Solitude & Storms

1.

Screw this.

Isabelle muttered curses as she dragged herself miserably up the long driveway to what appeared to be the gates of hell.

She had vague memories of the place from her childhood but somehow couldn't connect the happy moments she recalled with a place so dark and gloomy. Thoughts of her childhood quickly halted, however, as the ache in her legs intensified. She groaned, coming to a stop and angrily turning to glare up at the sun with a sharp squint. That hideous ball of fire in the sky was her second enemy after this atrociously long driveway. Both deserved to be obliterated.

Isabelle did not consider the utterly disastrous consequences obliterating the sun would have, that matter was hardly important right now. What was important was that she'd nearly perished on her way here! Two hours. She'd spent two hours on foot making it to this place!

It was a miracle that her ankles were still attached to her legs! With a sigh, she wiped away the sweat on her forehead with the sleeve of her denim jacket, grabbing her suitcase to continue the arduous journey to the front door. She had nobody to blame but herself. After all, assuming that Gerald would've been able to bring her all this way was solely her error. He was over ten years old and made it obvious by sputtering and coughing whenever she turned the key in his ignition. Damn that car. To die and leave her stranded in a country she was returning to after fifteen years? Unforgivable.

Spring in France was usually pretty, but she'd been too busy getting well roasted by the sun to mind the birds and flowers. And for what, you ask? Isabelle sighed, staring desperately at the front steps of the house as they inched slowly closer with every painful step she took.

All because of her Aunt, to whom she was more loyal than a king's eunuchs. For whom else would Isabelle trek hundreds of miles after a mere day of returning from the States? For whom else would Isabelle have accepted to become a temporary maid in the infamous Sauvage mansion? For whom else would she be here, throat parched and dry as a cracked riverbed as she inched towards her doom? For none other than Aunt Rosa.

A shaky smile curved her dry lips and, with gratitude, she raised her right foot and brought it down victoriously on the first step of the front stairs. She'd made it!

With a dry cackle of delirious relief, she dragged her suitcase up the seven steps and happily collapsed against the closed doors.

Panting, she leaned her head back against the doors as she tried to catch her breath. Her hands were trembling, her heart pounding a weird beat within her chest. A tiny flame of rage lit up within her as she thought of her pointless attempts to call for help.

She didn't have any family or close friends in France except Aunt Rosa. But her aunt was already off to Italy, which was the whole reason why Isabelle was at this house in the first place. Aunt Rosa had been the housekeeper at the Sauvage mansion for about thirty years now, and she'd recently had to return to Italy where one of her brothers, Isabelle's uncle, was ill. More loyal to her employers than a flame was to gasoline, she wouldn't hear of leaving the house in the care of a stranger. Unfortunately for Isabelle, she'd chosen an inconvenient time to make her grand return to France and had immediately been shackled with the duties of her Aunt's job.

And that was why, with no one else to call, she'd dialed her new employer's number as soon as her car died. Just remembering the endless ringing she'd heard at the other end of the phone when she'd dialed was enough to rekindle her wrath.

Isabelle wasn't a clueless tourist, France was her home and she knew enough about home to know that the master of this house had changed. Raphael was king of this castle and, therefore, the one who had ignored her calls for help.