Hate Story

by Nicole Williams

  I glanced at my dad. This time, I knew it was shame in his eyes because it was everywhere else on his face too. He was ashamed of asking for money from his son—but that didn’t keep him from lifting the number of fingers he had in mind for those zeroes.

  I couldn’t look at him another moment. Scribbling down the zeroes, I filled in his name, signed mine, then ripped out the check.

  “I want you gone tomorrow morning. You’ll leave Nina alone and stop trying to upset her. You won’t say a thing to her unless it’s kind, you hear me? You’ll let go of the whole reason you flew you and Mom over here, and you will never revisit that agenda again.” I held the check out, pinching it between my fingers. His eyes widened, his arm already moving toward it. “If you can do that, this is yours. If you can’t, I’ll find some other way to take care of you because, by god, I will not let you come between Nina and me. I will not let you hurt her. I won’t let you near her if you keep trying, you hear me?”

  He didn’t pause to think about it. He didn’t stop to let the shame dig in a little deeper. He just nodded then snatched the check from me. It was folded up and buried in his pocket a moment later.

  “Good-bye, good riddance, and safe travels.” I turned around and headed for the front door. “You’ll get the wedding invitation in the mail.”

  “So? Pool table?” Max smirked as he waited for me to finish my shift at The Busy Bean.

  “Best waste of space ever,” I said, replaying this morning’s round of insanely hot sex. On top of his pool table. I never knew green felt could feel so good scraping my back as I got fucked.

  “Glad we agree on this.” Max checked the window again while I restocked the cups and lids for the next shift. I’d agreed to let him pick me up because I was so tired, I didn’t want to waste the extra time taking the bus tonight.

  “You heard from your parents?” I asked.

  “The last I heard from them was last week when Mom let me know they’d arrived back home.”

  “Strange how suddenly they left. I was starting to think they were going to take up permanent residence,” I said as Max wandered over to help me stack rows of fresh cups.

  “They had to get back to where they belong.” He shrugged. “Plus, I think they came to realize that whatever their hopes were for breaking us up or slowing things down or drawing up some serious prenup, it wasn’t going to work.”

  “Why not? Your dad seems as stubborn as you are. He doesn’t strike me as the kind to give up easily.” When I wiggled by Max to refill the beans, he made sure I had to wiggle extra hard to get by. As tempting as it was and as many times as he’d offered, I would not be one of those people who had sex in their place of employment. Especially not some decaying shack called The Busy Bean.

  “Because they could see how I felt about you. They could tell that you and me”—his finger wove between us—“this is real.”

  “Glad our fake relationship seems so real.” When I smiled at him, I found Max was not amused. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You know what I mean. Right?”

  It took a minute, but Max got back to stacking new lids. “I know what you mean.”

  Good. Because this was confusing enough without having to explain anything else to Max. Our relationship had been convoluted from the start, but now, having feelings for one another yet still going forward like we’d planned as a “couple of convenience,” it was a damn web of complicated.

  I had to keep our agreement separate from our feelings. That was important to me. I couldn’t let my feelings get in the way of what I’d promised Max, and I couldn’t let what I’d agreed to get in the way of my feelings. In the spirit of separating the church and the state, I was separating the feelings from the arrangement.

  “Haven’t heard from Elena either?” I asked gently, checking to make sure he wasn’t about to explode because I’d spoken her name.

  “Not one word,” he replied, appearing cool and collected.

  “Wow. So your family went back home after a predominately uncomplicated visit, and your ex, who you were under the impression sustains herself on destruction and demise, has left us both totally alone for almost two weeks.” When he gave me a warning look, I gave it right back to him. “All of that worry for nothing.”

  “Better to worry too much and be pleasantly surprised than worry too little and get taken advantage of.” Without me asking, he wiped down the espresso machine.

  Watching Max clean anything in that nice suit of his made me wish I had my camera so I could capture the moment. Perfection. “You know, if this whole stock market thing gets old and skyscrapers lose their appeal, I think you have a promising career as an espresso stand barista.”

  Max kept cleaning, pausing just long enough to snap the wet towel in my direction. “Good to know.” His gaze shifted toward me. “What about you? Have you ever considered what other opportunities are out there for you?”

  Once I finished loading five pounds of fresh beans into the machine, I leaned into the counter. “Only a few dozen times a day.”

  “And what opportunity sounds most appealing a few dozen times a day?”

  Checking the clock, I found that I still had five minutes before Devon would be here for her shift, which was more like ten since she ran five minutes late every shift. I couldn’t stall or avoid his question for ten minutes unfortunately.

  “I’d like to go to college, I guess. Enroll in a two-year program first to make sure it’s really what I want to do, then transfer to a four-year close by.” To distract myself, I grabbed the broom and started to sweep the floor I’d just swept an hour ago.

  “What’s stopping you from doing that now?” Max tossed the cleaning rag aside and turned to watch me.

  I was about to reply with shortage of cash flow when I stopped myself. Money might have played a factor in why I wasn’t in school, but it wasn’t the only one. I knew I could apply for grants and loans that would help. I knew plenty of programs catered to plenty of schedules.

  “I don’t know,” I said instead, concentrating on the floor. “I guess I just got stuck or something. I was planning on it in high school, I even sent out applications my senior year, but then Grandma started getting sick and I couldn’t leave. So I stayed.”

  “You could have gone to one of the schools around here,” Max suggested gently, still watching me sweep a clean floor.

  “I could have, and I probably could have even made it through my first couple of years, but I would have had to drop out when she got really sick. During that last year of her life, I could barely leave for the grocery store, let alone for half a day to go to class.” I locked eyes with him. “It was worth it. I wouldn’t change anything if I could go back and do it again. Putting my life on hold to spend what was left of my grandma’s with her was worth a lot more than a lost dream.”

  Max’s eyes softened. “Who says that dream has to be lost? Why can’t it be right here in front of you, found?” He waved at the space in front of me like my dream flashing was right there at my feet.

  “I’m a little busy marrying some foreigner right now. Working a couple of jobs. Not sure college is a good idea until I’ve cleared my schedule some.” Fighting a smile, I got back to sweeping.

  “Marriage isn’t about forfeiting your dreams, Nina. The real kind or fake kind, just in case you were about to ask.” Max peaked his brow. “It’s about having someone to share them with. Someone to help you reach them. Someone to stand at your side or pull you up or kick your ass when you need it. Don’t let me be the reason you keep putting this off. If you’re worried about money, I’ve already told you I am happy to—”

  “It’s two in the morning, Max. I’ve been up for nineteen and a half hours. Think we could tone down the depth of the conversation by about twenty-five rungs?” When I moved to unlock the door to sweep out the two specks of dust I managed to wrangle up, Max bolted toward me.

  Moving in front of me, he put himself between the door and me as he pulled it open, checking to m
ake sure the coast was clear. “You want to change the subject?”

  “Yes, double please.”

  Taking the broom from me, Max swept the two particles of dust outside. “Okay. So how do you think this is going?” Max tipped the broom handle between us. “You and me?”

  My forehead pinched together. “You and me the plan? Or you and me the surprise?”

  Max’s brow answered my question.

  “And this topic is what you consider not-so-deep?” I nudged him and moved to finish stocking syrups.

  “All I’m looking for is a simple estimation. Since we were just talking about school, give us a grade for how you think this is going.”

  “A grade? Like A, B, C, D, F?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  I shook my head. “Did you have a rough day at work today? Lose an Olympic-size swimming pool of money or something? Are you needing your daily ego stroking to come from somewhere else today?” When I glanced back at him, I found Max leaning into the door he’d relocked, arms crossed and waiting.

  “Our relationship is unique,” he said. “Intricate. I’m asking not because I need my ego stroked, but because I care. If I need to make some changes, I’m willing to. Anything you need, whatever you want, that’s what I’ll give you. But first, I have to know how I’m doing.”

  If a man could get a woman pregnant from a piercing stare and a collection of words, I’d just gotten myself good and knocked up. With twins.

  “You know how it’s going,” I said, trying to focus on the syrups instead of what—or who—I wanted to focus on.

  “I know how I think it’s going. I’d like to know how you think it’s going.”

  My mouth went a little dry. Having these kinds of talks was hard for anyone—they were next to impossible for me. “Well, you haven’t gone and confessed your undying love or scared the hell out of me by asking me to be your baby mama, so you’re keeping your promise to take it nice and slow.” When he gave a mini bow, I rolled my eyes. “Not to mention you aren’t too shabby in the sack, you don’t leave dirty dishes in the sink, and you share the remote well.”

  Max’s face went flat. “Not too shabby?”

  “Oh, please. You know how good you are. Stop fishing for compliments.” A flush crept up my neck as I thought of the most recent evidence to support that theory.

  A slow, crooked smile spread across his face. “I want a grade.”

  “Like comprehensive? Or broken down by category?” I was stalling, and Max knew I was stalling.

  “You’re making this way too difficult,” he grumbled.

  “An A minus,” I said abruptly. “I’d give you an A minus.”

  “Why not an A plus?”

  I kept my head turned so he couldn’t see my smile. Only Max Sturm would be outraged by an A minus. “Because there’s always room for improvement. And I wouldn’t want it to go to your head, that’s why not an A plus.”

  The door creaked when he shoved off of it. He made no move to tame the way he was checking me out, leaning into the counter as I organized the syrups. “Something’s definitely going to my head.”

  My gaze roamed his zipper region. Insatiable. “I was talking about the one north of your neck.”

  “And I’m talking about the one at the end of my dick. My, at present, hard dick, thanks to you.” He came up behind me, fitting himself against my backside as his hands moved around to work on my jeans.

  “Max,” I protested, my eyes closing a second later when his dick nuzzled deeper into my ass.

  “Nina. I’m taking your body. Here. Now.” His chest pressed into my back as he lowered my zipper. “Accept that so we can move on to the next part.”

  “The windows. Someone could see us,” I whispered, feeling my own need building with his body wrapped around mine the way it was.

  His mouth slid outside of my ear as his fingers moved inside my underwear. A groan rumbled in his chest when he felt how ready I was for him. “That’s why you’re going to get on your hands and knees for me.”

  I was already agreeing with a nod when my next protest slipped past my lips. “Devon will be here any minute.”

  Max lowered his zipper and pointed at the floor in front of him. “All I need is a minute.”

  I couldn’t have lowered to the floor faster, leaning forward and spreading my palms on the cool linoleum. What am I doing? My silent question was hushed when Max lowered behind me, tugging my jeans and underwear down my ass as he moved between my legs. One hand dug into my hip and the other guided himself into position.

  “Oh, god,” I moaned, already on the cusp of an orgasm from the sheer thrill of the forbidden.

  “Let’s see if you’re still claiming ‘not too shabby’ when I finish fucking you the way I’m going to.” He didn’t slide inside me gently then—he plunged inside with the kind of force that lifted my knees into the air. “Let’s see if you can even stand when I’ve had my way with you.”

  “Max . . .” I moaned, giving my body over to his, letting him give me the pleasure only his body could.

  “That’s right, Liebling, you keep saying my name.” Max’s hand found its way around to my ponytail and gave it a rough pull as he felt my orgasm start to throb around him. “You know I like my name on your lips when I come inside your body.”

  That night, on the freshly swept floor of The Busy Bean . . . I became one of those girls.

  I thought the one thing I was missing in life was my green card. I’d learned the one thing that had been missing was her.

  Nina was curled around my body in her bed, having fallen asleep hours ago, but sleep held no interest for me tonight. Not with the things I had to get sorted out before our wedding in two days.

  Nina was going to be my wife. I wanted that so badly I could taste it. But not for the same reason I’d originally entered into our arrangement. I didn’t want to marry her so I could get a piece of paper telling me I could spend the rest of my life in this country; I wanted to marry her so I could spend the rest of my life with her. She was my home. I’d been wrong about it being a place on a map.

  When I’d tried explaining how I felt before, I had either failed to find the right words or Nina hadn’t caught the depth of my meaning. We had feelings for each other. She knew that as well as I did. What she didn’t know was how deep my feelings for her ran. What she didn’t know was that I didn’t just have feelings for her—I loved her.

  Nina was going to marry me in two days, no matter what. To her, she’d made me a promise she intended on keeping. Her word was her honor. But I didn’t want her to marry me because she’d made me a promise. I wanted her to marry me because she felt the same way about me as I did for her.

  I wanted her to marry me because she loved me too.

  And I wasn’t sure if she did. Love was the enemy to Nina, and if I flat out told her how I felt, she would move me into the same position. I didn’t want to be Nina’s enemy.

  I wanted to be her husband. The real one, not the pretend one she thought she was marrying.

  When Nina shifted below me, moving into a position that would make my arm even more numb than it already was, I didn’t budge. Having Nina any way I could have her was more than I had a right to—numb arm included.

  Taking a moment to admire her hair spilling across my arm, I sighed. I knew Nina wasn’t in the same place as me mentally. I knew if we’d met under different circumstances and my green card wasn’t a factor, she’d be nowhere close to exchanging vows like I was. I wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready really.

  It wasn’t the expression of love or commitment of marriage she shunned—it was the labels. You didn’t have to call it love to express it . . . and Nina did. She “loved” me better than anyone ever had. From her concern to her care to her compassion, Nina embodied love without designating it so.

  She expressed commitment better than those I’d seen married for decades. She embodied the soul of love and marriage, but she was vehemently against the labels.


  Given her history, I could understand. That was why I had to do right by her. No matter what I wanted, her needs had to be put first.

  Nina had agreed to marry me because she’d been out of choices. Would she still agree to it if I gave her one? Would she marry me not because she felt she had to, but because she wanted to?

  Those were the questions taking up my mental real estate tonight. The questions I needed to force answers to.

  Before I worked anything else out, I lowered my mouth to Nina’s ear. My numb arm curled her tighter to me. “Ich dien stein,” I whispered, wondering if I’d have the courage to say those same three words to her when she was awake.

  Courage or not, I’d have to.

  I felt like I’d just been sitting across from him for the first time, taking the first look at my future husband, and in a few minutes, he would officially be my husband.

  The two months since our engagement had made up the best weeks of my life. I couldn’t wait to see what waited for us after today. Max and I had stuck to our commitment to take each day as it came, never veering too far into the future—for fear of it overwhelming us—or rushing whatever was waiting for us, and this approach had worked better than either of us could have hoped.

  Neither of us talked about the plan for after the wedding or that date two years in the future when he’d leave the marriage with a green card, and I’d leave it a million dollars richer. I thought the main reason we didn’t discuss it was because it didn’t concern either of us. We cared for one another, and whatever came, we’d deal with as it dropped in our laps.

  In short, life was idyllic in a way I hadn’t guessed it could be. At least for me.

  Another check of the clock on the wall revealed we were T-minus ten minutes. I sighed and checked the sky from the window of the room I was waiting in. It wasn’t just gray up there, it was moody—dark charcoal swirling through light ash. A storm was brewing. I hoped it would control itself for another half hour so we could get through the outdoor ceremony without being power-washed by nature.