Chapter Eleven: The First Not-Date
A'isha, via the tablet screen, watched as Amara gasped, craning her neck like that'd somehow enhance the view. "Is that a chandelier behind you, or did a unicorn explode in there?" She turned to someone off-screen and called out, "Jordan, where are they staying? It looks like a palace!"
After yet another failed escape, A'isha pasted on a grin for her cousin's sake and glanced at the monstrously grandiose chandelier behind her, an array of prismatic tear drops hanging from the ceiling like an opulent stalactite. The combined living, kitchen and dining area were an extension of the light fixture's grandeur. Gold here, white there, sophistication served on a fancy platter.
She turned back to the tablet in her hands. "Yeah, subtlety isn't in Marik's vocabulary."
Predictably, her cousin's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Room tour. Now!"
A dash of panic rose in A'isha's chest. If Amara discovered their one-bed situation, she'd lose her mind. "Marik wouldn't want me walking off with the communicative wonders of the internet."
"Just make him hold whatever you're using," Amara suggested like she'd solved world hunger.
A'isha had to clamp down on her surprise as Marik, who was busy on his laptop beside her, extended a hand for the tablet. She tightened her grip on the device. "Marik's currently on a digital diet," she said, silently begging him not to intervene. His raised eyebrows signalled he'd gotten the message. Crisis averted.
"Ugh! Speaking of Mr Creepy McCreepface, has he been... y'know, creepy?" Amara's concerned tone cut through the otherwise light-hearted conversation. If only their one hour video call included headphones. She peered at Marik, who was busy smiling at his laptop screen.
Reeling back to the café, A'isha waded through strange memories. His vulnerability. The odd shift in their dynamic. It didn't exactly qualify Marik as a Mr Creepy McCreepface, more like a Mr Soft Hands McCreepface. She blushed. Great, now he was giving her a smirky side-eye like he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"I'm unharmed, Amara. His creep factor's been on the low side." A surprising truth, but he hadn't technically harmed her.
Amara squinted through the screen. "Positive? Blink once for yes or twice for no—"
Cutting her off with a laugh, A'isha retorted, "How about one big eye-roll for 'I'm serious, Mar'?"
With that, the conversation transitioned into tales of Amara's new criminal friends, video game victories, and TV binges. A'isha listened, a painful smile on her face. The paradox was too glaring to ignore: a normal teenage life in a not-so-normal setting. When quizzed about her own plans for the day, A'isha could only shrug. "Marik's playing the mysterious tour guide." Another truthful answer. On their walk back to The "Liberty" Hotel, she'd asked about their itinerary only for him to reply with the ever-annoying 'patience is a virtue'.
At the strike of the hour, Marik pointed to an invisible watch on his wrist, and A'isha reluctantly wrapped up the call. A tender warning for Amara to tread lightly with her Rare Hunter companions was reciprocated with a nod and a feisty order to kick Marik in the family jewels if need be. Classic Mar.
The post-call silence was deafening. All that remained was the emotional echo of their conversation, the shimmering chandelier, and Marik packing up his tech like a neat freak on steroids. "Care to explain your aversion to a room tour?" he asked, just as expected.
A'isha sighed, glancing at the open bedroom door; the bed, as if preserved in time, was untouched by the hands of housekeeping. Had Marik put a 'do not disturb' sign on his perfect bed-making art? "Amara's reaction to the one-bed situation would've had the speaker begging for mercy. I didn't want to freak her out."
Marik simply nodded, a silent understanding flashing in his eyes. Then, he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving her with the soft hum of the air conditioning and her thoughts. His return, laptop bag absent, was followed by a question from nowhere. "What made you leap from the bed this morning?"
The abrupt query left her wrestling with a hearty dose of stifled embarrassment. This time the truth - the near-kiss dream - was out of the question. "A nightmare." Not a lie per se. It just wasn't the 'mugged-by-the-Rare-Hunters' nightmare but the 'almost-willingly-smooched-their-leader' kind. She lowered her gaze, brushing her hands across the table's polished surface. "I've, uh… been having nightmares since the mugging…"
A long pause hung in the air before Marik broke it. "They were only meant to retrieve the cards they lost." She looked up from the table to find his fists tightly bound at his side. "It wasn't supposed to escalate, and certainly not into an attempt to… take advantage of you."
Was he… sorry? His clenched fists indicated some kind of intense feeling. But she'd already filled her quota of intense feelings for the morning. A shift in conversation was desperately needed. "Enough about my trauma-infused sleep cycle," she said, pushing away from the table. "Can I finally know your illustrious plans for the day?"
To her relief, he joined her in disembarking the emotional seesaw. His fists relaxed, his wry smile twitching as he simply gestured to their private elevator. The classic Marik non-answer.
The elevator doors soon sealed them inside, their reflections mirrored back at them on the shiny interior.
Marik spared her a sideways glance. "I truly do understand your desire to escape." Yes, he'd made that confusingly clear during his café narrative. "However, do keep in mind that I've thwarted your attempts thus far and will continue to do so."
A'isha swallowed the sudden bitter taste in her mouth. But alas, that did remind her - she needed to change her game. Trying to be a cunning fox wasn't working. Marik was too damn vigilant. So, maybe it was time to be a lamb - cute, harmless, completely innocent - and go along with today's mysterious itinerary. Because if she relaxed, maybe Marik would relax. And if he relaxed, maybe he'd lower his guard. And if he lowered his guard, maybe, oh please maybe, she'd manage to successfully sneak out the exit door.
A'isha's mind was made up. Today, she'd enact Operation: Mellow Marik. Oh yes, she'd have Marik so relaxed he'd be the envy of every yoga master out there.
It was time to don the hat of a tourist.
Catania's winter chill, to A'isha's relief, was all bark and no bite today. As seaside cities went, this one had managed to negotiate a ceasefire with the wind, a small victory she welcomed, considering her jacket had the thermal properties of a wet napkin.
Bathing in the sun's gentle warmth, she stood amidst the architectural grandeur of the Piazza del Duomo. The city square, a palimpsest of Catania's storied history, showcased the impressive Cathedral of Sant'Agata. The 18th-century Baroque behemoth towered over the city, its intricate detail reminding her of a fancy fondant-frosted cake - except about a billion times more impressive.
Marik had plunged into the historic milieu around them with the fervour of a history nerd let loose in a museum. Apparently today's itinerary was a history tour by Mr Soft Hands McCreepface.
His rapt attention and slow savouring of every architectural wrinkle stood in stark contrast to the rushed exploration she'd endured with Dani's family. This time, every beautiful nook and cranny received its due, like they had all the time in the world.
The square's pièce de résistance, the Fontana dell'Elefante, cut an imposing figure. Carved from volcanic stone, it featured an elephant, the majestic creature supporting an intricately carved obelisk on its back like the world's most exotic paperweight.
"Remarkable, isn't it?" Marik's words slipped out, hushed and full of awe, his eyes fastened on the statue. "It symbolises wisdom and longevity. People believed it would protect the city from Mount Etna's eruptions."
A'isha followed his gaze, the weight of the symbolism not lost on her. "I can understand that. You have to create your own ways to control the uncontrollable."
Marik's appreciative nod matched her thoughtful tone. "When you have a history as layered as Catania's, you find hope and meaning in the most unexpected places."
They meandered across the Piazza, two explorers sifting through layers of history. Marik, the mysterious captor, seemed to have a secret secondary role: a Contiki guide striving for those five stars. But there was something compelling about the way he viewed the world - a lens that brought both him and Catania into a new light - and though she hated to admit it, she was becoming inexplicably drawn into their exchanges.
The Piazza del Duomo might be Catania's Sunday best, but Castello Ursino was its rebellious brother, rough around the edges but drenched in roguish charm. Dating back to the 13th century, the castle-turned-museum wore its age like a medal of honour, while the stone walls hinted at ancient secrets and long-forgotten tales. As they approached its imposing entrance, A'isha marvelled at the fortress, half-expecting a dragon to burst from one of the towers.
Marik halted beside her, his gaze scanning the façade. To any passerby, he might've seemed like he was merely sizing up the castle, but to her surprise, she caught sight of an unfamiliar restlessness beneath his usual calm. A pang of realisation struck her. He was raised amidst cold stone, much like the castle. Her hand stretched toward his of its own accord. She was taken aback by the icy chill of his fingers, nothing like their warmer encounter that morning.
"Forget the castle," she said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Let's find somewhere warm to have lunch."
His eyes flicked from the castle to their entwined hands, as if processing the physical connection. This was an unusual chapter in her captivity tale, the universe clearly enjoying its cosmic comedy.
"Would you…" He bit his lip, and by God, she'd never seen him this… nervous. "Could we hold hands?"
A'isha pored over his face, grappling with the unlikely display of vulnerability. Was he milking the situation? No, she didn't think so. There was a shadow in his eyes. It was why she'd reached out in the first place. Not to mention Operation: Mellow Marik was in effect. "Fine," she relented, "but don't get used to it."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, his voice light. "You have sweaty hands."
A'isha stopped for a moment. If Marik had gathered intel from Amara's brain that her palms perspired around eye-candy, so help her God, she'd consider hand amputation. With no way to know for sure (short of asking him), she instead willed herself to think of gross things - Prince Hans' sideburns, Gaston's hairy chest, or just… Jafar's whole vibe.
And so, they ventured into the castle, hand-in-hand like love-struck teenagers. As she absorbed the echoing corridors and musty scent of the history-laden halls, a nagging question pestered her: what the hell was she doing? As if on cue, she noticed Marik's hand was gradually losing its iciness, becoming something akin to room temperature. Perhaps, she speculated, Operation: Mellow Marik wasn't her most ill-conceived scheme.
A'isha and Marik had been a few streets from Castello Ursino when she'd experienced a startling revelation. They were still holding hands. Casually. As if it wasn't a questionable lapse on her part and a suspiciously overlooked detail from the ever-observant Marik. She quickly freed the sweaty extremity, tucking it into the refuge of her jacket pocket. Although he offered no protest, she could've sworn the tips of his ears flushed red moments later. Meanwhile, the lingering sensation of his hand, so warm and soft, remained in her mind throughout their walk, as stubbornly persistent as a catchy pop song.
They found themselves awaiting lunch beneath a cascade of vibrant umbrellas suspended over the pedestrian-friendly street of Via Santa Filomena. As she sipped her hot chocolate, she recalled strolling with Dani under the kaleidoscopic canopy, his tragic attempts to speak Italian leaving her breathless with laughter. The street was different now, quieter, its summer vibrance muted by winter's hush. This time it was not Dani's light-hearted humour, but Marik's contemplative conversation that filled the air of their watercolour dining setting.
"I must admit, I found Castello Ursino quite fascinating," Marik confessed, smiling as he nursed his third coffee of the day like an invincible caffeine soldier. The castle's sombre exterior hadn't done wonders for his mood, but the exhibits inside had clearly intrigued him, igniting the historian within. A'isha could practically see the spark in his eyes as he waxed poetic about medieval weaponry.
"Well, aren't you just a sucker for pointy ancient things," she quipped, her thoughts flashing back to the dagger she'd once seen on the Millennium Rod.
As they awaited their meals, their conversation flowed like Marik's bottomless coffee cup, but without the bitterness. A'isha found herself giggling, her laughter hanging in the chilly air. But then she remembered: this was Marik, aka Mr Captor Extraordinaire. Amidst the pastel dreamscape and festive hum, she couldn't overlook the seismic shift in her sentiment. The growing ease between them was disconcertingly comforting, painting a layer of normalcy over the utterly abnormal situation.
By the conventional captives' handbook, A'isha was definitely not winning any medals. The first rule was clear: despise your captor, don't indulge in light-hearted debates about the merits of pineapple on pizza, your personal interpretations of cathedral wall-art, or the controversial ending of Game of Thrones. And yet, there she was, nestled beneath an umbrella-dotted sky, eating pasta with her so-called captor. Worst of all - and oh, how this pained her - she wasn't just tolerating his company. She was enjoying it.
From Marik's vantage point in the back seat of the chauffeured car, a sea of green sprawled before him as the Sicilian countryside unveiled its timeless beauty. The world beyond the tinted windows appeared like an artistic composition: rolling hills, neatly arranged vineyards, sporadic olive trees dappling the terrain, and the clay-red soil offering an earthy contrast.
Then there was Mount Etna, its snow-capped majesty piercing the sapphire winter sky. Its dichotomy of serenity and menace reminded him of A'isha. Much like the volcano, she concealed a fiery core beneath her tranquil exterior, a duality that, unlike Etna, intrigued rather than intimidated.
Marik glanced at her, presently admiring the view beyond her own back-seat window. Her light golden skin, radiant as a Sicilian sunset, was stark against her fiercely vibrant, dark blue eyes. Even as she sat still, her toned hourglass figure and long legs hinted at a strength and grace beyond her seventeen years.
Turning to him, her lips curled into a knowing smile. "I have an inkling of our destination."
Feigning ignorance, he quirked an eyebrow. "And where might that be?"
"It's a surprise," she mimicked him, her grin widening.
With a chuckle, Marik leaned back into the plush upholstery of the car seat, his thoughts retracing the day's journey, settling on their post-lunch visit to the Museo del Cinema. Under the museum's soft lighting, he'd caught himself appreciating the sculptural symmetry of her Grecian nose and the rosy hue that coloured her full lips, while her eyes had shimmered with delight as he'd translated the tour guide's narrative, improving it with his own tidbits.
Perhaps their growing intimacy should not be surprising to him. After all, it was part of his plan. As he'd guided her through the highlights of Catania, imparting knowledge on her as they ventured, she was pleasantly receptive. And amid the turmoil, he'd discovered an unexpected solace in her presence.
What was it about her? He wasn't used to meeting his match when it came to interest in historical artefacts, yet she had wholly engaged in his impromptu tour guide performance. Furthermore, she had not merely listened, but responded, challenged, and offered her own unique, thought-provoking perspectives. Out of anyone on earth he could have been forced to kidnap, he was pleased it was someone with a brain. Then, he chuckled, reminiscing the feeling of her hand in his, bearing a thin layer of sweat. It didn't hurt that she clearly found him attractive. Her sweaty hands had been a dead giveaway.
"What's so funny?"
His attention snapped back to A'isha, whose inquisitive eyes were fixed on him. He was not quite ready to reveal that he was aware of her embarrassing tell-tale sign. It would not befit the evening's plans. "I was just reflecting on how wrong you are about pineapple on pizza."
Was that a hint of a blush? Perhaps even flattery that thoughts of her made him chuckle? His plan to earn her favour and thus thwart her persistent escape attempts appeared to be progressing well indeed.
She retorted, "Thinking about how wrong you are often makes me smile too."
Marik turned his head to hide a grin. A'isha had fire, meeting him play for play. No matter what the evening had in store, he knew he would be entertained.
The elegantly inscribed sign that read "Vigna Dorata" was a stark reality check, like a smug cheshire cat pointing toward the dreaded rabbit hole. A vineyard. A'isha's heart did a masterful impersonation of an Olympic gymnast, somersaulting at the thought of confronting her aversion to alcohol. Could a fancy vineyard change her mind? Unlikely.
The biting late noon air met her the moment she exited the car, and she clutched her jacket, as if trying to convince the fabric to be more than a modest barrier against winter's cold enthusiasm. Marik appeared beside her, golden as ever under the retiring sunlight. How was it that even after an entire day of walking, he still looked like he'd sauntered straight out of an Armani photoshoot? Her jeans and jacket seemed incongruous against his oh-so-put-together ensemble and the looming grandeur of the iron gates. She let out a nervous laugh. "Looks like I missed the dress code memo."
Marik's response was an amused sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. His hand, a warmth that was becoming concerningly familiar, came to rest on her shoulder, seeping comfort into her winter-chilled bones. "You're just fine," he said, the calm in his voice not quite syncing with her internal frenzy. "I've arranged a special alcohol-free wine tasting for us."
"Alcohol-free?" The words briefly baffled her, like being told the earth was, in fact, flat. "Wine tasting without the wine? How adventurous," she said, sarcasm painting her tone as relief bloomed in her chest. This could potentially be bearable, maybe even enjoyable.
"A new experience for both of us," he added, his hand cautiously shifting to the small of her back. A light touch, poised between an assertion and a question. Remarkably, she didn't shudder.
The grand entrance of the vineyard gave way to a spacious foyer, redolent with pine and citrus that lingered from the outdoors. Their host, introducing herself as Lucia, was a cherubic woman with the warmth of a home hearth, who led them to a private booth where a breathtaking view commanded A'isha's full attention.
Beyond the window, neat rows of grapevines bathed in the golden hues of the sunset directed the eye toward the crowning glory - Mount Etna's majesty, its snow-capped peak resembling a sweet dusting of icing sugar.
As they settled into the booth, Lucia went over their gastronomical journey for the evening - an eight-course dégustation menu with matching non-alcoholic wines. When it came to dietary preferences, A'isha's gaze affixed itself on Marik, her thoughts skipping back to his meatless meals earlier today and their airborne banquet last night. It finally dawned on her. "You'll be having the vegetarian menu, right?"
A slow smile spread across his face, and his look went from Armani to Hollywood heartthrob. She reined in the urge to sigh - the guy was ridiculously photogenic. It wasn't fair. "Indeed, I will, A'isha."
Choosing camaraderie over carnivorism, she informed Lucia, "We'll both have the vegetarian menu, please. It'll be fun to compare notes on flavours and pairings."
With Lucia's departure leaving them in the cosy isolation of their private booth, A'isha sank into her chair's luxurious upholstery, taking in the surroundings with a sense of wary amusement. Crisp napkins, polished wine glasses, mood lighting - all the trappings of a romantic rendezvous, a scene ripped straight from a Valentine's Day commercial. But this was definitely not a date, and if Marik harboured any delusions to the contrary, he'd better check them at the door. She didn't think he was trying to romance her? For all his charm, he didn't strike her as downright insane.
Still, the situation sent a twinge of nostalgia prickling down her spine, propelling her three years back to a markedly different setting. The phantom scent of sizzling falafels and a warm Alexandria sunset tugged at her heartstrings, transporting her to the only 'first date' she'd ever had. A far cry from this lavish spectacle, it had taken place at a humble falafel stand near Alexandria's seafront promenade.
"Dani, we might be a few light-years away from a Michelin star," she had gently ribbed her fellow fourteen-year-old date, revelling in the relaxed ambiance.
Quick as a whip, Dani's boyish grin spread across his face. "Who needs Michelin stars when we've got these twinkling stars above us?" The sky, teasing the arrival of nightfall with the entire glittering cosmos, had played the perfect accomplice to his jest.
Their playful bond, as light and airy as cotton candy, once seemed like the perfect antidote to her reality, which often resembled a Greek tragedy. But as years went by, it hit her that what she wanted out of a relationship wasn't an escape, but a companion who wouldn't shy away from life's trials and tribulations. To play off of the wise words of Taylor Swift, he was sunshine, she was midnight rain. She needed someone who knew pain, who understood how to live in the dark.
Blinking back to the present, A'isha realised she was staring at Marik, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun. Shadows fell on his bronzed skin, played peekaboo in his frosty blond locks, creating soft contrasts on his chiselled features. His face had turned toward the window, a soft smile dancing on his lips and his eyes gleaming with quiet admiration for the sunset. Maybe growing up in an underground tomb had taught him to appreciate the simple joys in life - like the delicate art in cathedral nooks, trivia from the world of cinema, or the psychedelic display of a setting sun. Time, she figured, may eventually dish out the answers, just like the numerous courses patiently waiting to grace their dinner table.
Buon appetito.
Hope you enjoyed the first part of this totally-not-a-date date. Let me know your thoughts below. I'd love to hear em 😊