Solitude & Storms

From Friends to Foes

With a startled gasp, she turned around.

Raphael. She hadn't heard him approach. Panting softly from the fright he'd given her, she stared down at his face.

His expression was cold. “Where on earth are you going?”

His voice was icy, even colder than earlier in the kitchen.

She hurried to explain, pointing urgently at the door with her free hand. “I heard something! It was weird, it sounded so scary. I have to check it out.”

His face paled a little. “You will do nothing of the sort.”

“Raphael, there's…”

“It's Mr Sauvage to you, please maintain your manners.” She looked mildly taken aback, but he couldn't afford to care. His gaze went up to the closed door in the shadows and a smouldering ache filled his chest. “That room is off limits. Do you understand?”

Raphaël’s voice cut through the silence like a knife, sharp and cold.

There was something dangerous in his gaze, something darker than the irritation she’d seen in the kitchen earlier. It was almost… fear.

“What’s in there?” she asked, voice quieter than she intended.

“Nothing that concerns you.” His tone left no room for argument.

Isabelle made room. “But I'm sure I heard-”

“I said it doesn’t concern you!” he interrupted, his voice like ice. “You’re here to do a job, Isabelle. Nothing more. If you can’t respect my rules, you’ll find yourself back on that long road you walked up.” His eyes flashed, cold and unyielding. “Do I make myself clear?”

She wanted to counter him, to demand to know what it was that was behind that door that Aunt Rosa hadn’t even told her about. The look in his eyes dissuaded her and she bit her tongue. After all, he was right. It didn’t concern her.

His eyes narrowed. “Answer me. Your only role in this house is to obey me, nothing else.”

With a sniff, she pulled her wrist out of his grip and cleared her throat as professionally as possible. “Very well, Sir. Shall I prepare your breakfast now, Master, healthy as you wanted it?”

She gave him a tight smile and walked stiffly off the staircase, grabbing her bag on the way.

He stood there, choosing to ignore the stark sarcasm she’d just thrown in his face. His heart was racing at the thought of Isabelle going into that room. He couldn't let anyone in, the risk was too great. He couldn't trust anyone.

Raphael sighed, staring blankly at the dark stairs. Numbly, he turned away and walked silently back to his office.

Work, that was what he would do. That was what he knew every answer to, knew every formula for success. For the things he couldn't calculate and resolve with reliable mathematical formulas, Raphael was useless. And he'd suffered over it for longer than he could remember.

Unaware of his turmoil, Isabelle was shoving her clothes into her aunt's work closet, a frown on her face. Who would've known that doing Aunt Rosa this favour would have put her at the servant's end of a master’s table?!

She closed the closet doors, biting her lip as she thought it over. There was something in that room, something he didn’t want her to see. Isabelle didn't know whether Raphael remembered it or not, considering that he was treating her like a total stranger, but she had a notorious curiosity that never left her alone until she scratched her itch.

Soon as he left the house, she would be in that room!

With a secret bolt of thrill rippling through her, she smoothed down the pleats of her professional blue dress and hurried to the kitchen. A healthy breakfast had been his request. Luckily for him, Isabelle was a master of healthy eating!

She'd had a period in her life when she'd been obsessed with optimizing her health, so there was hardly a diet she hadn't tried. She'd make sure to knock his socks off and finally get a bit of appreciation in those cold, dark eyes of his.

Putting on an apron and tying it tightly around her waist, she got to work.

Half an hour later, she was reaching up to knock on an intimidating door behind which she'd heard a telephone ring. Definitely Raphael's office. Rocking on her heels as she waited for him to open the door.

She stepped back when the door before her creaked open and Raphael emerged.

She blinked up at him. He was leaning against the door, a pair of reading glasses on as he stared down at her with those unamused grey eyes.

After a moment, impatience sizzled in his eyes. “What do you want?”

Isabelle jolted. Unbelievable. Had she really been standing there, staring dazedly at his face? Heat warmed her cheeks. How disgraceful, even if he was handsome, he was still little Raphael! She cleared her throat. “Breakfast, Sir. Breakfast is ready.”

His gaze rolled lazily away from her and he stepped out of the shadowy office, walking past her. She leaned over to sneak a look at his table while she could and saw giant piles of papers in the shadows. How could he even get any work done in there, it looked more like a Pharaoh’s tomb than an office.

It was no good. Later, when she cleaned the place, she would make sure to throw open every curtain she could find.

“Isabelle!”

Jolting, Isabelle ducked out of the office as her heart slammed from the sudden shout. “Yes, Raph… Mr Sauvage?”

She hurried to the kitchen, racing to the dining table where Raphael stood looking down at the plate with an expression of grave horror as though he was witnessing a heinous crime against humanity.

She came to a clumsy stop beside him, panting as she stood at attention. “Yes, Sir?”

Raphael pointed at the plate, keeping his hand a safe distance away from the food as though it had the potential to bite his finger off. “Isabelle, what is that?”

Blinking, she looked at the plate and then brightened. “Ah, yes! This is your breakfast! I call it the tofu and kale protein punch! It’s a porridge made from tofu and kale and a bit of Greek yoghurt!”

Her cheerful explanation only made him look at her in bewilderment. “Is this food for wild hogs or for me?”

She blinked. “Wild hogs or you, what’s the difference?” was what she wanted to say, but thanks to her Catholic Aunt Rosa who prayed earnestly for her, the heavens held back her tongue.

Instead, Isabelle smiled brightly. “I made it for you, of course! You wanted something healthy. Oh, and I know you asked for two plates, but I’m not hungry.”

He grimaced. “So, I should choke on this abomination alone, is what you're saying? Whilst you preserve your taste buds?”

A tiny huff escaped her lips. “Of course not! I'll have mine later.”

“And who told you that, when I said to make two plates, one was for you?”

With a frown, she glanced around curiously. “Well, it's just me and you here. Surely…” She gasped, smiling. “You weren’t planning to eat both plates yourself, were you?! Mr Sauvage! No matter how much you like my tofu and kale porridge, two plates are just too much!”

Raphael looked like he would combust. “Like it?! I won't even taste it!”

Her delight shrivelled. “You didn't taste it? Then how do you know whether it’s bad or not?”

“It looks like something excreted from an alien's rectum after a spicy meal, I don’t need to taste it to know.”

Her cheeks went pink. “What? Well, that's not fair, at least taste it before you decide!”

Grabbing the spoon beside the plate, Isabelle picked up a hefty dollop of the porridge and brought it to his mouth. “Say 'ah'.”

“Have you lost your godforsaken mind?”

“Come on,” she encouraged, pushing the spoon forward until it touched his lips.

Raphael jerked back and retreated. “Stop that!”

To his horror, she followed, holding up the offensive spoon. “Just a little bite for the baby.”

“I'll have you out on the streets, Isabelle!”

He spoke the threat while escaping, holding up a warning finger to stop her.

“This is just for your own good, Sir,” she countered in the annoying baby tone she'd suddenly adopted as she followed him about the room. “Just a little taste.”

He was nearly running now, rushing around the dining table as he spouted threat after threat, to no avail.

She relentlessly followed him, cooing and using the most offensive baby talk to make him taste the sludge.

“Enough!”

Raphael’s voice belted sharply through the air. They both stopped, staring at each other from opposite ends of the table.

She sighed, plunging the spoon back into the porridge and leaving it there. “Not fair. You can't judge it if you haven't tasted it.”

“That’s not reason enough for you to terrorize me in my own house with that potentially radioactive sludge as your weapon!”

“It's not radioactive!” She cried passionately. “It's porridge! And it's packed with nutrients and vitamins, it's a superfood! Two spoonfuls of this and your energy levels will be soaring, your skin will be clear-” She glanced at his flawless skin. “I mean, your skin will be even more clear! You have some sad, dark smudges under your eyes from what I can see, I almost thought you were cosplaying a panda.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Anyway,” she went on. “One plate of this would strengthen your bones and boost your immune system! Better vision, better sleep, improved brain health…”

“Why don’t you just say it will turn me into Superman?” he questioned sharply.

She grinned as though delighted that he finally understood. “It has the potential to!”

Raphael groaned, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

She waited hopefully. “Seriously. Just one taste.”

He looked at her, studying her expression. Damn it. She'd convinced him. “Fine. Wait.”

Marching over, he grabbed the plate and walked off into the house.

Isabelle’s brows rose. “Oh? Are you eating it elsewhere? Don’t pretend to eat it and dump it in a rosebush instead! I used to do that with my veggies as a child, I know all those tricks!”

There was no answer, he'd already left the room.

Sighing, she sat at the table and massaged her thighs. Perhaps she'd overdone it a little bit with the porridge. Adding Greek yoghurt could've been overkill.

Minutes later, Raphael proved her right by marching back into the dining room and going straight into the kitchen.

She shot up, hurrying after him. “Well? How is it?! Did you like it?”

Without a word, he went to the sink and dumped the untouched plate into it. Unmoved by her pitiful expression, he turned to her and nodded at the stove. “Make something else.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon? It doesn’t even look like you tried it.”

He tilted his head. “Make. Something. Else.”