. She’s so freaking fickle.

  But it’s not her.

  It’s Dante.

  Whatcha doing?

  I smile.

  Burning alive in the heat. How about you?

  Two seconds go by.

  Oh, same. I just wanted you to know that I love you.

  I smile again because I know how this game goes. We’ve been playing it for three weeks. One of us will say I love you.

  Then the other person says, How much?

  And then the other makes up some insane and crazy amount of love.

  More than the ocean is large.

  More than a shark loves human limbs.

  More than Gavin loves his reflection.

  More than baseball players love steroids.

  More than chocolate, more than wine and way, way more than anchovies.

  More than yesterday, but less than tomorrow.

  It’s a crazy and corny game, but we do what we have to do to keep from going insane.

  Because this distance thing? It really sucks.

  So I play along today, even though I’m feeling pissy.

  How much? I type.

  Dante doesn’t answer immediately which annoys me. I’m really in the mood to hear how much he loves me. Because I miss him SoFreakingMuchIMightDie. Seriously.

  “This much.”

  It’s his voice.

  I whirl around and he is actually here.

  In my kitchen.

  This can’t be real.

  But there he is.

  Dante is standing in the doorway, filling it up like only Dante can. His blue shirt sets off his blue sparkling eyes. And OHMYGOSH. I’m going to have a heart attack.

  My grandma is standing next to him and she looks surprised, too. But she is nowhere near as surprised as I am. My mouth is hanging open and then I remember that I can move.

  I leap from my seat and into his arms.

  “Dante! What are you…how are you… I mean. OHMYGOSH.”

  And I’m kissing him.

  And I know my grandma is behind him but I don’t care because I’ve missed him more than a PMS’ing woman misses M&M’s. So I tell him that.

  “Touching,” he says wryly as I cinch my arms tighter around his neck.

  And kiss him again.

  And inhale his Dante smell. The earth, the sea, the sun.

  It’s him. It’s truly, truly him.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him. “How are you here?”

  He shrugs. “My dad said that things have wound down enough that I could leave. So here I am. He knows a few people, you know. People in the International Foreign Exchange Student Program.”

  He’s silent as he watches me.

  And I am watching his blue eyes sparkle. OhMyGosh I have missed that.

  Wait. What?

  I comprehend what he just said.

  “Foreign Exchange Student Program?” I repeat. “You’re here to stay?”

  I can’t believe my ears. This can’t be happening.

  But I think it is.

  He nods.

  “That’s how much I love you,” he tells me. “I’m coming to hotter-than-hell’s-kitchen-Kansas for my senior year so that I can be with you. That’s how much.”

  I’m stunned.

  “That’s a lot,” I admit. “I think you win.”

  He laughs and picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Then I bury my face in his neck like I wanted to the first time I met him. And at this point in time, I don’t seem insane like I would have back then. I just seem like a girl who’s in total love with her boyfriend.

  The joy is bursting out of me. I can’t contain it and I just want to laugh.

  I feel that giddy.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I tell him. “Where are you staying? Who are you exchanging with?”

  Because everyone knows that’s how the program works. A kid from a foreign country comes in, and a local kid goes out.

  “The McKeyan house,” he told me. And then he grins.

  And I have to laugh and shake my head.

  “Well played,” I tell him. “You got rid of Quinn McKeyan. I told you that he wasn’t going to be an issue. I don’t have a crush on him anymore.”

  “Well, a smart man doesn’t take any chances,” Dante tells me seriously. And I laugh again.

  “So, Quinn is going to school in Caberra?” I ask. “I don’t know how you put that together so quickly or without me knowing, but I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “Oh, I know some people,” he shrugs. Then he grins impishly again. And I could seriously watch him smile all day.

  All. Day. Long.

  No lie.

  “So,” Dante stares down at me casually like he’s not holding 124 pounds in his arms. “What’s a person do here for fun?”

  “Have you ever heard of cow-tipping?” I ask him innocently. He shakes his head and I explain and he looks at me dubiously. And I can’t blame him. It does sound like a contrived thing.

  “Well, instead of cow-tipping, we could go security guard dodging,” I suggest, as I stare through the back window at Russell casing out my farmhouse.

  Dante laughs.

  “Security-Guard-Dodging? That’s my girl.”

  And he grabs my hand and we dart out the front door, leaving Russell standing in my back yard as we run outside and jump into my car.

  And happiness bubbles up in me again and I grin.
<
br />   Because Dante is right. I’m his girl.

  I know it’s true because Dante Giliberti left paradise and came all the way to Hell’s Kitchen to prove it.

  And because of that, I finally know that what Dante has been saying all along is true. Love is all that matters.

  It’s all we need.

  I smile and turn the key and we tear off down my driveway as dust billows behind us.

  And I know that Dante was right about something else, too.

  Everything really will be okay.

  If you enjoyed Dante’s Girl by Courtney Cole and if you also enjoy Paranormal Romance, then you might enjoy Courtney Cole’s Bloodstone Saga.

  The Bloodstone Saga:

  Born a goddess. Controlled by the Fates. Can Macy's love for her soul mate survive the bonds of time... and death?

  The Bloodstone Saga is a series of four YA Paranormal Romance novels (and one bonus novella) following the life of one girl who has been tricked by the Fates into believing that she is a Keeper.

  She is reborn time and time again into tragic lives with tragic ends. Time and time again, she loses her soul mate. Until finally, she comes face to face with who she really is and the earth-shattering realization changes everything.

  Every Last Kiss

  Fated

  With My Last Breath

  My Tattered Bonds

  House of Thebes (Novella)

  In these four books and bonus novella, one girl is confronted with lies, happiness, treachery, magic and myth. She learns how strong she really is and what sacrifices she is truly prepared to make for those that she loves. Heartbreaking, poignant and emotional, these books will tug at your heart-strings and leave you breathless for more.

  What would you do if you held fate in your hands?

  For your reading pleasure, we have included an excerpt from Book One of the Bloodstone Saga, Every Last Kiss.

  Excerpt:

  Hasani was gone when I woke and I squeezed my eyes shut against the light from the flickering wall sconces. He must have lit them for me before he left and even in my grumpy morning mood, I had to smile at his consideration. I pulled the covers over my head and rested my cheek against the comfort of my pillow for a few minutes longer before I finally sighed and emerged into the reality of daytime.

  It couldn’t be much past daybreak, since the orange fingers of the sun were just starting to curl around the horizon. Hasani must have risen early to run drills with his soldiers before the Alexandrian heat rolled in. Antony was probably with him.

  I got up quickly, tying a soft white scarf around my waist and putting on a jeweled golden brassiere. As I pulled my hair away from my face and fastened gold earrings into my ears, I briefly pondered my older body. As Charmian, I may be thirty-nine, but my body was as svelte as a teen’s. Fascinating. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that ancient Egyptians didn’t have French fries or ice cream.

  Sitting down at my vanity table, I pulled out the multiple jars required for my daily skin care and cosmetics application, sighing as I did. As Macy, I was a very low-key, low-maintenance person. Charmian’s intricate, Egyptian beauty regime was tiresome. But I had to admit that it was effective. I had a perfect complexion.

  Dipping my fingers in a jar of scented oil, I glanced back into the mirror as I began to apply it. And froze with my fingers at the base of my neck.

  A woman, pale and beautiful, sat on the bed behind me as though she belonged there. Her eyes were ice blue and her long hair was so blonde that it was snow white. I whirled around to face her.

  “How did you get in here?” I demanded. “How did you get past the guards?”

  She smiled peacefully at me, but didn’t answer.

  “Can you speak?” I asked. “Who are you?”

  She studied me again, unmoving and silent from her perch on my bed. She wore silvery robes embroidered with rich blue which were spread around her and her long fingernails were silver. They sparkled in the muted light from my window. She reminded me of what a fairy would be like. An odd sensation began to build in my chest and I hesitated.

  “Who are you?” I whispered again.

  “You know who I am,” she said gently, as she rose from the bed. She was so graceful that it seemed as though she floated as she walked toward me.

  “I don’t,” I argued, as she came to a stop behind me.

  “You do,” she insisted softly, as she placed her hands on my shoulders. And in that instant, the second that her hands touched me, I did.

  I was standing face to face with Lachesis, the middle sister of the Fates. Terrifying and powerful, the last time I had seen her, she had been an ancient, stooped hag. My eyes flew in amazement to her lovely, young face.

  She smiled.

  “I can appear as I wish, Charmian,” she said lightly. “You are beautiful. So, of course I wanted to appear beautiful, as well. I have no wish to scare you.”

  “Then what is your wish?” I asked quietly, keeping my eyes locked on her face.

  She reached past me and picked up the jar of oil, dipping her long fingers into it. Picking up my arm, she gently began rubbing the scented oil into my skin as she spoke.

  “You are one of twelve, Charmian. Did you know that?” I shook my head, instantly intrigued.

  “Yes. Twelve very important people were chosen so long ago to assist us throughout the millennia. You were chosen for your bravery and your heart.”

  She turned my wrist over and fingered my scar.

  “I placed the mark of the phoenix upon your wrist myself. The phoenix is sacred to the order, Charmian. It symbolizes re-birth and life, the very thing that we stand for… the things that we protect. And we gave you that mark. It is an honor.”

  I nodded. “Yes, of course it is.”

  “Then why have you been doubting us?” she turned her large blue eyes to me, beseeching me.

  “I haven’t!” I protested. “The priest Annen has tried to convince me of his theories… but being a member of the Order is all I know. I have no wish to believe him.”

  “But you’ve wondered.”

  She stated it as a fact, watching my face as she absently held her open palm out to a butterfly that had flown in from my window. The delicate yellow wings quivered as it crawled onto her hand and sat still.

  “I know your heart, Charmian.”

  I sighed. “I couldn’t help but wonder how much truth was in what he said. But I have no wish to believe him. I’ve put his claims out of my mind.”

  “As you should,” she instructed with the first trace of a harsh tone.

  She watched the butterfly for a moment more, her blue eyes glinting, before she snapped her hand shut, crushing the delicate insect between her fingers. I gasped as she put it in her mouth, chewing calmly as she contemplated me.

  “You are one of the best we have, Charmian. Yet you’ve lost your bloodstone.”

  My heart dropped into my toes. I couldn’t deny it.

  “Yes,” I admitted in a whisper, my head bowed.

  “Get it back,” she hissed, her face clouding over and for a split second, one brief moment, I saw a glimpse of the ancient hag that she was. I sucked my breath in, waiting for a storm.

  She calmed herself, resuming her tranquil tone, her face regaining its youth and beauty.

  “Our bloodstones are powerful, as you know. They are the keys to everything. That sniveling eunuch will not be able to use it- because it was made for you. But the bloodstones were made from one stone. One. When one is lost, we all suffer.”

  I stared at her intrigued, as she pulled her own bloodstone out of her robes. Hers was larger than mine and set in an intricate setting surrounded by rubies, but it had clearly been cut from the same mother stone… glistening blood-red, with black veins.

  “Our power as a whole should not be diminished because of the carelessness of one, should it?” she purred, sliding her hands smoothly over my shoulders and stopping with her fingers wrapped lightly around my neck.

 
I gulped, then shook my head quickly.

  “Then, fix it,” she instructed pleasantly, removing her hands. “No matter what you need to do to repair your error, you have my support. Do you understand?”

  Did I? Was she saying that retrieving my bloodstone using any means necessary was more important than restoring history?

  Before I could speak, she nodded. “I see that we’ve come to an understanding. You’re such a bright girl.”

  Confusion flooded through me as I watched her adjust her clothing. How could this be happening? My entire being was dedicated to enforcing the plan of the Fates. Never had we deviated before, under the threat that chaos would ensue. How could we deviate now? Unless the threat was just that… an idle threat. I had forgotten that my thoughts were not safe around her, until she snapped me from my reverie with a growl.

  “Do not question us again, Charmian! There are times when the Plan is not as important as protecting the Order. It is as simple as that. And I will not explain myself to you!”

  But she just had. The Order had a weakness. The Bloodstones. And nothing on earth was as important as keeping them. I quickly blanked my thoughts so that she couldn’t read them again and nodded.

  “Yes, Lachesis. I’m sorry. Rest assured, I will fix this…” My voice trailed off hesitantly.

  “But?” she prompted.

  “But can I just ask one thing? Can I just know one thing… because I know I will not remember it in my next life anyway.”

  She studied me quietly, reading my thoughts and hearing my unspoken question. Her face an unreadable, lovely mask.

  “In each life your memories from your previous lives are wiped clean for your own benefit,” she finally explained. “It benefits you in many ways. If you were able to remember the sadness from your previous lives, it would drive you to insanity. You would lose your effectiveness as a Keeper.”

  I nodded. Ahmose had been right.

  “And you forget the gifts you are capable of through your bloodstone as a safeguard,” she added. “The power that we are able to harness is exquisite and enormous. Too much burden for any one person to be aware of, life after life.”