The Dahlia Trilogy (The Gilded Flower Series)

by Winslow, Vivian

  “You never mentioned that, Vi,” Lily says, incredulously. “I mean, you mentioned Dubai, but it didn’t seem like you were seriously considering it.”

  Vi shakes her head. “It didn’t matter because I didn’t end up moving. Anyway, I went to this guy in Sri Lanka who is famous for seeing the possibilities play out in the leaves.”

  “Uh-huh,” the sisters respond in unison.

  “But he didn’t see anything, at least he said he didn’t.”

  “Ugh. How frustrating,” Dahlia says.

  “At first it was, but he explained that if he told me my future, it would influence every decision I’d make, which meant I wouldn’t really be living my life. I’d be trying to shape my future.”

  “And?” Lily prompts.

  “It never guarantees peace or happiness. Instead, it only feeds the illusion that you have control over such things.” Then Vi, imitating the old sage, says in a heavy Indian accent, “My dear, you find what gives you most peace now, and you allow it to take root inside of you. Let it grow, and you will find that peace will always reside in you. Once that is done, then you will never doubt your path.”

  “You made your decision based on that advice?” Dahlia asks.

  “Some people base their decisions on a lot less. Look at you, D. It took screwing Sebastian to get you to leave Santa Barbara. You didn’t want to have to make a decision, so you did something that would compel you to want to leave.”

  “Vi,” Lily warns. “This isn’t the time.”

  “What? Why can’t I bring him up?”

  “Who? Shane or Sebastian?” Dahlia asks defensively, not appreciating the reminder of her encounter with Sebastian.

  “Both. You’ve been here two weeks and you’re a shell of a person, D. Shane’s death just sucked the life out of you.”

  “She’s allowed to mourn Shane, Vi.” Lily comes to Dahlia’s defense.

  “Of course she is, Lily. I know that. But Dahlia isn’t mourning him. She’s drowning in her depression.”

  “You’re talking about me as if I’m not even here,” Dahlia cuts in.

  “Well you’re really not, are you?” Vi replies quickly. “I will support and cajole and be sad with you, if that’s what you need. But you’re in a bad place, D. You’re letting Shane’s death kill you from the inside out.”

  Dahlia turns to Lily. “Do you agree?”

  Lily shrugs, not wanting to gang up on her sister, but needing to say what she’s kept to herself for the past month. “I think you’re in a difficult place. Your time with Shane was beautiful. He helped you deal with your daughter’s death. He helped you heal. But you’re cheating yourself out of a happy life if you don’t let him go. It’s not as if you know for certain how things would’ve been between you two had he lived.”

  Dahlia gasps. “You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t believe you’re saying this. Shane and I were happy!”

  “D, in the end, it doesn’t change the reality. He’s not here for you to find out,” Lily says. “He may have been a part of the life you wanted, but he wasn’t your life. I think it will help if you consider your purpose, a passion that will wake you inside. Do you even know what that is?”

  Dahlia pauses, her thoughts too blurred by her anger at Vi and Lily. “Is this what you guys talk about when I’m not around?” Dahlia asks.

  “No, of course not,” Lily replies gently. “All I want is to see you come out of this dark place.”

  Dahlia sighs and closes her eyes. “Easier said than done.”

  Vi says, “It always is.”

  Lily nods in agreement. Since leaving Jack, she’s never felt more at peace and complete in her life. Taking a risk opened more doors to opportunities than she would’ve had if she had become Mrs. Jack Rothstein. She sighs and glances over at Dahlia, hoping that her sister will one day feel the same.

  Chapter 10

  “D,” Lily calls out.

  Dahlia walks out onto her balcony, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What?” She yawns.

  “Vi and I are going island hopping today, maybe end up in Bali for a bit. Vi’s wanting a change of scenery. You wanna come?”

  Dahlia leans on the rail and shakes her head. “No thanks.” Hard to imagine the other islands look so different from this one with its overgrown palm trees, fruit trees and flowers in constant bloom. Apart from the immense house they occupied, there was nothing but tropical beauty. Vi decided against Bali because it became too commercial after that woman who ate and prayed her way to love wrote her book. Instead they found a small private island that boasted a handful of villas, each on their own five-acre lot with private beach access, and one small fishing village.

  “Can I bring you anything?”

  Again, Dahlia shakes her head, quickly growing tired of Lily’s mothering. “I’ll be fine, Lil. Don’t worry.”

  “Alright. The cook went to some other island to stock up, but there’s food in the fridge if you get hungry. I also left an emergency number for the property manager in the kitchen in case you need anything.”

  Dahlia waves her off. “I’ll be fine. I’m a grown girl. Stop fretting like an old spinster.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lily replies, slinging her canvas bag over her shoulder. “Oh, and D, it’s nice to see you awake before noon.” Dahlia flashes her middle finger at Lily in response.

  Dahlia throws herself back onto her bed and stares out the window. Even in this tranquil place, she still can’t get a moment’s peace. Vi and Lily mean well, but the sympathetic looks and constant platitudes are becoming tiring. She doesn’t want to have to think about her purpose or her future. She doesn’t want to have to think at all.

  The bright sun fills her room an hour later, compelling Dahlia to finally get out of bed. She throws on a thin, white sundress and pads down the floating wood stairs into the kitchen. She pulls out a bowl of mango from the refrigerator and perches herself on the countertop. No staff bustling around her. No Vi or Lily checking in on her. Peace. Finally.

  Out of the corner of Dahlia’s eye, she spots a tall, dark figure walking around the unoccupied guest house at the edge of the property. Dressed in casual shorts and a t-shirt, he doesn’t resemble any of the staff. He pushes hard on the locked door, which doesn’t open. He then peers through the sliding glass doors and tries to open them one-by-one. Adrenalin begins to shoot through her body as she watches him glide across the deck to the outdoor gazebo, moving the cushions aside then pausing to look at something. At what, she wonders? The view? Lily and Vi assured her the villa would be private and secure. Dahlia quickly regrets her need for solitude.

  “Crap,” Dahlia says aloud, sliding off the counter and crouching behind a chair. All of the windows are open, and the white modern, minimalist furnishings provide little to no hiding place. She looks around and realizes that she has no idea who to call in an emergency, magnifying her sense of vulnerability. Lily said she’d leave a number, but Dahlia doesn’t even know where the phone is. Who was it she was supposed to contact?

  “Why in the fuck am I hiding?” she mutters to herself, standing up. In a split second, her fight response kicks in, and she heads to the outdoor terrace.

  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 remindi
ng 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.”