Black Dahlia (The Dahlia Trilogy of The Gilded Flower Series Book 2)

by Winslow, Vivian

  She notices the man take off toward the beach. “Hey! What the hell . . .” she calls after him.

  Dahlia follows him down a narrow trail, the hot, sharp stones hurting her bare feet. “And it keeps getting better,” she grumbles. “Some fucking paradise.”

  For a moment, she loses sight of him and wonders if it was just her imagination. Dahlia pauses and turns around, the tall trees and foliage obscuring the villa. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, reassuring herself that she’s not going mad. Or perhaps she is, and this is all just part of a bad dream. Maybe she’s still in Santa Barbara, Shane is alive and, as soon as she opens her eyes, the sound of the waves crashing will mean she’s in California, not on some random island in the Indian Ocean.

  A sharp prick on her ankle startles Dahlia out of her daydream, abruptly reminding her that she’s still on a private island that you can’t even find on Google Maps, pursuing a strange man through a tropical forest. She quickly glances down and lets out an earth-shattering scream when she spots a large black snake slowly coiling itself around her foot.

  Chapter 11

  “Just lay still,” the man instructs Dahlia as she tries to sit up from the cot. She narrows her eyes, recognizing him as the guy she was following down the path. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have been bitten.

  Oh shit, Dahlia throws her arm over her eyes. The snake! She tries to move her ankle, but it’s weighed down by something wet and heavy.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not going to die,” he says. “Although when you fainted, I thought for a moment you might have.”

  “Not sure I would care if I did,” Dahlia replies dryly.

  The man’s dark eyes grow wide, but he doesn’t respond.

  “Where the hell am I?” she asks, taking in her surroundings, a small room with a thatched roof, in what she can only assume is someone’s home.

  “You’re in the Old Woman’s house.”

  “Who?”

  “The Old Woman. Everyone around here calls her the Old Woman because no one knows her real name. They say she’s over a hundred years old. Not that anyone would know for sure since they don’t have birth records, but she is the oldest person in the village. She’s a healer, or maybe you’d refer to her as a medicine woman.”

  “Why am I not in a hospital?”

  The man stands up from his stool and crosses his arms, which Dahlia notices are strong and taut. “Because the hospital is too far away, and you’re not in any danger. The snake wasn’t poisonous, but you need something to help heal the wound.”

  Dahlia sighs, and tries to remove the wet, sticky cloth.

  “Don’t touch it,” he warns. “She said to leave it on for an hour.”

  “How long have we been here?”

  The man checks his watch. “Forty minutes.”

  “That means you have to babysit me for another twenty then.” Dahlia draws her hand under her head and stares up at the ceiling, studying the grains in the dark, smooth, wooden beams.

  “Something like that,” he replies, his mouth curling up into a half-smile, creating a dimple in his left cheek.

  “It’s all your fault I’m here in the first place,” Dahlia says. “If you hadn’t snooping around the villa, I wouldn’t have had to chase you down to the beach.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. You want to blame me for this,” he says, pointing to her ankle.

  Dahlia shrugs. “What were you doing lurking around my home?”

  The man shakes his head. “I wasn’t lurking. I manage the property, all the houses on the island as a matter of fact. The staff informed me that they had to go to the market and that the guests, meaning you,” he says looking directly at Dahlia, “Would be out for most of the day. Usually, one member of the staff is on the grounds the whole time, but I’m a bit shorthanded at the moment and needed a maid at another property. I figured it wouldn’t be a problem since you weren’t supposed to be home. I was merely doing my job, checking on things, making sure everything is secure.”

  “So you make it a habit to run away from us guests?”

  He leans against the wall. “I wasn’t running away. I didn’t realize you were chasing me until I heard you scream. Besides, it’s my job to stay invisible, and not interrupt anyone’s vacation. The people who stay where you are tend to have particular needs regarding privacy and security.”

  “So you can imagine my surprise when I saw you,” Dahlia rebuts, turning her head to look at him, annoyed to the point of anger that she’s lying barefoot in a thin dress, feeling vulnerable and exposed in front of a complete stranger.

  “Again, I’m sorry,” he replies.

  Dahlia looks away when she notices the sincerity in his dark eyes. Not now, she thinks to herself. She’s tired of the sad, kind, sincere, sympathetic looks she gets from everyone. She doesn’t want to feel pathetic or weak or broken in front of people anymore. It’s why she’s craved privacy. But lying there, her ankle smothered in some glue-like substance and talking to this man, she can’t help but feel what she’s felt since Shane’s death. Helpless and alone.

  A silence falls over them. Dahlia begins to sketch the room in her mind, trying to recall the minute details of the plant in the corner and the fragrant frangipani she notices outside.

  “You surf?” The guy asks, breaking the silence.

  Dahlia turns her gaze toward him. “Why would you ask that?”

  “The cuts and scars on your feet.” He points down to his own. “I have quite a few myself.”

  Dahlia shrugs, wondering if surfing will always haunt her. “I guess you could say surfing was more of a past-life thing.”

  “Is that something you believe in?” He asks curiously.

  Dahlia resists the urge to smile, amused by his nervous chatter.

  “Does my sister know I’m here?” She asks, redirecting the conversation. Surfing and past lifetimes are too close a reminder of death—and Shane.

  He shakes his head. “I called the house, but the staff said they were still out. I tried one mobile number they gave for emergencies, but no one answered. The phone must be out of range.”

  Just as Dahlia opens her mouth to speak, she’s interrupted by a petite, elderly woman dressed in a long purple skirt and simple cream blouse. She glides over to Dahlia, a smooth, even expression on her face. But as she gets closer, Dahlia can read the concern in her eyes.

  Chapter 12

  The Old Woman takes Dahlia’s hand into hers and closes her eyes. She whispers something unintelligible for a few minutes before opening them and studying Dahlia’s face. Without touching Dahlia, she moves her small, child-sized hands over her body, a warm energy emanating from them.

  “What is she doing?” Dahlia asks the man.

  “Shhh,” he warns.

  Finally, the woman removes the cloth from Dahlia’s ankle and speaks directly to her.

  “She says not to wash off the salve until tonight,” the man translates for her. Dahlia offers her an appreciative smile and mumbles a thank you.

  But the woman continues to speak, her eyes and hands motioning up and down Dahlia. A look of worry crosses the man’s face.

  “What is she saying?” Dahlia asks.

  “Wait,” he replies, holding up a finger as he continues to listen to the Old Woman’s ramblings.

  Dahlia could hardly keep up with the hand gestures, but when she pointed back and forth between the man and Dahlia, it was clear it was about her.

  Suddenly, she stops speaking, brings her hands together in prayer and bows her head toward Dahlia. With that, she walks out of the room as quietly as she entered.

  Chapter 13

  Dahlia rides in the front seat of the Mercedes jeep as he drives her back to the villa—although she briefly thinks that he could be taking her anywhere on the island and she wouldn’t know what to do. Then again, Dahlia rationalizes, he probably wouldn’t have helped her if he planned to hurt her. Still, keeping company with a stranger isn’t sitting well with her. />
  “You haven’t told me your name,” she says.

  “You never asked. It’s not as if I know yours either. The reservation was made under a pseudonym, which is par for the course at this place.”

  “I think it’s fair to say that I was preoccupied with my leg wound.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He quickly jerks the jeep to the left to avoid a woman biking along the narrow road.

  “Wait, let me guess. My friend used the name Isadora Wing.”

  “You got it,” he replies, chuckling. “I take it she’s an Erica Jong fan.”

  “You know Erica Jong?” Dahlia asks. “The zipless fuck?”

  He nods. “I had a girlfriend who went through a phase, read all her stuff, and quoted her all the time. It got pretty old, but I have to say even I liked some of her poetry,” he says wistfully.

  He looks over at Dahlia and smiles, revealing blindingly white, straight teeth and crater-sized dimples. “My name is Kaiaka. My friends call me Kai.”

  “Alright Kai,” Dahlia says, sticking her arm out the window to feel the rush of air over it. “I’m Dahlia.”

  “Dahlia, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Where are you from? I don’t take you for a local.”

  He shakes his head and chuckles. “No. I’m from Maui. Been here for a few years now.”

  “What were you speaking back there?”

  “It’s a hodge-podge—local dialect, some Bahasa Indonesia and a Balinese word or two thrown into the mix. Took a while before I could figure it out.”

  “Are you going to tell me what the Old Woman was saying back there?”

  He shrugs, his expression turning serious. “It wasn’t much.”

  “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that. She rattled on for at least five minutes. It had to be something.”

  Kai downshifts and makes a sharp right turn, guiding the jeep up a steep incline. Dahlia quickly recognizes the unpaved road up to the villa.

  He circles around the large driveway and pulls up into the shaded porte-cochère in front of the large wooden double doors.

  “This is it? You’re not even going to answer my question?” Dahlia asks, exasperated.

  Kai hops out of the jeep and opens the door on Dahlia’s side. He holds out his hand to help her down.

  “Maybe some other time. It wasn’t important,” he says unconvincingly. The look in his eyes tells Dahlia otherwise.

  Chapter 14

  “Who’s the hunk, D?” Vi asks as she follows Dahlia up the stairs to her room. “He’s got one hell of an ass.”

  Dahlia rolls her eyes. “No one. He’s just the property manager.”

  “If I’d have known he was so cute, I would’ve called in a few complaints to get him over here.”

  “Well, if you do, his name is Kai. And let me have some warning so I can give you some privacy,” Dahlia says smirking. “Where’s Lily?”

  “In her room packing,” Vi sighs. “Alejandro’s meeting her in New York for a few days. Then it’s off to Miami for good. I can’t believe she’s ditching me to live there.”

  “Don’t forget, Vi. You were considering a move to Dubai at one point. That would’ve made you the ditch-er. Which would you have preferred?” Dahlia makes her way to the balcony and sits down, propping her leg up on a small table. “It’s always easier being the one to leave. Those you leave behind are the ones who have to pick up the pieces.”

  “Oh my God, D. What the hell happened to you?” Vi points to the patch on Dahlia’s ankle.

  Dahlia shakes her head and leans back into the chair, wishing she could disappear into it. Talking about Lily leaving New York only reminds her that she has no idea what she’s doing with her life, let alone where she’s going to live. Being in the same city as Lily always seemed to ground her—something that Dahlia took for granted until now. But it’s not as if Miami is an option—not now, especially since Rodrigo is there. Dahlia closes her eyes to push out the memory of when she saw him last—a reminder of giving up one love only to lose another. “Later Vi. I’m not in the mood.”

  A loud knock on the door wakes Dahlia. Dusk is falling over the beach in the distance, painting the horizon in beautiful vermilion, orange and purple hues. She pauses to breathe in the colors, promising herself to capture it on canvas tomorrow. Not that she’s drawn anything since Shane died. Tomorrow, she sighs. The word, the very idea pregnant with so much promise, yet it only fills her with dread.

  “D?” She hears Lily call through the door.

  “Yeah?” Dahlia doesn’t move.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  Before Dahlia can answer, she hears Vi say, “Enough treating her like she’s going to break.”

  Vi storms in and announces, “Get up, wash that smelly shit off and get dressed. We’re going out tonight.”

  “Vi!” Lily comes to Dahlia’s defense. “She didn’t just go through a break-up. Tough love doesn’t help someone get through their grief.”

  “Perhaps not,” Vi replies, nonplussed. “But she does need the occasional reminder that there is a world outside of her pain, and eventually she will need to find her place in it again.”

  Dahlia turns her back on the view and crosses her arms. “Where are you suggesting we go? Have some drinks down at the village with the local fisherman? Throw back a bit of their moonshine?”

  “As a matter of fact, while Lily and I were waiting for the catamaran this morning, we met a nice couple staying on the island as well.”

  “Please don’t tell me they’re on their honeymoon,” Dahlia groans.

  “No. They’re the young and beautiful type. Usually people like that annoy me. Flashing their money and connections everywhere. But I can tolerate them for a night. The guy’s a super hunky Aussie,” Vi winks. “The woman’s absolutely stunning, a Malay mix of some sort. But they have some friends coming over from Bali or whatever to stay so they invited us over to meet them.”

  “Guys or girls or both?” Dahlia grills. Not feeling up for socializing at all.

  “All of the above. Let’s hope the guys are as cute as the man from Oz. What I wouldn’t give . . .”

  Lily slaps Vi’s arm playfully. “When is sex not on your mind, Vi? It sure isn’t on Dahlia’s.”

  Vi laughs. “No, but a good fuck could be great therapy. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a good lay, darlings. Clears the head.”

  Chapter 15

  “Another glass of champagne?” The young woman asks Dahlia eagerly, holding a bottle of Krug Private Cuvée. Dahlia smiles at her sweetly and holds out her glass. Vi’s description of her didn’t do the woman justice. Naomi is one of the most stunning women Dahlia’s ever seen. Standing at almost six feet tall, her skin is dewy and smooth as porcelain. She has large gold green eyes, and thick dark hair that’s gathered elegantly at the nape of her neck. Her long arms and legs give her a swan-like quality.

  Dahlia couldn’t wait for the requisite two hours to pass before she could politely leave the party. She looks around the house, which is twice the size of the one she’s staying in. The décor is ultra-modern sleek with poured concrete floors and stainless steel everywhere. The only hint of color and warmth are on the walls, with vibrant artwork adorning each one.

  The gathering feels more like a boarding school reunion than a party. Naomi and her boyfriend, Ethan, invited twenty of their closest friends they introduced as friends from his boarding school days at Charterhouse in England and her years at Le Rosey, a top boarding school in Switzerland. It was like a who’s who of fashionable twenty-something’s from around the world that would be featured in Tatler. It only serves to make Dahlia feel more like an outsider.

  She glances over at Vi who’s reclining comfortably in a corner of the white sitting room with a rugged Australian surfer who lives on Bali, a childhood friend of Ethan’s. Vi homed in on him the moment they arrived, whispering to the twins that she had yet to bed someone who looked like Gerard Butler. So much for any hope that Vi could rescue her from t
he awkward conversation she was having with a group of young women from Hong Kong, all of whom are in relationships, and talking about impending engagements and nuptials. Talk of future and marriage begins to grate on Dahlia who has no interest in either. She excuses herself and escapes to the nearby kitchen that’s bustling from energy with the cook and servers working at a frenetic pace.

  “I can see you’re having a good time.”

  Dahlia turns toward the voice. Kai is standing on the other side of the counter top, a beer in hand. His washed-out blue t-shirt fits him so perfectly that Dahlia can’t help but notice his well-defined chest and abs.

  She returns his smile, relieved to see a friendly face. She scans the group of people behind Kai and notices Lily talking to Ethan and a few of his friends out on the terrace wearing a strained smile. She must be equally miserable.

  “What are you doing here?” Dahlia asks.

  Kai takes a pull on his beer. “I was here earlier in the day supervising the set up and the kitchen staff.” He nods at the spread of food covering every inch of space in the kitchen. “They invited me to stay on a bit, but I can’t say it’s my scene.”

  “Can’t say it’s mine either,” Dahlia replies dryly.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be a young jet-setter or something?”

  “Says who? I don’t see myself the way these people do. They buy into their image, but it’s all just surface.”

  “So why are you here then?”

  Dahlia shrugs. “Vi wanted to socialize a bit. I think she was getting a bit tired of just hanging around us.”

  Kai laughs. “Yeah, I see she’s met Ollie.”

  “You know him?” Dahlia’s curiosity is peaked.

  Kai nods. “Surfs out in Padang over on Bali. Knew him when I lived out there.”

  “How’d you end up here?”

  “Too hectic over on Bali. I like the peace and quiet of the island.” Kai pauses to speak to the cook. When he turns back to Dahlia he says, “Let me show you something.”