He Is a Smooth Talker

"The Valois family originates from Spain but I was born and raised in the US. I have many sisters, and then there's our father who manages to outnumber all of us on his own. That's how it has always been."

Spanish! He does have this Mediterranean charm. And many sisters? But what about his mother?

Natalie found herself doing exactly what he had said he was, taking mental notes about him and compiling a list. She was eager to learn more about Mr. Moneybags.

"How about you?" He asked.

Though his question was a very casual one, she found herself taken aback by it.

"…I don't have any brothers or sisters. My uncle is my only family."

While she was just stating facts, her voice sounded melancholic to her ears.

"What about your parents?"

Another question caught her off guard. He was a smooth talker, quickly taking control of the conversation and putting her in the spotlight. She looked away, her eyes focused on the struggling candle flame that reflected her own inner struggles.

"…My mother left us when I was five years old and I lost my father in a car accident when I was ten."

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the scar beneath the hairline on the right side of her temple.

"I stayed in a coma for five days and it took some time and effort to remember things when I woke up. I still get headaches..."

She frowned at herself, wondering why it was so easy to spill her life story to this stranger when it was so hard to even think about it.

"I am sorry," he said in a low tone.

She smiled awkwardly at him.

"It's in the past, it's not important." She swallowed back the lump in her throat and then played with her hair to distract herself.

"So it's just you and your uncle?"

Before he could open another wound, she decided to intercept him.

"It's mostly work. That's what occupies most of my day and most of my night."

Natalie initially thought there was a thunderstorm when a sudden blinding flash of light popped up in her face. It took her a few seconds to realize that there was a cloudless night sky in the panoramic view of the desert outside the cabin's window. The flash happened again, originating from the cabin door side where a man stood with a suspicious camera at hand.

"Thanks, Mr. Valois!" The cameraman said before rushing between the tables and reaching the blocked exit then starting to argue with the security guards in his way.

"Don't worry about that."

Her eyes snapped back to Alonso. His overall expression was calm but it looked rehearsed to her, as if there was a layer of irritation behind it.

"I'm sorry," he said again, but it held a very different note than the previous one.

She waved a hand at him and tried to laugh it off.

"I was just a little surprised. But you on the other hand," she crossed her legs and made herself more comfortable, "You don't seem surprised at all. Are you used to cameras and paparazzi?"

"It's just a part of normal life for me. They can't publish those without consent."

Were the images on the internet ones you had approved of, then? She wished she could ask but couldn't.

He studied her face as if trying to read her mind. "I have a certain image that I need to present, Natalie. Not many people are close to me."

His words were personal yet vague at the same time. And as she was trying to think about their meaning, he leaned back and smiled at her.

"I want you to be closer to me. Consider this dinner the first step in that direction." 

Resting her hand beneath her chin, she took a deep breath and exhaled. Before either of them could say another word, two waitresses entered the cabin with a cart loaded with silver-covered plates and began arranging the food that Alonso had evidently pre-ordered.

Whether deliberate or not, saving her from the struggle of picking dishes from an unfamiliar menu in this unfamiliar setting was quite considerate of him.