From Bully To Beloved

It was just a kiss.

Technically there were two kisses.

It was just two completely hot and unforgettable kisses.

Sitting back against the couch, I pick up my abandoned sketchbook. Hey, at least he isn’t mad about the drawing.

He said so many sweet things about my drawings.

Really, really sweet things.

It still seems like I’m walking on clouds with this unexpected boost in my confidence (fromhim, of all people!), and that’s a feeling I haven’t had in quite a long while.

“But before you start drawing,” he says, “we need to talk.”

Oh, shit. That’s never a good phrase. “What’s up?” I ask, trying to keep my voice composed and normal.

“I have an important dinner coming up in two days with a couple of investors,” Coltonsays, watching me intently. “I wanted to give you a heads-up, because it’s going to be here.”

A sense of relief drifts over me. All right, this I can handle. “Oh, okay. I’ll make sure to clear out that night, and rest assured, you don’t have to worry about them finding my bra lying around.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

It takes a second for his words to register. “Oh…” He’s not telling me about the dinner to make sure I’moutof the apartment. “You want me to be there?” At first, I’m surprised by his response and a little touched.

“You sort of have to be.”

Then it dawns on me. “Is this about the investors that Justin told we weremarried?”

He nods. “Mr. and Mrs. Osborn. They’re expecting you to be here.”

“Dammit, Justin,” I say, resting my head against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

“I know,” he says. His forehead is all frowny, and he looks at me like I’m about to shred him and his idea into a million little pieces.

I feel something strange building up in my chest.

We have to pretend we’re real.

That our marriage is real.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

That our love is real.

“You can tell Justin I’m going to rip his balls out and then bury him alive!” I put my sketchbook aside and stand up. Feeling like a thousand ants are crawling all over my skin at the same time makes it impossible for me to keep calm. “Heshould play the hostess in my place. Ha! You can tell him I’ll be happy to help him prepare for the good wifey role!”

Coltonsnorts.

At the same time, a picture of Justin sitting next to him, politely making conversation with the investor’s wife, flashes through my mind. The tattooed hulk of man holding a tiny teacup from Mrs. Bianca’s dresser in his big fingers, asking if he can refill Mrs. Osborn’s cup.

“I’m sure Gran still has a frilly apron somewhere you can put on him,” he says. “I’ll personally help you tie the ribbons just above his ass into a pretty little bow.”

We look at each other. The corners of my mouth twitch. Coltonmakes a sound that’s somewhere between a snicker and a stifled laugh.

“All right, I’ll be there,” I say and enjoy the moment of surprised confusion in his eyes. That’s an answer he clearly wasn’t expecting. “But you can tell Justin that he’s going to be paying for this for a long, longtime. We have to make sure we use the good dishes. He could polish the silverware.” With that, all the restlessness evaporates, and I sit down again. On the couch.

When Colton remains silent, I gaze over at him.

He cocks his head at me in curiosity. “Sera, are you all right?”

“Yep.”

“Was that a burst ofimpulse?”

“Nah.” I shrug it off. “Just want to help.”

“Sure looked like a shiver of compulsion to me. And how do you know about the good dishes?”

I set the sketchbook off to the side. Looking around the room, my eyes land on the china cabinet, and I let the memories wash over me. “I helped Mrs. Bianca get ready for dinner parties so many times, and she always had me get those dishes out of the cabinet. I asked her why she didn’t just keep them in the kitchen and why she packed them awayallthe time.”

“Because they’re for guests,” Coltonsays with a smirk, doing a pretty good imitation of his grandmother’s voice. “Not for everyday use.”

I laugh, having heard that phrase many times. “Yeah, that’s what she always said. So before the dinner parties, we’d have to take them out and handwash them. Then after, handwash again-very carefully-and put them back.”

I remember it so clearly. Just the two of us, standing in the kitchen, side by side, talking about everything and nothing. Once I suggested we use the dishwasher, and shebalkedat the idea. I never suggested it again. She’d wash, and I would carefully dry. I never knew my own grandmother, but Mrs. Bianca filled that role effortlessly.

“What else did you do with Gran?” Coltonasks.

“A bunch of different things, especially when her arthritis started to get worse. She was always so insistent about doing her own cleaning, even though there was a cleaning lady that came over a couple of times a week.”

“I remember. I hired her. Gran would have things spotless when she arrived, so more often than not, she had nothing to do.”

“Huh, sounds like someone else I know,” I tease.

Coltongrins. “Hey, I had to learn it from somewhere.”

“We girls at The Diner called her ‘the Baroness’-have I told you that?”

“The Baroness? Ha. I like that. I can see why. Gran was a perfect lady who always kept her countenance. Did she know about her pet name?”

“She did. She thought we were being silly. She said”-I mimic Mrs. Bianca’s cute elderly voice-“Girls, I’m no baroness, there’s not a single drop of blue blood running in my old veins. Only merlot.” Coltongrins and so do I. “Then she’d order another glass and leave a huge tip each time.”

“Did you know she was wealthy?”

“No, I really had no idea. You?”

“She kept it from us,” he admits. “She wanted to surprise us. Probably had this planned a long time.”

“Anyway, on days when she was having a hard time, I would take care of a few things for her. Like shopping. Or carrying a plant pot from the living room to the bedroom. Then she always insisted we have lunch. God, her food was terrible.”

Coltonbursts into laughter, pressing his hand over his heart. “She was the sweetest, but she wasn’t much of a cook. Except for her butter cookies, they were good.”

Phantom scent memories of her butter cookies waft through my nose.

“Oh, my God, they were! They were the best! We’d have them in the evening with Earl Grey tea. So yummy. But lunch was the absolute worst. I’m just glad she let me cook for the dinner parties because I could not subject her friends to her food. I still don’t know what she put in those tea sandwiches she made when we had our lunches. I always had to eat at least half to be polite, and I don’t think my stomach ever recovered. I started offering to make lunch just so I wouldn’t have to eat them anymore.”

“Bet that went over well.”

“Surprisingly, yes. She thought I was just being sweet, and she loved what I would serve for lunch, and her girlfriends raved about my cooking at those dinner parties.”

“She didn’t know you were trying to avoid food poisoning for all of you.”

Coltonand I both laugh, and it feels good. Feels good sitting here sharing memories of a woman who made such an impact on both our lives. I bet she’d like this: seeing us sitting in her living room, actually getting along.

“You grew up with her,” I continue, tucking my legs underneath me to get comfortable. “Was it hard for you too, being raised without both parents?”

He looks at me in a funny way I can’t read, and for a moment, I think I’ve overstepped-that I’m too curious, toonosy, so I add, “My father passed away when I was a toddler, and I was raised by a single mother. That was hard, especially when she became so sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. No, all I remember are fights and broken dishes and shit scattered everywhere. They fought all the fucking time. I hated being at home. It reeked of cigarettes, alcohol, and other shit. What I remember vividly, to this day, is my father hitting my chest, my shoulders, and his favorite spot, my back, with a belt, and my mother doing her best to look away, especially when he came visiting my bedroom at night, his motherfucking belt ready in his hand, not even bothering to lock the door. Thecoldnessin his eyes. Thehatein his eyes. God, I loathed the motherfucker, I wanted to murder him. And I would have. One late evening, they overdosed. Gran took me in.”

He pauses when he notices the sad expression on my face.

All kinds of thoughts run through my head.

I had no idea. That’s horrible. I want to cry.

Is that why he was such a rebellious, angry kid? Is that why he hardly ever drinks and prefers his home neat and spotless? Is that why he likes being outside so much? No wonder he threw my sandwiches-made with obvious love by my mother-in the dirt and spat on them. Or that he never appreciated how much I loved drawing, and that he didn’t understand he’d burned more than just a sheet of paper.

The wings on his back suddenly make sense.

I offer him a few heartfelt words, but it’s like he’s not even listening. Instead, he shakes his head. “Don’t read too much into it, don’t Sigmund Freud me. What’s done is done,” he continues. “I’m not scarred. It’s hard to miss anything that you never had. Gran’s home was cozy. She loved Justin. I didn’t miss a thing.”

He doesn’t say more, and I don’t press, instead trying to steer the topic to a happier one. “How did you survive her cooking?”

He shrugs. “Mostly I ate at Justin’s house-a simple bagel with cheese or something he and I bought at the corner store,” Coltonsays. “At Gran’s house, we lived off her cookies. Justin loved them just as much as I did. We ate them by the bucketful. Later, when we were a bit older, we were always on the go, so he and I would end up eating out.”

“That sounds about right.”

“I like to stay busy. Speaking of which, I’m headed out.”

“Didn’t you just get home?” I ask.

“And?”

On the go again. “Where are you going? Work again?”

“Justin and I are meeting up with some guys to talk shop. A couple of them have expressed interest in working for me once the dealership is up and running, so I want to get a little more on them. We’ve already hired quite a bit of staff, but it can’t hurt to have some backup in case someone doesn’t work out.”

“Wow, that’s awesome that they’d be willing to just leave their current jobs at the drop of a hat.”

Coltongets to his feet. “Some people know what they want and just go for it.” He winks at me.

“I’m perfectly fine right where I am. I already told you, I have plans.”

“Plans that still include working at the diner.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, of course not. I just think you’re afraid to lose your safety net.”

“Without a safety net, people hit the ground. I don’t need that, thanks.” A lump forms in my throat.

Coltontowers over me, and I look up. “But what’s the point of life if you don’t take a few risks?” he asks. “Especially when you’ve got so much going for you.”

For the slightest moment, I think he’s going to bend down and kiss me again. Think or want him to? Shit, I’m not sure which. But he doesn’t give me a chance to figure it out, because he’s stepping away and heading for the door.

“Be home late. Don’t wait up.”

My head is spinning too much to come up with a clever response. Not to mention my heart.

I hear the front door close and fall over, burying my face into my pillow and letting out a muffled scream.