Page 5 of Loving the Tormentor

"Oh my God," she whisper-hisses. I'm still trying to grab my plates as she faces the restaurant door and gives my arm a tug. "He's here."

"Who?" I mumble. "Can you let go? I'd like to serve my table."

We both have less than a minute before the rookie waiter runs over to us, shaking and saying he can't handle all the orders on his own.

"That hot violinist you're obsessed with," she gushes, then grabs the plates from me. "I got these. Go take his order."

"Wait. What?" I whip around, and my mouth drops open.

I don't have time to take in the man sitting on his own at one of our shitty booths before Colin, the rookie, is already sprinting my way.

"Nyx, Nyx! That rich violin guy you're obsessed with is here," he says too loudly.

"Oh myGod, Colin.Inner voice." My cheeks are burning so hot you could cook an egg on them.

"Sorry," he mumbles with a wince. "He didn't hear me, though. Don't worry. What's his name again?"

I swallow roughly.

"Achilles Duval."

Chapter Two

Nyx

DARK-WesGhost

"Everybody, calm down," I say, obviously being the one who needs to calm down.

My heart races as I stare at him holding the menu. I don't think this place has changed the menus since it opened. They're sticky, and the plastic’s peeling off, but to be fair, no one really looks at them. Everyone knows what they get here.

His hands are strong but elegant, and the one holding the menu adorns a thick silver ring on his middle finger. The other is flat on the old red laminate table that has bubbles of air underneath in many spots, along with dents and marks that can’t be polished away, and he's tapping on it with his index finger. He's sitting casually, a dark purple t-shirt covering his muscular back.

That's all I can see from here, but I don't need to move for any more information. I knoweverythingabout him. Or at least everything I can find online by stalking his socials, or by hearing about him through the grapevine.

Achilles Duval looks like a man who doesn't belong here. And that's because he doesn't. He comes from a long line of billionaires, the kind of people who live less than an hour from here in their little town of Stoneview yet have no idea we exist.

He's a musical prodigy, who, even if he didn't have his family's connections, would be able to get into any orchestra he wanted. Among musicians, he was recognized as one of the best violinists in the country when he wasn't even a teen. Then he grew up, became gorgeous on top of talented, smart on top of gorgeous, and while I'm sure he's just another guy when he's among his SFU peers, who are all just as rich as the other, to the outside world, he’s a celebrity. He premiered his first self-written violin concerto with the New York Philharmonic at seventeen years old. And that had his career written for him.

Since then, we’ve been waiting for his next piece. Whenever his name is mentioned online, a hoard of fans is there to support and lift him up, asking when he’ll perform his own concerto again.

I'm certainly one of them.

"What’s he doing here?" I murmur to Lena.

It's the strangest thing having him at this diner. I follow fan accounts of him, for heaven's sake. How am I supposed to act cool right now?

"It's a sign," Colin whispers to make sure I don’t tell him off again. "You got that letter from SFU, and now that guy shows up. You got in, I'm sure of it."

I narrow my gaze at him. "You need to stop eavesdropping. You shouldn't even know I got that letter."

Lena huffs, strands of black hair flying across her face. She shoves the plates she took from me into Colin’s hands. "Take these plates to table three, Colin."

As I turn to her, she pulls my pad out of my apron. "It's not a sign," she says in that matter-of-fact voice of hers. "Colinis sixteen. He's from a generation that spends too much time online."

I don't tell her we're barely four years older than he is.

"It's not a sign," she repeats. "But he's here. And I'll be damned if you don't jump at the occasion."