Hinovel
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Summary
He's my childhood tormentor. I never intended to encounter him again, let alone become his wife. However, his grandmother had different intentions: she bequeathed us a significant inheritance... but with conditions. We must wed and reside in her small NYC apartment for a month, with only one bed. Upon my arrival, he's not the mischievous, pigtail-pulling nuisance I despised. He's strikingly attractive, tall, and adorned with sinful tattoos – a captivating antagonist. I find myself married in the blink of an eye. His passionate kiss pulls me deeper into this colossal mistake. His caring nature dismantles all my defenses. His intense touch leaves me yearning for more. I am aware I'm treading on dangerous ground – and I don't want to get hurt. Saying "I do," collecting the check, and leaving was the initial plan. Falling in love with my pretend husband was never part of the equation.
1
Sera
Monday night unfolds in a quaint Queens diner, the clock ticking past 7:00 p.m.
“Come closer, baby doll,” the jerk taunts Kelly at a nearby table.
A confrontation isn't on my agenda, but witnessing him grab Kelly's ass ignites my fury.
Unapologetic, he smirks when caught. I march toward them, enraged.
“What’s the matter, sugar?” he mocks, realizing he's flustered her.
“S-Sir, you can’t…”
“I’m sorry—what was that?” he interrupts, reveling in her discomfort.
I've had enough. The customer isn't always right.
Standing beside Kelly, I unleash my indignation. “Hey, prick. You can’t grope the waitresses. It’s not that kind of diner.”
He sneers, giving me a disdainful look, contrasting with Kelly's deer-in-the-headlights expression.
Kelly, tall and neat, contrasts my short, curvy self. Tonight, she's handled a challenging customer, enduring his inappropriate comments with poise. Now, he's crossed the line.
“Out. Now,” I declare with calm authority.
“What are you accusing me of?” he retorts.
“Don’t play dumb. I saw you touch her,” I respond, unfazed.
“I did no such thing,” he claims, feigning innocence.
“Your hand just happened to be level with her backside and making a grabbing motion?”
“Is it a crime to have my hand resting at my side?” he argues.
“No, but it’s a crime to touch someone without their consent,” I assert, positioning myself protectively in front of Kelly.
He challenges me, demanding to speak to the supervisor. Little does he know, as the most senior employee, I hold that position.
I eagerly anticipate the look on his face when he realizes his ploy won't work.
I position my hands on the table, leaning in, and calmly state, “I am the supervisor. I must ask you to leave the premises.”
Hoping a more condescending tone will convey my authority, I retaliate against his insolence. He questions my role, snapping at Kelly for confirmation.
Kelly weakly nods, yet disbelief lingers in the man's expression.
Fed up, I decide to prove who's in control. I backhand one of his beer bottles, spilling its contents across his lap. As he jolts back, I sweetly utter, "Oops."
His face reddens, attracting attention from other patrons. Backhanding more bottles, I repeat, "Oops," less sweetly. The man protests, accusing me of intent.
With satisfaction, I order him out, pointing to the door. Kelly mentions he hasn't paid yet.
I turn, take the slip from her, and he scoffs, climbing out of the booth. A beer stain on his lap adds to his humiliation. When he claims he won't pay, I'm ready to retaliate, but Officer Marco, a regular NYPD customer, intervenes.
“Is there a problem here, Sera?” Officer Marco inquires sternly.
I swiftly inform him about the groping incident, and Mr. Suit attempts to exit without settling his bill. I place the receipt on the table, urging him to pay. Reluctantly, he drops cash and leaves.
Once he's gone, I turn to Kelly, ensuring she's okay. Officer Marco offers support, asking if she wants to press charges, but she declines.
With relief, I hug Kelly, and Officer Marco returns to his meal. I grab a slice of apple pie, brightening his mood and acknowledging his assistance.
I guide Kelly toward the back, signaling other waitresses to take our tables. The kitchen buzzes with activity, and Deacon, our lively head chef, notices us. I gesture for him to prepare something for Kelly, and he obliges.
In Marie's cramped makeshift office, I settle Kelly, assuring her to take all the time she needs. Despite her concern about the tables, I dismiss it, promising that Daphne and others can handle them.
She expresses disbelief at people's behavior, and I refrain from commenting, understanding her kind nature. Deacon brings in a comforting chocolate lava cake with vanilla ice cream.
"You're my bestie. You know I'd kick anybody in the nuts for you," I reassure her. Despite my years in waitressing, Kelly's good-natured innocence still surprises me.
Deacon's thoughtful gesture of providing Kelly's favorite treat lightens the mood. I encourage her to take deep breaths and enjoy the treat before heading back out.
As Kelly eats, she asks about my upcoming "meeting." I admit I have a few minutes, assuring her it's not urgent. We discuss Mrs. Ashton, reminiscing about her, and I express how much I miss her.
Kelly encourages me to go to the meeting, assuring me she'll be fine. Despite her reassurance, the real reason I'm hesitant is the thought of seeing him again.