Merging Hearts (Smitten Hearts #1)

Chapter Eight

Hazel

“Hazel Shanice Wilmer.”

“Ysabelle Keisha Wilmer.” I deadpan to my sister as I tear out the paper from my jotter, squeeze it, and throw it on the floor in my room.

I stuff a handful of popcorn into my mouth in anger, but I can’t tell if I’m angry at how bad my email formulation keeps getting or how my sister called my full name.

Who calls people by their full name like a weirdo?

Your sister.

She uses my middle name as a verbal reprimand, deliberately exploiting the sentimental value attached to it –it’s, afterall, our mother’s name passed down to me.

“How do you travel to another country and refuse to call me once? Seriously, how do you do it? It’s been a week.”

I wince. It has truly been a week since I got to Florida. Contrary to what Ysabelle says, I wasn’t refusing to call her. I kept promising that I would call, but didn’t.

Okay, that’s worse.

I’ve had nightmares about the drama that went down in the immigration office, and I’m scared that she’ll find that out if I speak. She’s a witch sometimes. We spoke via texts, but apparently, it’s my voice she needs like air.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I told you a lot of things happened at once so I couldn’t get enough time to call. I’m the one who called you now, right?”

“Yes, you stupid girl. After you missed my call again because you were in the ‘bathroom’. Use yuh big head nuh gyal.” She fumes and I drop my pen between my jotter before sitting upright.

“Mi sorry,” I apologize to my understandably angry sister.

A heavy sigh is heard from her and I bite down on my lower lip. I dislike a worried Ysabelle, she makes me guilty. “How’s your Asian friend?” she asks instead.

My guilt disappears fast and I glare at nothing in front of me. “Her name is Kang Su-mi. S-U-M-I, Su-mi. I’ve told you to stop calling her my Asian friend.” I get very defensive when Ysabelle uses that as an adjective to describe Su-mi, but she never listens.

Su-mi is Korean American with immigrant parents.

“Okay, I’m sorry. How’s Kang Su-mi?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

Her voice softens when she asks her next question. “And you? I was so worried, I thought something happened when you kept refusing to call. You’re twenty-three, sure, but you’ve never gone away from me to such a far distance. I wouldn’t have let you go, but I knew you needed it after what that jerk did. Hazel, come back home if you feel uncomfortable. Don’t endure anything in a foreign land when everyone wants you home.”

I blink back tears. Wait, tears?

Wow. What’s going on with my emotions?

My sister, although only seven years older than me, practically raised me together (or should I say alone?) with our absent Dad after our Mom died when I was one, and alone after our Dad died when I was seventeen. She’s all I have and I’m all she has, so hearing her get so emotional with me like a mother reminds me of how she is nothing less.

“Ysa, I’m okay. Some slight inconveniences did happen, but that’s okay. I’m still foreign with things here so it’s bound to happen. I’m sorry for not calling, I didn’t realize how much it means to you.”

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I trust you.”

“How’s Marlon?”

My brother-in-law’s deep voice rumbles into the phone. “Marlon’s here. Thank you for asking of me after six minutes and fifty eight seconds.”

“It’s hard to ask of you when my sister acts like a protective mother.” I defend myself through chuckles.

“She has your best interest in heart.” Of course. Stupid of me to think he’ll support me over his wife.

“I know.”

“We hope you’re okay.”

“Yes, I am. Su-mi is so excited to have me over, and I’m getting a job soon. It’s only for six months. I’ll be fine, Papa and Mama,” I joke and Marlon laughs before whispering something that I don’t quite hear to my sister.

Su-mi told me before leaving for work in the morning that I have an interview with the manager. I knew she would do everything possible to get that job, and I love her for it.

“Talk to you later, Shanice.” And he’s gone. Marlon loves to call me Shanice rather than Hazel. He insists that’s the name that fits me the most.

“How’s Natalie and Danielle?”

“Marlon is going to pick them up from school. The house will get so loud again. I can never get any alone time with my husband.”

“The alone time was what led to the twins.” I laugh.

“Don’t worry, you’ll understand my pain when you get married.” My smile falls as fast when I remember Kemar. He’s the only one I ever had those plans with and I can’t help but think about him at the moment. I always thought we were perfect for each other.

I thought we were it.

“You’re thinking of that asshole, am I right?” my sister asks, her voice harsher than normal and I cringe. How come everyone around me hates him so much? What did I miss about him?

“No, you’re wrong. Su-mi is calling, I have to go.”

She sighs, effortlessly seeing through my lies. “Okay. You take care and call me later.”

I nod even though she can’t see me and after I hang up, I continue stuffing my face with my popcorn.

I eat a lot when I’m stressed and angry, and at the moment, I’m angry at how I didn’t notice that as I was planning a future with my ex-boyfriend, everyone around me hated him.

After a while, I return to practicing my email, failing miserably at it.

Now I’m angry because my dumb brain can’t write a professional email.

I wince at the amount of torn and folded papers in my room and groan, shutting the book with a loud thud and setting my laptop to watch a movie instead.

Three hours later and halfway through episode twelve of the series I’m binging, an idea suddenly slaps me in the face.

Why do I keep tearing it out when I can leave them in the book and come back to look at them with fresh eyes?

If I keep striking everything out, I’m never going to get it done. You can’t edit a blank page.

I peer at the floor and the twenty ruffled papers throw glares at me. Oh Santa Maria, I can’t start picking them up now for a rewrite.

That’s fine. Starting now, no tearing of the horrible mails I write. I’ll leave them until my brain jolts back to life to help me.

Henri Leclair deserves the best email.

I’ve forgotten how nerve cracking it is to be at an interview for a new job. The adrenaline, the nerves, the way everything works magic together.

The manager kept narrowing his stern eyes at me while I almost shit myself. I was about to stand up and tell him to forget it when he grinned and said – quote, unquote – ‘ Welcome to Eat Right, we’re so happy to have you ’.

You liar. If you were so happy to see me, you wouldn’t bring me close to tears . But I didn’t tell them that. I only took my apron and got to work.

My gloved hand curls around the glass cup that I carefully drop on the tray.

“How’s it going for you?” Greg, my new workmate, asks me with a grin as he rests on the counter.

“It’s been five hours. I’m getting familiar with things … hopefully.”

He chuckles and gives a single nod, his hand pinching the back of his neck. “If you need any help, let me know.”

“Okay,” the word comes out in a lazy drawl.

“Okay.” I raise a brow when he repeats.

A bell rings, signifying that a customer needs their order. Greg shakes his head once, as if he wasn’t here before.

He’s weird and all, but I have to leave. I’m not losing my job on the first day. That’s embarrassing.

“I’m gonna go.”

I slide away before he can say anything –though with the look on his face, I doubt he has anything to say.

With a warm customer service smile, I walk over to the table that needs me. “Yes sir?”

“I’ll get Buffalo Wings and some boiled potatoes.” I jot down his orders and let him know I follow him with a nod of my head. My gaze embraces the beautiful woman with him. “And you, ma’am?”

She removes her hand from her jaw and unlocks her joint fingers. “Wait, I’ll check.” Her eyes sweep over the menu and I wait. She should have planned her order before calling me, but I’m used to it.

Working in a restaurant has always felt like a natural fit for me. Food has a way of transcending borders, and I love being able to share that with others. There’s something special about creating a space that brings people together, where aromas and flavors of my lovely prepared meals can foster connection.

I was a server back in Jamaica for three years. It was my first job immediately after graduating college. Actually I was nearly everything–the waitress, the cleaner, the barman and the stock refiller. Yet the manager refused to increase my salary and still had the audacity to fire me for putting a rude customer in her place.

I remember her face when I smashed the banana cake on it, and I wish she had ordered something chilly or hot enough, so it could burn her stupid pretty face.

I’d love to know what the restaurant looks like now without me there to do everyone’s jobs. I had never bragged about everyone being so reliant on me, but looking back at it now, I should have shoved it in their faces.

To further my career after graduating college, I’ve mailed multiple applications to Henri Leclair, a Michelin starred French chef known for his innovative take on really classic cuisines, to apply for training as a student under him, but that has been to no avail.

I can’t criticize him. With three big restaurants –all five starred– and a social media page with over eleven million strong followers, I’m just a grain in a bowl of flour.

“Oh this looks interesting. I’ll try Rocky Mountain Oysters. I love Oysters.”

“That’s a good choice, ma’am. You’ll love it.” I assure her with my smile still stamped on my face.

I know nothing of what Rocky Mountain Oyster is, but if there’s one thing all restaurants have in common, it’s giving creative names to practically normal meals that you may not enjoy anyway.

I won’t lie, but Su-mi and I have also curated a list of weird food names for when my restaurant dream comes to pass. After being a student under Henri Leclair of course. It’ll be an honor to be taught by him.

I flick the switch on as Su-mi changes into her house shoes. She throws her coat (and herself) on the couch and grunts, seemingly tired.

I take my seat beside her and switch on the television to drown Mrs Johanson’s. It’s so late, yet she’s blasting music out of her speaker. I know it’s only a matter of a few minutes before Su-mi goes to yell at her again.

“I’m going to bed early.”

My brow raises at the announcement. “No dinner?” Maybe it’s my eyes making things up, but Su-mi’s shoulders tense, and her jaw clenches. The next minute, she put a bright smile on her face, but it looks like a mask.

“Nope. I’m too tired to even raise a spoon to my mouth now.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask the question that has been brimming at the back of my mind for days.

“What do you mean?” she asks quietly.

“You haven’t been eating well enough. This morning you only had one toast, a scrambled egg, and your mug full of coffee. I may be an oblivious person, but it’s so glaringly obvious that something is up. I’m right, right?”

She lets out a shaky breath. “You’re wrong. You should know by now that I don’t eat when I’m stressed, and I’m still stressed about … about my brother.” As if seeing it on my face that I’m not convinced, Su-mi smirks and tilts her head. “Oh come on. You really think I won’t tell you if something’s wrong with me?”

I pause. There’s nothing about me that Su-mi doesn’t know, and vice versa (hopefully). Why am I being so paranoid? It’s as if I know something is up, but I can’t wrap my head around what it might be. Is it truly about her brother? Or something else? I can’t tell. I can only hope that it’s nothing big enough to change her life. She already deals with so much. The universe wouldn’t be so mean to add new problems to her life.

I switch my attention to the stack of papers laying on the table, deciding to shake it off after seeing the tired expression she wears. The more you push someone to talk, the less they’ll say, and I don’t want to be that person.

“What’s that?”

“It’s this morning’s newspapers. I picked it from the pouch. You know we left too early.” We did. Normally our shift starts by nine, but Su-mi insisted we leave early so I can have my interview before more workers resume duty.

I pick up the newspaper and glance through it. My heart rate speeds up and immediately slows in the fraction of a beat as it catches a familiar figure.

Gray bewitching eyes.

It’s Rain Dacosta and an older version of him on the front cover with the headline:

‘Sixty-nine years old Italian billionaire, Rafael Dacosta, finally retires and hands over Dacosta Technology to his first son, Rain Dacosta.’

I gasp and wariness touches Su-mi’s features. She carefully collects the newspaper from me. As she reads through the headline, she gasps too and I wonder why, since it’s her first time seeing Rain Dacosta.

Or isn’t it?

“Okay wow! It’s my first time meeting the older Dacosta and, this is not a Daddy. It’s a zaddy.”

The older Dacosta? Does that mean she knows the younger one? “Su-mi, that’s … that’s Mr Coaster,” I stutter and try to think of how it’s even possible that he’s here again.

Picture form, I know, but he’s still here, staring at me with no emotion evident in those eyes. Does this man ever smile? He literally got a whole company and his face is still neutral like nothing happened. He looks bored as if he can’t wait to get out of the situation.

He must be so used to it that being handed a company feels like being handed a cup of coffee. Another normal day.

“Oh come on, Hazel. Not every Dacosta is Coaster.” I frown at her as she continues gawking at the man on the newspaper. He’s worth gawking at though, with his well-polished obviously expensive designer suit and beautiful face.

“No, that’s the Dacosta I told you about. The one from the immigration office.”

She snaps her head to me and I worry the bone will crack. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I stare at her blankly. Is she kidding me? “I told you. I literally said it was Mr Dacosta.” I say and she sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose like my sister does whenever Kemar comes to visit me.

Like I could do better with my brain.

“You should have explained harder. You should have been persistent. I can’t believe you met Rain Dacosta. It would have been more believable if you got hit by a bus while inside the immigration office.”

That bad?

“You should have explained it better to me. Please tell me he wasn’t the one I told about having a black belt.”

“He was.” I hold in a laugh as Su-mi groans and twists her lips as if admonishing herself.

“Who even is he?” The question comes out again, ignoring the thumping of my heart. What are the chances of me running into a Governor or a Prime Minister on my first day into the country?

“Welcome to Florida, sweetheart. This is one of the people who rule here.” She beams and I scowl. That didn’t answer my question.

Like who is he? I know he’s important, but I want to know how. I’m losing my goddamn mind here.

He saved me twice, the least I can do is know who he is. Or that’s what I keep telling myself for wanting to know about him so badly.

“Okay, so his Dad owns a— well he owns it now.” She taps on the papers to prove her point. “ H e owns a web developing company. I don’t know what web developers do, but yeah, that’s what he does. He’s very rich and powerful. I’m convinced this man knows everyone in this country because he’s always mentioned in the list of really prominent people. He even has my favorite magazine wholly dedicated to him. They pay attention to every single thing about him. His net worth, his properties, his relationships too. This is the first time I’m seeing his Dad and god damn—” I groan as she keeps ogling at the poor older man on the papers.

“Su-mi, will you stop ogling at a seventy years old grandpa?”

“He’s sixty nine,” she pointed out matter-of-factly.

I roll my eyes. “Potato, potahto.”

“And don’t insult him,” she continues, hugging the newspapers to her chest in an overly dramatized way. “He’s not a grandpa, he’s a grandzaddy.” She wiggles her brows, her eyes mischievously twinkling and I hit her arm with a giggle.

So he’s Italian. That explains the accent.

As Su-mi turns to the next page, there’s a full family picture with the label ‘ THE DACOSTA ’. Three men and two women stand so exquisite, no one needs to be told before knowing that they’re naturally powerful people who can get anything done with snaps of their fingers –or realistically , five minute phone calls.

I point at the only brown skin guy among them. “Who’s that?”

“He’s Rain Dacosta’s younger brother. The second son of the family.” Su-mi clarifies and I raise an eyebrow.

The only black guy amongst a bunch of White Italians and he’s a son?

Su-mi shrugs. “He really is a son. He was adopted.”

Now I understand why Mr Dacosta got so defensive of me in the immigration office. He has a Black brother.

Wow.

“He’s Renzo Dacosta, a really famous fashion illustrator. Last year, he debuted on the top ten richest illustrators in America. Listen, this particular family? They are money. They most likely breathe and shit money.”

My lips twitch in amusement as she rambles out information on the Dacostas.

“You seem to know a lot about them. Is it because you like the first son or the Dad?”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “Nope. It’s because I like Tea For You . They’re my favorite magazine. I follow them like a religion and they give me, oh, all the tea I need. There’s only so much I can know whilst serving people at the restaurant.”

“Well, good for you.” I say as a yawn threatens to break out of my mouth.

“No, good for you . It’s you who spent a night in his house.” She slumps her shoulders dreamily.

“In his bed,” I add for more dramatic effect.

It’s only a matter of time before she jumps up and attacks me for withholding that vital piece of information.

“I know, right? Some people are so— Wait. You. Did. What?”

I shut my ear with my fingers as she practically screams, her eyes widened frantically. “Su-mi,” I whine.

“Are you truly my best friend? How could you keep this from me? How?”

“Calm your wings, nothing happened. I just woke up and found myself on his bed.” In his arms . Heat rushes to my cheeks at the recollection and I turn my back on Su-mi so she doesn’t see me. She’s way too observant and I can’t put it past her to see how mushy I feel from the inside.

“Some people are born lucky and—” a loud and long yawn escapes her mouth. “Oh God, I have to sleep. Good night.”

“You go. I’ll make something simple to eat. I’m hungry.”

“Okay.” She makes her way upstairs while I force down the memory of Rain Dacosta, to continue with my night.