Sweeter Than Sin: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance Read online

  contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Enjoyed Sweeter than Sin?

  Where it All Began

  Also By Rachel De Lune

  About Rachel De Lune

  May all our fairytale dreams,

  however light or dark,

  come true.

  one

  “All right, Mr Haraldson. Just relax.”

  “Yes, dear. You’re very kind.” I nod at him and smile as sweetly as I can before I begin. “Ahh!” And he starts.

  It’s always the same. As soon as I put my hands on him, he starts to moan. Just think of the money. He’s a regular. It doesn’t matter that he makes sex noises. I run my hands down either side of his spine before rounding off and repeating the move. I can’t press too hard. He has little muscle mass, and when I apply pressure, I worry I’ll do more damage than good. So, I push his sagging skin over his bones and think of the money.

  Forty-five minutes later, I leave Mr Haraldson to get dressed and wait for him out in the reception area.

  The salon isn’t anything special. There are a couple of rooms for beauty treatments and a few nail stations at the front, but Cindy lets me have the room at the back a couple of days a week without charging the earth. And it’s clean.

  I was supposed to have a further two clients after Mr Haraldson, but with a last-minute cancellation and Jamie, another regular, on holiday, I had a half-day, so I picked up an extra lunch shift at the restaurant. Which meant that I’d be late if I didn’t get cleaned up, changed, and out of the door in the next ten minutes.

  “Knock knock, Mr Haraldson, how are we doing in here?” I peek into the room, hoping that he’ll be almost ready to leave, but that isn’t how today is panning out. He is still face down on the massage couch. “Mr Haraldson, please. I have another client.” The gentle shake I give him seems to rouse him.

  “Oh, hello, dear. Sorry, I think I nodded off.” He rolls to the side, pulling the towel with him.

  “Oh, careful there.”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He moves to kneel on the couch and swivel off, losing the towel and giving me a full view of his naked body. I screw my eyes shut and twist around to face the door.

  “Mr Haraldson, I’m going to wait outside again.” I grab for the handle, and I escape, pulling in a deep breath. “Think of the money, think of the money.” The mantra that always sees me through the hard times is being relied on a lot recently. Especially these last few weeks with my best friend Astrid now living with her boyfriend-baby-daddy, Leo.

  I’m happy for her. Their happy ever after gives me the warm and fuzzy feeling that helps me get out of bed in the morning. Because that is out there for all of us, right? The man or woman for us—our soul mate: the one to sweep you off your feet and turn the darkest of winter days, light.

  Leo is the one for Astrid and thank God she’d finally seen sense. I’d never lost hope, though. You can’t when it comes to matters of the heart.

  “Mr Haraldson?” I knock again, and he comes out to greet me.

  “I’m sorry, dear. Thank you for being patient with me.”

  “Of course.” I smile at him and escort him out of the salon on my arm. He’s a kind man, and I could do much worse than a polite older gentleman as a client.

  By the time I reach work, I’m late—something I hate to be. All of the wait and bar staff have gathered in the main restaurant area and the owner, Mr Jenks, along with another guy I’ve never seen before, is standing in front of everyone.

  “Good of you to join us, Ms Holland.” I dip my head and try my best to blend into the handful of other staff. “Now, as I was saying, this is an exciting opportunity, and I’m sure all of you will help support Mr Steel and his team in this transition. Everyone on contracts will be given the TUPE information, and one of Mr Steel’s team will explain the new arrangements.”

  “New arrangements?” I whisper to Sue next to me as panic begins to pulse through me. So, we have a new boss?

  She just shrugs and turns her attention back to Mr Jenks and Mr Steel.

  He looks… disinterested, in an aloof kind of way. His attention seems fixed on anything other than the staff, his new staff, in front of him. The cut of his suit is exact and far smarter than what Mr Jenks is wearing. Formidable springs to mind as my eyes travel over him. His dark hair and goatee make him look a lot younger than I’d have expected someone taking over a restaurant to look.

  “Mr Steel, anything to add?”

  “I’ll be holding a staff meeting to go over my expectations tomorrow before dinner service. If you’re not scheduled to be in, I expect you here anyway. That’s all.” He leaves and heads towards the kitchen as the murmurs from the rest of the staff grow.

  “Wow! If that’s the way he talks to us, I’m not sure exciting opportunities are what we have to look forward to,” Sue moans before filtering off towards the waitress station.

  I’d been working at Cucina for three years, and although the pay is only just above the living wage, there are always extra shifts, and I can fit around my massage clients. Plus, it’s a nice place, so tips are okay. What I hoped for was a better position—more responsibility and more money. Otherwise, my brother, Matthew, and I would forever be in the tiny flat, living paycheck to paycheck. Being independent and comfortable is more difficult than I’d ever anticipated, and it’s easy to fall into a pattern of just getting by. I’ve been coasting for a while, but seeing my best friend move away has sparked something within me. I don’t want this life forever.

  “Mr Jenks?”

  “Yes, Belle.” The man looks tired. The dark circles under his eyes, more pronounced than usual.

  “We’ll all be okay, right? With this Mr Steel?”

  “Your basic contracted hours are all protected. I can’t say more than that.” He takes a deep breath and props himself up against the bar.

  “Mr Jenks?”

  “It’s all right. I’m just glad it’s nearly over. Now, don’t you have a lunch service to cover?” He raises his bushy eyebrows at me, and I get to work.

  It’s gone nine by the time I make it back to the apartment. I didn’t see Matthew this morning as he was still in bed after his night shift. It’s what we are used to—passing like sliding doors as one shift starts and the other ends. If we get to see each other for more than a quick hello, it’s something.

  “You’re home early.” He greets me as I dump my bag down on the small two-seater table and drop like a stone onto the sofa.

  “It was quiet. And I worked the lunch shift, as well. You off or working?”

  “Working.”

  “Have they filled Leo’s spot yet?” Leo used to work with Matthew and was the stranger who saved my best friend. Astrid then fell for Leo, although it took her a little time to realise they were meant to be.

  “Not yet, although I can’t complain about the extra shifts. At least this week.”

&
nbsp; “It’s nice to have a little extra money,” I muse, my mind travelling to a time and place where money isn’t something to worry about all of the time.

  Our apartment is… affordable. We both have a nice bedroom, but that’s as far as it goes. The lounge-come kitchen-diner is only big enough for the two of us. The sofa hasn’t been comfortable for some time, but there always seemed to be something else that we needed to buy instead of saving for a new sofa that we wanted.

  Matthew and I talked about getting a bigger place, but raising money for a deposit and rent in advance is hard just to gain a few extra square feet. Plus, until a few weeks ago, I could easily escape to my best friend Astrid’s place, which was like the epitome of luxury in comparison to here. She and Leo are now living in Bristol. Happily. Now though, the walls of our flat seem to be closing in each time I come home.

  “We can’t be like this forever, though, Belle. We never do anything other than work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaves with a sad smile, and I wait for the thud of the door closing behind him.

  Sometimes, like today, I question everything about my life. It can feel like a never-ending grind—get up, work, go to sleep, repeat. There’s little relief, or rather, the only relief that I did have, revolved around my friends. Friends who now have their own lives to lead, yet I’m still stuck.

  I dig my phone from my bag and look at the photo of Astrid, me, and her baby boy, Finn. The image immediately pulls a smile to my lips. I’ll have that one day. I know I will.

  The call connects, and Astrid answers in a hushed tone.

  “Hey!”

  “Is Finn sleeping?” I ask. I miss that boy so much.

  “Yeah, I’ve just got him back down. His teething is playing with his sleep pattern.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

  “Oh, don’t be stupid. Everything okay?” I can hear Astrid moving around on the other end of the phone.

  “Yeah. Same old. Just feeling a little at a loose end.”

  “You haven’t spoken to Sawyer?” she asks.

  “No. I’m not going to reach out. She crossed a line with how she treated you and Leo. I won’t be forgiving her that easily.” It still made me mad. The three of us were so close not so long ago. Yet Sawyer put that all on the line for her own selfish gain. Friendship was about doing what was right for your friends, not manipulating the situation for your benefit. Or outright lying. And now she’s out of our lives.

  And Astrid is living the next chapter of hers.

  “I miss you, Belle.”

  “I miss you guys, too. But you’re happy now.”

  “I am. I’m so happy, Belle. Being with Leo and Finn… my heart could explode.”

  “Wow, okay, Astrid. It’s usually me that’s preaching the true love nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense. You’ll find your prince. I know it.”

  “I know,” I confirm, but my confidence in that future wavers on days like today. It is exhausting holding out hope for something as abstract as finding your true love. It’s easy to be positive and hold out faith for others. Less so when it comes to yourself.

  “Want to try that with the Belle spirit I know is in you?” Astrid prompts.

  “Not today.” I sigh. “Today, I lack my usual optimism.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not there for you when you’re feeling down.”

  “No.” I sit up, cross that I’ve let myself feel so melancholy over missing my friend, “I’m sorry I phoned, and I’m such a party-pooper.”

  “Party-pooper? What are we, twelve?”

  We both giggle, and I immediately feel better.

  “I’m getting a new sofa.” I decide. Matthew is right. We work too much with nothing to show for it. Well, I’m not going to mope. I’m going to ‘carpe diem’, and I want a new sofa.

  “Great. You know, there’re some great interior pieces in the magazine.”

  “Whoa, don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m not the demographic for your magazine. I don’t have a disposable income. I’ll be going for sales or reduced cost. Factory seconds.”

  “Or you could treat yourself?” Astrid singsongs down the line.

  “One day. Just not today. I’ll message you when I’ve picked it out. Then, I can get the Astrid seal of approval.”

  “Whatever you choose will be lovely, Belle.”

  “Speak soon?”

  “Of course. I’ll give Finn a big kiss from you.”

  “You better. Night.” I hang up, feeling determined.

  Tomorrow is a new day—an exciting day, according to Mr Jenks. Maybe things will be better at work with this new boss. And, I have a sofa to find.

  Yes, tomorrow is going to be better.

  two

  I have a full morning of clients at the salon today. It keeps me focused and very busy. I’ve often thought about going self-employed full time. It would pay more than waitressing, but the burden and costs of overheads come with an additional price of taking a leap of faith. Every time I build up the courage to hand in my notice, something happens like I’m off sick with the flu, or Astrid gets pregnant, or my clients take a break, and it all makes the risks of going it alone so much scarier.

  Matthew has always said I should go for it and that Mum and Dad would help me out if I got stuck financially. But I could never ask them.

  I’ve had a lot of years to grow used to the idea that Matthew and I aren’t biological siblings, despite our eyes being almost the exact same colour. His parents adopted me when I was just a baby. They are the only parents I’ve known, and I love them fiercely. Mum read bedtime stories to me about Disney Princesses and plaited my hair when I was younger. Dad taught me how to ride a bike and helped me work out what the hell a quadratic equation was when school insisted I know. Matthew played the big brother role to perfection, always looking out for me. But they had to tell me the truth when I broke my arm badly and needed an operation. Apparently, I have a rare blood type, and my AB negative blood meant that they couldn’t be my parents.

  It wasn’t just my arm that shattered. From that moment, the world in which I’d grown up changed and shifted on its axis. Everything I’d ever known became skewed.

  Sure, I still believe in true love. While my idea of Prince Charming is a little different from the stereotyped stories I was told as a child, I do believe I’ll find my soul mate one day. I still plait my hair because I love that it’s long, wild, and messy. But the parental figures that had been my centre changed. They weren’t so idyllic anymore. Questions about my birth mother festered in my mind, like are my blue eyes from her side of the family or my father? The same goes for my classical English rose skin. But I’ve never been brave enough to go looking for her. And asking my parents for anything financial is a step too far for me now.

  I’m sure a shrink might have some fancy word for it. Part of me is thankful, but then I resent that I feel that way towards them. Shouldn’t I just accept I was adopted and had a wonderful childhood and be happy? And then I start to question everything again. Nobody I know has an easy relationship with their parents, but it feels like there’s an artificial gap between us now, regardless of how much I don’t want it there. But I can’t bring myself to mend it.

  Sawyer and Astrid are the same. Their problems with their parents are just as complicated in their own way. And Astrid will have some questions to answer to her own son about keeping his dad, Leo, away from him when he was first born.

  So, no. Going to my folks for money is a definite no. Doing things on my own, independently, is my safety blanket of sorts. And it’s part of the reason I work so hard.

  I finish in the salon and catch the district line back home. My late lunch or early dinner is leftover pasta from the day before. Matthew’s door is closed, which is code for sleeping, so I set about scooping out the stodgy pasta into a bowl and heating it in the microwave, making sure there’s enough left for Matthew when he wakes up later.

  I pull up a furniture website on my
phone and begin the search for my new sofa. Although, even before the microwave has chimed, I know that I might have to lower my standards. Apparently, what I’d like isn’t compatible with my bank balance. But you can get some great bargains second-hand, right?

  My evening shift starts at five, so my journey back along the central line is already busy, with people pouring out of the centre on their way home. I’m used to the constant fight and just keep my head down and get through it.

  The doors open, even with the closed sign showing, and I join the rest of the staff waiting on the announcement or information to come from Mr Steel, as instructed in his very rude announcement yesterday. Mr Jenks isn’t around, but I guess it’s not his business now, is it? Still stuffed in my bag are the forms and information about the transfer of my contract.

  The restaurant is a nice family place. Eighty covers, meaning when it’s busy, you feel it at the end of the night. It’s not always booked out, and luckily, Mr Jenks does seem to be generous with staffing. The chefs aren’t always the most polite, but they are efficient, and the food is good.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Mr Steel welcomes us as he strides through to the bar. He’s wearing a three-piece suit again, this time in dark blue. His eyes scan over the staff, and I watch as they land on me. For a fraction of a second, he doesn’t move his line of sight. A feeling of inadequacy crawls up my spine, and I flick my long-braided hair behind my shoulder—a reflex to the scrutiny I suddenly feel from him.

  “Right, down to business. This will be my first restaurant in the UK, and I expect it to be a success.” His accent has an edge that I can’t place. “Steel restaurants have a certain,” he looks out and finds my eyes once again, “standard. And that applies to this location too.”