Solitude & Storms

4.

Nearly two hours had passed. She was exasperated.

Sighing, Isabelle stood haggardly against the dining table, hands leaningheavily on its surface for support.

Raphael stood across her, inexplicably looking just as stressed as she was.His neatly coiffured look was now ragged, his hair dishevelled and the firsttwo buttons of his wrinkled shirt open. His glasses sat forgotten on his head,nearly covered by his unruly hair.

On the table between them were about 10 different dishes, all prepared byIsabelle and all rejected by Raphael only minutes after. Isabelle had had it upto her earlobes with him.

"Hurry..." he rasped tiredly. "Make something-"

"I'm not making anything else!" Her head rose, eyes glaring at him.

He didn't even seem to get cross at her tone and simply dragged out a chairat the table, sitting in it.

He said nothing more, closing his eyes and burying his face in his hand.

Isabelle watched him closely. Who was he kidding? Did he really think hecould keep her in the kitchen, clueless as ever, even if he demanded twentydifferent dishes from her? Absolutely not.

Opening her mouth, she meant to start her interrogation, but stopped. Shefound herself hesitating again. Isabelle had hesitated like this about fivetimes now. There was something she needed to know, if she didn't ask, she wouldgo crazy.

After he'd rejected her fourth dish, she'd realized something.

He wasn't leaving the room to eat elsewhere. The food he'd requested wasn't evenfor him at all.

Her gaze went towards the hallway beyond the living room, even thought itwas hidden from where she stood. Despite being unable to see it, she couldclearly picture the eerie door at the top of the staircase. Whoever or whateverwas in there, Raphael had been trying to feed it. Her gaze returned to histroubled visage. He had a very picky guest, it seemed.

Making up her mind, she straightened as best as she could on shaky legs. "Raphael."She paused. "Sorry. Mr. Sauvage. May I make a proposition?"

His head lifted from his hand but his eyes remained closed as he leaned hishead back against his chair.

At his silence, she assumed permission to continue. "It seems to me thatthese meals I'm making aren't yours. I'm making them based on your request, youasked me for a healthy meal. May I ask why? Why not just good old bacon andeggs?"

He opened his eyes, their depths filled with exhaustion. "That wouldn't beideal."

"Well, maybe if you tell me who I'm really serving, I can decide what'sideal."

His expression didn't change and she suddenly grew desperate to convincehim. What was he hiding in that room? They were nearly out of ingredients!

"Look," she said. "From what I see on this table, none of these dishes wereeaten. It's been hours, you can't possibly let your guest continue to starve."

"And how would telling you who they are solve anything?"

She raised a brow at him, raising her shoulders proudly. "For your sweetinformation, Mr. Sauvage, I worked at one of the most prestigious hotels inall of California and I was known for being able to appease difficultcustomers! It's my speciality!"

He blinked. "You worked at a hotel?"

"I'm a chef," she said fancily, raising her nose.

He blinked again, his expression blank. "You? A chef?"