DINNER FOR TWO - BOOK VI

- Chapter 1 -

He survived...

If there was any consolation in whatever happened before he lost consciousness, Rasalas Alistair was acutely aware it was the fact he made it to the shores of Ilhabela. At least, he hoped it was the island. Whatever happened afterwards, he hadn't the slightest of clues.

Right...

Ilhabela. The Beautiful Island in Portuguese. The largest island, a stunning archipelago, and city situated in the Atlantic Ocean known also as Ilha de São Sebastião. Until the moment he realized their mission was going to fail, Rasalas would have admitted wholeheartedly he was looking forward to visiting the island again. He was a man of few words, fewer he would reveal aloud. He was also honestly raw to the bone. That honesty cost him dearly years ago.

Not many men can own up to fully opening their heart. Much less, many assassins. He had. The woman he fell for took his breath away from the moment they met. Yet, she broke his trust, and left his heart shattered into pieces he chose not to put back together. But that wasn't the worst of it. His sister Luna paid a price for his failure as well. Luna came to his rescue. A rescue that would never need to have happened if he had only listened to her. He had not. And their sibling relationship suffered because of it. Because of him.

Years later, he was a changed man. He spent years perfecting his craft of a culinary genius of an assassin. He spent just as many years healing and learning how to remain calm under any circumstances. Where his oldest brother Tom was stoic, Rasalas was composed. He seldom raised his temper now. Seldom swore. Seldom lost composure. That was until his brother Gunay's beloved returned. And because Iuliana returned, he was faced with two very clear realities. Not only did they learn more information about his mother's disappearence, but Iuliana proved she could be trusted.

Only, he learned it a moment too late.

And now, he was fighting for his life. At least he hoped he was still alive. Alive long enough to survive falling from a plane. Alive long enough to someday find out if his brother and his brother' beloved Iuliana survived, or if he was the only survivor who made it out of that plane...

"You're finally awake." A woman's voice, cold and unfamiliar to him, broke through the haze of thoughts rushing through his mind.

"Hmm..." was all Rasalas could offer in response, eyes closed because he felt too weak.

"Not much of a talker? Good." The woman noted dryly, then left.

He did not know where he was. Or who the woman was. Or whether he was in the presence of someone who wished him well - or, the opposite. He wanted to connect in his thoughts with Tom, but found it impossible. No matter how hard he tried. Tried as he might, he realized he was too weak. So, he used all his other senses to figure out where he was.

The sun shining along his face, disappearing and reappearing almost rhytmically to the sound of palm trees dancing in the breeze, told him it was daylight.

The soft warm air all around him told him he wasn't being held captive. Wherever he found himself in, it wasn't a place he was trapped in. At least at the moment.

The bed, cot, ot whatever he laid on told him whoever found him had good intentions. Whether he lived through this or not, he would be forever grateful he wasn't placed on some cold hard surface. Or left somewhere on the beach to die. The comfort in that felt immeasurable.

And then there was... the sudden comfort in the scent filling the air with spices - local, pungent, and strong.

It felt somehow familiar.
Somehow calming.
Yet somehow... disconcerning.

He willed himself to open his eyes. Blurry at first, an image of an intricately woven wicker ceiling fan slowly came to focus. The longer he looked at it, the more details he was able to decipher. Though the fan appeared of simple design, it was definitely woven by hand. It was unpainted, exposing the wood, with a layer of clear finish. He acknowledged the hand of an artist who created the fan, and moved his head to the side in an attempt to see more of the room. And swore immediately.

"Double... damn."

"Not much of a talker yet You have a foul mouth," the woman noted as she stood at the doorway. "Should have figured."

"I'm... in pain." He hissed, biting back a more foul reply.

"Glad You made that clear," the woman scoffed. "I would not have figured it out on my own."

"Where... am I?"

"Where do You think You are?" She tipped her head.

"It's... not New Orleans."

"How do You figure?" She tipped the head to the other side.

"No... woman in New... Orleans would be this... cold." He tried to raise his head. He failed. All he could do was look at the ceiling. It infuriated him. But not the pain part. The uselessness part of it did.

"Then You are in luck," the woman smirked, mocking him.

"Luck?" He scoffed, coughing with a hint of blood in his throat because of the pain in his ribs.

"Yes. Coldness aside, a woman on Ilhabella chose not to leave You rotting on the beach."

"Coldness aside." He whispered to himself. The woman in his presence, standing out of his sight somehow earned his respect. Her directness had not gone unnoticed either. Whoever he was dealing with was just as reserved when it came to strangers as he was.

"I see You are well enough for now. I'll prepare some food for You. You're probably hungry."

"I'm... good." He declined the offer.

"Suit Yourself," she moved her shoulders.

"I only eat... what I prepare... myself." He explained. He wasn't sure why he offered the explanation. Yet he somehow felt moved to offer it.

"Suit Yourself," she repeated. "Though, You'll have to wait days before You will be well enough to stand on Your own two feet."

"I'm patient..." he hissed out.

"Patience has been known to boil a rock," she smiled to herself, and walked out of the room to the kitchen.

"Huh..." he noted, amused. He had used those words before, in the same manner.

He closed his eyes. For some odd reason, he felt calm. And it was because of her words. Sure, he was in pain, unable to move or escape. But the sense of peace that washed over him was unavoidable and undismissable.

Until the moment he heard her speaking on the phone. It wasn't the tone of her voice that alarmed him. It was what she said. And what she said brought on a level of temper and anger he had not felt in years. Why? Because the fear he tried to burry deep down and keep from resurfacing all these years rushed right back to his heart.

"You don't have to remind me that Rasalas Alistair is important, but why do I have to be the one stuck tending to him...?"