Heiress in Distress

•Chapter 17•

•Word Count: 1,865

The absurdity of my father's note, written under the once thought disarray of chemical compounds, compelled me to reconsider giving it a chance.

I'm almost certain it's meaningless, but I highly doubt my father would add a meaningless paragraph under an important address.
So, with my arsenal of a sharpened pencil, a blank paper and a scientific calculator, I dive into another episode of my labyrinth-themed world.

A few failed calculations later, I don't feel the punches of disappointment that are pressurising me to yield, since I already started off with the eminent belief that this is a total joke.

I've tried almost everything -molar mass, (individual) atomic mass, atomic number -individually and combined- , pretty much everything related to Chemistry.
Nothing. There's no possibility of another address or any phone numbers, a conclusion that has me running a hand down my face in frustration.

"I've spent the whole afternoon in my lab, attempting to produce a new spice -something to add to my newest pasta recipe.
I started by the lowest ranking to the highest, combining thorium and erbium with oxygen and nitrogen, in that same order, but it turned out too ammoniacal.
So I went for the unconventional options; moscovium, cobalt and yttrium, again in the same order, but was forced to dump the product due to its high radioactivity.
Next, I tried my luck once again with rare elements, europium, germanium, and neon.
As expected, the result was fascinating but not the desired product.
Finally, I decided to use something more recognised, combining iron and nickel with potassium and sulfur. The result was bolting!
But I decided I like my pasta just the way it is, so I gave up the whole project."

The word 'spice' has me inadvertently traveling back to last week at the Barbe Island, with the delectability of Cher Antoinette's servings sitting at the front row of my memories. An imaginary force tugs at the corners of my lips, and a full-blown smile surfaces shortly after.

From the beautiful stroll through the island, to the palatable meal in the restaurant, to the whole story of Antoinette and Pierre, I can safely admit that I've never had a more memorably enjoyable trip.

However, Elias's latest confession about his fear of thunderstorms tainted the memory so badly that I end up nauseated just thinking about that day, not by the reality of it -since I'm not in the place to judge someone over their fears- but by the fact that I misinterpreted his reaction to the storm.

I should have known, for It was pretty obvious.
But I was never blessed with a mere fraction of Elias's attentiveness to catch on the shallow hints.

And despite leaving the island with a sense of looking forward to the next trip -with Élise as the third wheel- I've made the decision to steer clear of any encounters with Elias for the time being, at least. He's not a bad person, I know that much.

But the way he easily squeezed himself into my life, offering protection, handling my Élise with gentleness, and gaining my respect is somewhat unsettling.

One shouldn't warm up to strangers this fast and this easily just as much how strangers shouldn't waltz their way into someone's life with this grace, using their irresistible charm and dreamy sigh-inducing fatherliness with children.

Shaking my head to rid myself of the unnecessary thoughts pestering my already suffering mind, I decide I should worry about the future when the time comes, and save my mental energy for the pending present.

My eyes skim through the paragraph a few times, searching for a hidden message and hoping to God a mere hint will make the awaited presence soon, but to no avail.
Defeated, I push my chair back and recline down, my neck sits uncomfortably over the top of my chair, as I puff out a defeated sigh.