Awkwardly flapping my arms, I manage to twist around and get my feet under me again. When I turn, there's a man standing on the edge of the pool. A man I recognize.

"You're Dante Fontaine," I say.

He looks exactly like he does in the tabloids - tall, dark, and handsome, with a perfect square jaw and eyes that remind me so much of Orlando's. He's always had a reputation for being serious, even brooding, and at a glance I can tell that the rumors are true. He looks ...