Pretty When You Cry ୨୧ Rafe Cameron

thirty one

As Isla woke up in the guest bedroom, the rich, savoury aroma of sizzling bacon and eggs wafted through the air from the kitchen, enticing her senses. Groggily gathering her surroundings, she slowly rose from the bed and made her way to the mirror.

As she gazed at her reflection, she couldn't help but notice the state of her appearance—a clear testament to the emotional turmoil that had led to this. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her hair was tangled and dishevelled like a bird's nest, and she was still dressed in the same outfit she had worn the day before.

She headed towards the smell of breakfast, a smell she hadn't had the luxury of smelling in a long time. She quietly entered the kitchen to see Rafe frying eggs. He was struggling. It was obvious he wasn't the world's greatest chef, but he was trying to do something nice for her, and that was enough to make Isla smile, despite her bad mood.

Rafe noticed her as she sat down on a stool at the island, and even though she looked rough, he gave her a smirk. 'How are you feeling?'

'Better now that I smell whatever you're cooking,' Isla replied, tucking her messy sun-bleached hair behind her ear.

Rafe placed a large plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of her, and a tall glass of fresh orange juice. 'I hope you enjoy.'

Isla took a bite of toast, her taste buds were quickly pleased. She hadn't had a real breakfast like this in months— and she was completely starving. 'This is amazing,' she said with a mouth full of food.

'Thanks, but Isla don't lie to me— what happened that you're here of all places?' Rafe asked, his demeanour shifting to serious.

Telling Rafe the truth could be dangerous— Rafe was dangerous. Yet she still told him. 'My dad is not dead. Showed up yesterday with the others. Still hunting for fucking gold.'

Rafe sat down beside her, listening attentively. He was aware of her troubled relationship with her father and understood her resentment towards his prioritization of chasing wealth over spending time with her.

'He's hiding it from my friends. He only wanted me and John B involved like the others haven't been through all of this with us. It's total bullshit— he's always total bullshit. And of course, he's my dad and I was grateful to see him, along with shocked, but he couldn't have one night home without wanting to leave. And he didn't listen when I told him,' Isla croaked.

'That is bullshit, Isla,' Rafe agreed, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. A hand that sent shivers down her spine.

'And as soon as dad appeared I disappeared to John B! Like me being his sister, and being with him through all of this while our dad treasure hunted doesn't matter! He made me feel so fucking small,' Isla explained, becoming increasingly emotional about the topic.

'That's not fair to you either,' Rafe comforted her.

'And let me tell you one thing— the look on that man's fucking face when John B told him I had been with you. He wanted me dead,' she said shaking her head in disbelief with wide eyes.

'I can imagine that conversation,' Rafe scoffed.

'So pretty much I came here because I can't handle my dad. He hates me,' Isla sighed.

'I'm sure he doesn't hate you, but you're welcome to stay here as long as you need,' he replied.

Isla hadn't realized how empathetic Rafe was being until he said that. He was being kind to her, no blade to her throat, no threats over his head. He had no reason to be this good. Yet he was. He was there for her, providing support in a way that the others were unable to.