Chapter 10: Chopsticks, Pho & Pandemonium

Arabella reclined on the edge of the absurdly bouncy waterbed, her patience wearing thin. The cleaning crew had been thorough, as always, but their recent addition to the condo—the second waterbed this month—was pushing her limits. She pressed a hand to the undulating mattress with a grimace. Why does he even like this ridiculous thing?

Her stomach growled audibly, pulling her attention from the aquatic disaster beneath her. She padded to the sleek stainless-steel refrigerator, her silk robe rustling against her legs. With a sharp tug, she opened it to find...nothing. Well, nothing worth eating. A lone bottle of water stood sentinel beside a pint of strawberries.

Arabella frowned, pulling the strawberries out. "Does the fool even eat?" she muttered, inspecting the berries like they might answer her. She'd left the house without cash, her phone battery was dead, and desperation was beginning to outweigh pride. She popped one into her mouth, then another, until she'd polished off the pint.

Back in the living room, her gaze wandered to the stack of DVDs beside the entertainment console. She thumbed through the cases until one title caught her eye: Wonder Woman XXX.

Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Interesting taste in cinema," she murmured, sliding the disc into the player. She settled into the plush sofa, remote in hand, as the TV flickered to life.

At first, it seemed harmless enough: a curvy woman in a two-piece bikini, a tiny red cape fluttering behind her as she posed heroically. Arabella chuckled, charmed by the campiness. But then the scene took a sharp turn. The heroine began a slow, seductive dance, her tan lines gleaming on-screen, and Arabella's amusement turned to horror.

It took a full minute before the realization hit her like a freight train. "This isn't PG," she whispered, eyes wide. She let out a shriek and flung the remote to the floor. "Sicko!" she spat at the TV. "I'm living with a pervert!"

As if on cue, the lock clicked, and Rafael stepped into the condo, his tie loosened, his demeanor relaxed. "Baby, I'm home!" he called, oblivious to the chaos he was walking into.

Arabella shot up from the couch, fury lighting up her face. "You pervert!"

Rafael froze, his gaze darting to the TV. On-screen, the heroine was entangled with a mailman, his pants halfway down. His brow arched, but instead of looking away, he studied the scene with amused disbelief.

Arabella snatched the remote and turned off the TV. "How dare you! You enjoy watching nasty things like that?"

Rafael blinked, his expression unreadable. Then, with an innocent shrug, he replied, "You were watching it first."

"I thought it was a superhero movie, you maniac!" she hissed, her cheeks flushing.

Rafael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't own that DVD. It's not mine. A friend left it here ages ago."

"Oh, sure. Blame it on your friend," she snapped, crossing her arms.

Rafael chuckled, albeit nervously. "I swear. Look, I'll toss it out, okay?"

Before Arabella could respond, the door burst open. Vivian, dressed to kill in a designer jumpsuit, marched in, her heels clacking against the hardwood.

"You!" she barked, her perfectly lined eyes narrowing on Arabella. "What are you doing in my boyfriend's condo?"

Arabella blinked, then laughed—a deep, rich sound that only seemed to infuriate Vivian further. "Boyfriend?" she repeated. "You must be joking. Still chasing rich men, I see."

"At least I don't steal husbands," Vivian shot back, her arms crossing in triumph.

Arabella's amusement vanished, replaced by cool disdain. "With my standards? If you want him, take him. I'd rather choke on a banana." She turned on her heel, snatching her bag. "Enjoy your drama, darling. I'm leaving."

She brushed past Vivian, heading for the elevator. Vivian, unable to let the last word go, shouted after her, "It's a six-inch banana, bitch! It'll take more than that to kill me!"

The hallway erupted in laughter from neighboring doors, heads poking out to witness the commotion. Rafael stepped in, his patience snapping. He clamped a hand over Vivian's mouth, dragging her back inside.

"Enough, Vivian!" he hissed. "You're embarrassing yourself. Get out, or you're fired."

Vivian's eyes widened, and she stumbled back, speechless for the first time. Rafael slammed the door and sighed, his head falling back against the frame. The momentary peace was short-lived, however, as the TV buzzed to life again. The "Super Woman" moaned onscreen, her cape askew.

"Damn it!" Rafael muttered, fumbling for the remote. "I should've returned this to Javier."

But his thoughts drifted to Arabella. Guilt gnawed at him, and before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed his keys and bolted for the elevator.

Arabella was sitting in the lobby, her arms crossed, her chin lifted in defiance. He approached, breathless, and knelt before her.

"Come back," he said simply.

She raised an unimpressed brow. "I just remembered I have no money for a cab. Give me cash, and I'll be on my way."

"Stay," he countered, his tone softening.

"Why?" she asked, her voice sharp. "So your girlfriend can accuse me of stealing bananas?"

"She won't bother you again. I promise."

Arabella eyed him suspiciously. "And the nasty things video?"

"Gone," he said quickly. Then, with a wry smile, he added, "Besides, I don't need videos. I—"

"Sicko!" she cut him off, smacking his arm.

"Joking! Joking!" he laughed, standing and offering her his hand. "Come on, Bella. Let's go home."

She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. For all her irritation, she couldn't deny the pull of his charm—or the safety of his promise.

Arabella stood in the hallway, arms crossed, a frown etched on her face. Rafael leaned against the doorframe, his posture casual, though his eyes flickered with something unreadable. She hated that look—the one that made her feel like she was being sized up, toyed with, even as his lips twitched in a smirk that dared her to push back.

Her stomach growled audibly, breaking the tension, and she sighed in defeat. "Fine. Just a couple more days, right? Then this nightmare is over."

"Right," he agreed easily, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow, one hand sweeping toward the open door. "After you, milady."

She shot him a withering glare but stepped inside anyway. The moment her foot crossed the threshold, a loud, unmistakable moan echoed through the room. Arabella froze, her wide eyes darting toward the television.

"Oh my God!" she shrieked, throwing her hands over her face.

Rafael's head snapped toward the screen, where a woman clad in less-than-a-bikini was entangled with... well, someone who was definitely not her mailman.

"Shit!" Rafael leapt over the back of the sofa like an action hero in a bad cop movie, scrambling for the remote. His fingers fumbled over the buttons in a panic. Instead of silencing the offending scene, he managed to crank the volume to its deafening maximum. The room filled with moans and sultry whispers so exaggerated they bordered on parody.

Arabella groaned, her blush reaching down to her collarbone. "Turn it off!"

"I'm trying!" he shouted, jabbing buttons at random. Finally, in a fit of desperation, he yanked the plug from the wall. The screen went dark, the sound cutting off mid-gasp, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.

Arabella dropped her hands and glared at him, her chest heaving with equal parts embarrassment and fury. "Pervert!" she declared. "You're sleeping on the floor tonight!"

Rafael straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves, and raised an eyebrow. "This is my condo. I'll sleep wherever I damn well please."

"Fine," she snapped, spinning on her heel. "Then I'm leaving. Bye!"

"Wait! Wait!" he called, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Okay, fine. I'll sleep on the floor."

She turned back, arms crossed again, her expression victorious. "Good. And what the hell is wrong with you? Who keeps that kind of dvd's out in the open, you could have hide it ?"

"It's not mine!" he stammered, running a hand through his hair. "A friend... left it. A dumb friend. I forgot to get rid of it."

She didn't look convinced, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Uh-huh."

"And another thing," she continued, her tone sharp. "Why don't you have any real food in this place? I haven't eaten anything except those stupid strawberries."

Rafael blinked. "You ate all the strawberries?"

"Yes, all of them! Why on earth did you have five pints of strawberries in the first place?"

"For you!" he said, as though the answer were obvious. "To feed me in bed. You know, like—"

"Sicko!" She cut him off with a glare that could curdle milk. "Take me out to eat. Now."

"Sure," he said, grinning like he hadn't just been scolded. "Come on."

An hour later, Arabella was thoroughly fed up. Rafael had spent the entire time driving aimlessly through Boston streets, rejecting every restaurant they passed.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped. "Pick a place already!"

"It's for your safety," he replied smoothly, turning down yet another side street. "Dante might have people watching. I don't want you in danger."

She scoffed, leaning her head against the window. "You keep saying that, but how do I know you're not the real danger here?"

He didn't answer, and she didn't press. Instead, she focused on the headache brewing at her temples. "Pull over. I need an Advil."

He obliged, stopping at a small corner drugstore. "Stay here," he instructed, disappearing inside.

When he returned, clutching a small plastic bag, Arabella was slumped against the door, fast asleep. Her face, relaxed in sleep, looked so different from the fiery woman who had been berating him moments ago. He smiled faintly and climbed into the driver's seat, careful not to wake her as he drove on.

Eventually, he spotted a small pho stand lit by string lights. The smell of simmering broth wafted through the air, and he parked the car with a satisfied nod.

"Bella," he said softly, leaning toward her. When she didn't stir, he grinned mischievously. "Bella!" he shouted, right into her ear.

She bolted upright, swinging wildly—and her hand smacked him across the cheek.

"What the hell?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his cheek with a sheepish grin. "We're here."

She peered out the window, unimpressed. "This place looks... dirty."

"It's good, trust me."

The server led them to a table, and Rafael wasted no time ordering. When the steaming bowls arrived, he immediately began adding herbs, lime, and chili, stirring it all together with a look of concentration that made Arabella roll her eyes.

"Eat," he said, pushing the bowl toward her.

She picked up the chopsticks but fumbled with them, sighing in frustration. "I can't."

"Seriously?" he asked, laughing. "You've never used chopsticks?"

"No! Not everyone eats noodles out of bowls, Rafael!"

Grinning, he slid his chair next to hers. "Let me help."

"Stay on your side!"

Arabella watched, her lips pursed in a thin, suspicious line, as Rafael deftly snatched the chopsticks from her hand. He twirled the noodles into a perfect little wheel, his movements quick and precise, as though he'd been born with chopsticks in his hands.

"Watch closely, baby," he said, his grin infuriatingly smug. "This is how you do it."

Before she could protest, he cupped her chin with one hand, guiding her jaw open like she was a reluctant toddler. With the other, he dipped the noodles into her mouth. The warm broth burst with flavor, hitting her tongue before she could even think to resist.

All around them, the other diners burst into laughter and teasing murmurs. Someone called out in Vietnamese, the words indecipherable to Arabella, but the mocking tone was universal. She felt the flush creep up her neck and settle hotly on her cheeks.

"Stop it!" she hissed, her words muffled by the noodles still in her mouth. "You're embarrassing me!"

But Rafael ignored her, loading up another bite and grinning like a fool. "One more," he coaxed, leaning in closer.

Despite herself, she chewed and swallowed, and to her horror, found it delicious. The broth was rich, the noodles silky, and the aromatic herbs balanced perfectly. She hated how smug he looked, watching her enjoy it.

"I've got it," she snapped, pushing his hand away. Instead of struggling with the chopsticks again, she grabbed the bowl, tilting it to her lips.

Rafael blinked in surprise before breaking into a laugh so loud it echoed through the open-air restaurant. He leaned back in his chair, shaking with amusement, as she shamelessly slurped the noodles directly from the bowl.

She finished the entire thing in under three minutes, slamming the empty bowl on the table with a satisfied clink. The greasy broth had splattered across her cheeks, dripping from the corner of her mouth. Rafael grabbed a napkin and leaned in, still laughing, his dark eyes brimming with tears of mirth.

"Hold still," he said, his voice unsteady as he tried to suppress his amusement.

"Don't you dare," she growled, crossing her arms.

But he didn't listen, his laughter subsiding into a soft chuckle as he gently wiped at her mouth. His fingers lingered, the rough pad of his thumb grazing her cheek as though he couldn't help himself.

Her glare deepened. "Are you done?"

He didn't answer. Instead, the napkin was suddenly gone, replaced by the warmth of his hand cradling her face. Before she could react, his lips descended on hers.

The restaurant collectively gasped. A few women giggled, covering their boyfriends' eyes, while others openly stared.

Arabella froze, her mind reeling as Rafael's lips pressed firmly against hers. His hands cupped her cheeks, holding her in place as though he feared she might bolt. His mouth was warm and insistent, tasting faintly of broth and spices, and making the entire experience thoroughly repulsive.

She flailed her arms, pushing at his chest. Her mind screamed in indignation even as her body betrayed her, heat blooming under his touch. She could taste the Pho on his lips, and the slick grease from his soup-stained mouth only added insult to injury.

Finally, he released her, leaning back with a triumphant grin. Her head jolted slightly from the sudden lack of pressure, and she immediately grabbed a napkin to wipe her mouth, her glare sharpening to daggers.

"You sicko!" she shouted, her voice shaking with fury. "I hate you! Stop taking advantage of me!"

Without waiting for his response, she bolted from the table, storming toward the car. She climbed inside, slamming the door so hard the entire vehicle shuddered.

Rafael followed a few moments later, slipping into the driver's seat. He didn't start the car right away, instead turning to her with an apologetic smile that only made her blood boil further.

"Baby," he began, his voice low and coaxing. "I'm sorry. It's just... you're so irresistible. Those lips, that fiery glare—it's impossible not to want you."

Arabella turned to face him, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Is that all you think about? I'm in a crisis, and you see this as your chance to seduce me? Where's your sense of decency? Aren't Americans supposed to help each other in times of need?"

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, unrepentant. "I know, I know. I'm bad. But you have to understand—men have needs too. And you're... well, temptation incarnate."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You're disgusting."

"Come on, Bella." He leaned toward her, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You've never felt it? That ache, that unbearable need? Like your body's on fire—" He cupped his chest dramatically, miming her curves in an exaggerated display. "—and everything is screaming for—"

"Shut up!" Arabella's voice cracked with mortification, her face flaming as she clutched her arms to her chest. "I'm not some lust-crazed idiot like you!"

Rafael stopped, his hands dropping as he blinked at her in genuine surprise. "You're serious? You've never... with Dante?"

"No!" she snapped, her voice high-pitched.

His expression softened, his teasing smile replaced with something unreadable. "Not even..."

"No!"

For once, Rafael was silent. Then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

"So, I'm going to be your first."

Arabella's eyes widened in horror as he leaned back in his seat, laughing like a man who'd just won the lottery. She reached for the door handle, half-ready to throw herself out of the moving car.

"Rafael," she said through gritted teeth, "drive."

Still grinning, he started the engine. "Anything for you, baby."