CHAPTER 5: RAIN-SOAKED.

As the days passed, Mark found himself adjusting to the presence of Isabella in the house. Her youth brought a new energy to the quiet mansion, and her dedication to her tasks did not go unnoticed.

He had initially resisted the idea of a live-in housekeeper when Elizabeth proposed it, his reluctance stemming from the comfort of routine and a certain aversion to change.

"I don't need someone hovering around all the time, Elizabeth. I'm perfectly capable of managing on my own." He told her.

Elizabeth, always a master at convincing Mark to see reason, had a different perspective. "Sofia is a risk, Mark. We can't have her spreading rumors about your health… and it's dangerous leaving you alone in the big house." She told him.

His previous housekeeper, Sofia, had been a familiar presence—a 50-year-old woman with a life outside the mansion. She came in three times a week, spoke little English, and juggled work for multiple families in the affluent neighborhood. However, when Mark's seizures began, Elizabeth decided it was time to part ways.

"We need someone who can be discreet and reliable." She told him. So he finally agreed and left the responsibility of hiring the housekeeper to Elizabeth when he took his last trip.

The suggestion of a Non-Disclosure agreement (NDA) to ensure the new housekeeper's silence was also her brilliant idea but to his surprise, Elizabeth chose Isabella, a much younger candidate than the stereotypical housekeeper.

"Is she in some kind of debt or something?" He asked Elizabeth after he met Isabella for the first time.

Elizabeth, with a sly smile, had responded, "Let's just say she's the right fit for the job."

Isabella, with her diligent work ethic and commitment, quickly proved herself. Mark observed her meticulous approach to her responsibilities and was intrigued by her desire to get a college degree. "That's unusual for a housekeeper," he thought.

After their night together on the bench, Mark found himself navigating a new dynamic with Isabella, allowing a more genuine connection to form between them. The subtle shifts in their interactions hinted at a growing camaraderie that was reflected in the small gestures exchanged daily.

He now found himself engaging in conversations with Isabella, sharing greetings and even the occasional friendly banter.

The once elusive figure in his mansion became a familiar presence, and Mark couldn't deny that he enjoyed the change. Isabella's warmth and diligence had cast a fresh light on his routine.

One delightful aspect of this evolving friendship was the morning ritual in the kitchen. Isabella had taken notice of Mark's coffee preferences—the black with two sugars—and decided to introduce a delightful change.

One morning, she surprised him with a cup of rich espresso. The depth of flavor and aromatic intensity made it the best coffee he had ever tasted.

"You made this yourself?." he asked, quite surprised and impressed at the same time.

"Yup," she replied gleefully. "You like it?"

"Like? I love it… can you make this every day?"

"If you want… sure"

"Good… let's keep it coming"

Isabella, seemingly pleased with his reaction, continued to brew the exquisite espresso each morning. It became a daily highlight for Mark, a moment of indulgence that he eagerly looked forward to.

By the time he had his first meal of the day by 1 pm, he would have exhausted 2-3 cups of Isabella's specially crafted espresso.

He was alone in the house on a late Friday afternoon, busy on his laptop at the home office, when suddenly, an incoming Skype call notification popped up. When he saw the name on the notification, his heart skipped a beat, and he found himself nervous as he accepted the call.

Dr Thompson who was consulting on Mark's case had promised to get back to him whenever he had more information.

As Mike anxiously accepted the call, his office seemed to grow quieter, the air thick with anticipation. The neurologist's name on the screen could either mean answers—a potential breakthrough in the mystery of his seizures or further bad news.

"Mark, How are you doing today?" he asked as soon as his image popped up on the screen.

"Same as always doc. What have you got for me today?"

"So I have been discussing your case with a senior colleague in Mexico, and some interesting conversation came up"

"What's that?" Mark asked curiously.

"So, he has been retired a few years now, but he has been a mentor of mine since medical school so I brought up your case with him and he mentioned something interesting"

"Get to the point doctor," Mark said impatiently in his eagerness.

"Sorry. Anyways, he said that in 1995 there were a series of victims who died due to a mysterious rapid cerebral edema that couldn't be diagnosed. The victims were healthy and the next minute they were on the ground with severe seizures and within twenty-four hours, they were dead.

Mark contemplated that for a minute before asking, "Isn't that different from my situation"

"Erm yes, but at this point I would want us to explore all scenarios. I asked him to send me the medical files and report but I thought I should let you know first."

"Alright… I appreciate that. Keep me updated"

"Sure thing. See you around", Dr Thompson said and with that, he ended the call.

Mark didn't know how to react to Dr Thompson's call. Even though the Doctor seemed optimistic about his recent findings, he wondered how much a case that happened over twenty-five years ago could be related to his.

He was running out of time, and he could feel it. The ticking clock echoed in his mind, each passing moment a reminder of his dwindling time. Despite the medication's control over his seizures, the intensifying headaches and sporadic nosebleeds hinted at a worsening condition.

Five months ago, he had been given a year to live if the ailments persisted. The stark reality weighed heavily on him, pushing Mark to confront the fragility of his existence.

He must have dozed off in his chair when the sudden crack of thunder jolted him back. A heavy Rain was falling outside, mirroring the storm within him. Staring through the glass as heavy clouds loomed, Mark recalled the Flash Flood Warning notification that popped up on his Laptop that morning.

Craving a drink, Mark reached for a bottle of red wine and made his way out of the office. With a glass in hand, the memories of the last drinking escapade with Isabella flooded back.

Her presence seemed like a refuge he needed right now, prompting him to head towards her room in search of companionship amid the storm brewing inside and out.

As Mark approached Isabella's door, a sudden realization struck him — Friday meant classes for her. Glancing at his watch, 5:35 p.m. revealed itself, and he couldn't shake the concern that she was unusually late.

The relentless rain outside painted a picture of a night fraught with challenges, especially if the roads flooded, rendering the bus useless.

Imagining Isabella caught in the downpour, he felt a pang of worry. Had she taken an umbrella? Was she dressed for the rain? A few weeks ago, the prospect of solitude might have pleased him, but tonight, he yearned for her company.

He considered calling her on the landline in his office to find out where she was but then he realized he didn't have her number. He had been so focused on getting rid of her the first few weeks, he never bothered to have her number.

Without hesitation, Mark made his way to the garage, home to an impressive collection of cars. Opting for the rugged Ford F-150 Raptor, ideal for the weather, he prayed for its cooperative ignition. The engine roared to life, and Mark set out towards the Pacific Coast Highway.

Though unsure of Isabella's college, he once overheard her talking about taking the bus to Santa Monica. With hope driving him, Mark scoured the bus stops along the highway, with the rain persisting throughout the hour-long search. Just as he began to lose hope, a figure huddled on a bench at a newly spotted bus stop caught his eye.

Isabella? he thought. A surge of joy coursed through him when the rain-soaked silhouette stirred, revealing the person he had braved the storm to find.

As Mark eased the Ford F-150 Raptor to a halt in front of the bus stop, he called out to her, but she must have not heard him through the relentless downpour of the rain.

"Isabella," he called again, concern evident in his voice.

Slowly, she raised her head, a curtain of wet hair framing her face. Uncertainty lingered in her eyes as she struggled to recognize Mark inside the truck. When recognition dawned, a weary look of surprise mixed with joy appeared on her face.

Approaching the passenger window, she greeted him with a soft, "Mr. Matthews, what are you doing here?"

"What do you think? Saving your ass of course," he replied, his sincerity masked by a subtle grin. Isabella's wide smile revealed her lovely teeth as she entered the car. Though it seemed she had shed a few tears, her composure impressed him.

"The bus never came, huh?" he inquired. She nodded.

"I guessed as much. Let's get you home and warm," Mark suggested as he shifted the gear into drive.

The journey back to the mansion was swift, with the road mercifully avoiding complete submersion by the time they reached Malibu.

"Thank you for coming to get me, Mr. Matthews. I had lost all hope by the time you showed up, to be honest." Isabella expressed gratitude as soon as they were safely inside the garage.

"You can thank me by drinking with me," he quipped, a charming smile on his face.

"Let me freshen up and join you in the kitchen," she offered, turning toward her room as they reached the foyer.

Mark couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips; the rain had made her jumpsuit cling to her buttocks in a way that accentuated her figure. Feeling a stirring within, he quickly averted his gaze.

When she finally joined him in the kitchen, she smelled like jasmine, and her hair was wrapped in a towel. She wore a cotton cami and a short nightie, radiating warmth despite the rain-soaked ordeal.

Mark had taken the effort to warm up some leftover pizza, pouring her a glass as she bit into a slice.

"To friends who come out for you even on rainy days," she toasted, raising her glass between bites.

"I will drink to that," Mark grinned. Nothing seems to bring her spirit down, he thought.

"It might be better if you got a car," he suggested. "It would save us both a whole lot of headaches."

"I have a car! It's an old thing, but it got me to where I needed to go until it broke down just before I got this job."

"Can't it be fixed?"

"It can but… honestly, it's not in my budget right now"

Mark understood how she felt. He was once a struggling man himself and knew what it meant to live on a budget. That sparked a little curiosity in him to know a little more about her.

"How long have you been in the US?" He found himself asking.

"15 years," she answered. "I was 9 when we moved."

"Why did you move?" he inquired.

Isabella recounted her journey after her father's death, their move across the border, and their first years in San Diego before settling in California a few years ago. Mark listened attentively, realizing the strength and resilience behind her seemingly carefree demeanor.

"What about you, Mr. Matthews?" she suddenly asked. "There has been a lot of speculation as regards your reason for disappearing from the spotlight.?"

He chuckled, eager to hear what was being said about him. "What do they say?"

She shrugged, "A lot of rubbish. But my friend did suggest maybe you had a sex change"

"Really?" He said amused.

"Yup. But I think it's deeper than that"

"Is that so?"

"I can see a lot of hurt in those eyes of yours… but I also know you are a man who doesn't like pity so whatever demon it is you are fighting, I want you to know I am rooting for you."

He found himself silent as he appreciated the sincerity in her words. He always prided himself as someone who can read people but somehow, she never ceases to surprise him.

"That's quite observant of you, Isabella" he finally said.

"Like I told you, Mr Matthews… If you let me do my job, I am decent at it."

"Mark. Call me Mark… and don't you think you are getting cocky." He joked as he emptied his glass.

"Maybe… but we both know three weeks ago you wouldn't care if I slept in the rain" she added with a teasing smile.

"I told you, I didn't want to drink alone"

"Is that all there was to it?... Mark". She gave him a teasing, innocent smile but she could have been naked for all he cared cause all he could think of was how her lips would taste like.

Looking for a distraction, he reached for the bottle and it seemed she had the same intention so their hands collided, threatening to tip the bottle over the edge. In a rush to salvage the situation, they both grabbed it, bringing the bottle back upright.

His hand lingered over hers for a minute and he looked up to find her staring at him. He felt a little shiver crip up his spine as he stared at her perfect lips and the next thing he knew their lips met in a hungry kiss.

Months of pent-up emotions and desires cascaded into the moment and for a moment he hoped she would stop him, but her tongue found his, and the next thing he knew, he was lifting her onto the table.

Her black curly hair soon came tumbling down to her shoulders as the towel fell off, adding a sensual allure to her figure. He tilted her chin up to stare into her eyes, and he saw a desire that matched his.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he whispered breathlessly.

"I don't know… but don't you dare stop," she told him. This time, when her lips met his, it was ferocious, wiping away any inhibitions he had.