Hello everyone, and thank you for taking the time to read my first FanFiction. I will be releasing it a chapter at a time, and I hope you enjoy it. Because I am new to FanFiction, comments would be helpful if you have any criticisms, or praise for this work. Have fun.

My Love, My Secret

Chapter 1: To Plant a Seed

Guinevere Gibson moved as quickly as her legs could take her down the crowded midtown street, trying her best to avoid collision with the countless people who shared her mission: arriving to work in time. Frantically, she glanced at her cheap wristwatch, the hands ticking faster than she could move, reminding her that for every moment she was late, her boss was surely docking her pay. That morning she had missed the city bus, her only mode of transportation, and she had to wait another twenty minutes for the next one to arrive, which still stopped five blocks away from her workplace.

Please Lord, don't let Cid fire me, she begged under her breath, I need this job.

Five minutes later, Gwen arrived at Cid's Diner; her miserable place of employment for the past two years. She had landed the job the end of her senior year in high school, and since then it had served to supplement the meager paycheck her father earned by working his fingers to the bone as a mechanic alongside his son Elliot.

Gwen worked like a dog; putting up with all sorts of customers, and running around at her boss' every whim, but she was still grateful. It was 1954, and as a colored woman without a particular skill, Gwen was fully aware that her options for employment were fairly limited. Though she was the first in her family to graduate high school, Gwen had to choose between housekeeping or waitressing, and sometimes she regretted choosing the latter.

The bells atop of the front door to the diner chimed at Gwen's entrance, and immediately she found her bloated employer, Cid McCoy, behind the counter and she cringed as she saw how red he was. She hardly had both feet through the door, before her heavy boss rushed at her as quickly as he could.

"You're thirty—" he checked his watch with a nod, "thirty-four minutes late."

"I'm so sorry Mr. McCoy. I—"

"What's your excuse this time, huh?" he asked placing a fat hand on his hip, tapping his foot impatiently. "Was your brother sick again? Or did you have to run out and get you papa's back medicine? Or maybe you have a new one I haven't heard. Please, entertain me!"

"I missed the bus," Gwen admitted quietly, averting her gaze as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. She wished she had a better justification, but she thought it best to say as little as possible.

Cid's eyes narrowed at the attractive girl before him, shaking his head. "You got one more time to be late this month, and then you're out. You hear? I don't even know why I put up with this—the customers—they like you too much."

Gwen waited for the rest of the tirade…there was always more. Mr. McCoy could be pleasant enough if he was in a good mood, but she never seemed to accomplish such a feat. He was always hyper-critical of her, and she was constantly walking on eggshells. The only reason she even had that job was because her father had saved Cid a ton of money in car repairs, and she was constantly reminded of it when he'd snap at her for any little thing.

"Just get outta my sight and to work," Cid finished with a sigh.

"I apologize again, sir."

"Sure," he, sounding defeated.

Gwen couldn't help but smirk as she made her way to the bathroom.

"Arthur!" Drake Lewis cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice against the bustling college courtyard, running to catch up with his friend.

Arthur Pendragon stopped midstride, to find one of his pals jogging across the green courtyard with a wave. "Hey, Drake," Arthur tried not to appear too disgusted at how out of breath Drake was from the short jog.

"Roger, Alex, and I are going for dinner," Drake panted. "Wanna tag along?"

Arthur looked at his best friend Merlin who was at his side, but appeared to be disinterested in the conversation. Arthur turned back to Drake, who too ignored Merlin. "You up to it, Merlin?"

Merlin scratched his dark hair, not having to consider the offer long before realizing he would rather pass. Arthur was his friend and all, but being around a group of three others who were exactly like him…it could drive a sane person over the edge. They were all rich, entitled, and arrogant, but Arthur less than the others, and Merlin had learned to live with and appreciate his quirks. But to the others, he was a borderline freak; his tall and lanky stature only furthering their opinions that he was socially awkward and a "drag".

"Merlin!" Arthur demanded, impatient as usual. "It aint a life decision; do you want to go, or not?"

"Sure, I don't have anything better to do."

"Alright, we're gonna drive. How are y'all getting there?"

"I reckon we'll just walk," Arthur answered on Merlin's behalf.

"Roger's uncle owns this diner where we could eat for free. You know the one?"

Arthur Pendragon did not "do" diners, in fact he detested them. They were only for poor people who were too lazy to cook their own food, and too down and out to go somewhere better. He was more of a steak and lobster kind of man, as opposed to hamburgers and fries. As the son of real estate mogul Uther Pendragon, head "Dragon Real Estate", the third largest real estate company in the country, Arthur's dining opportunities were hardly limited. His family (consisting of him, his father, and his cousin Morgana) went out to eat at the finest restaurants money could buy. So, he had no clue where this pitiful diner was.

"I know where it is," Merlin said raising his hand.

"We'll see you there, Arthur." Drake quickly turned around, exiting as quickly as he came.

"Remind me again: why do you hang out with those creeps?"

"They'd say the same about you." Arthur said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "Anyway, they're good enough guys."

"No they're not," Merlin snorted.

"You just don't know them like I do."

"I have pity that you do," Merlin quipped.

"Have you been to this place, before?" Arthur asked, taking in a long drag.

"Yeah, it's pretty close. Roger's uncle is the owner, and their food and service is pretty good."

"Well," Arthur flicked some ashes in the wind, "I'll be the judge of that."

Gwen wiped her hands on her apron as she placed another order to the kitchens. She fanned her face as she stepped away from the heat which the stoves emitted.

"Rough night back there, huh Joe?" Gwen asked one of the cooks with a smile.

"Sure is. Good night for tips, though," he correctly remarked.

Gwen nodded, fixing her disheveled hair yet again; today her head of curls refused to cooperate, and she knew how testy Cid could become when his waitresses looked less than immaculate. Quickly, she picked up the tray of drinks she had prepared, looking across the room at the table of five white college boys who had walked in with a ruckus about five minutes ago. How she envied them and their opportunity.

Gwen considered herself to be a decent enough person, and knew that being envious was a sin…but she couldn't help it. She could tell by their clothes and attitude that they were wallowing in cash, and by the flippant way they spoke to them, they weren't very kind either. Their sense of entitlement was nearly palpable, and it made her empty stomach churn.

One of them stood from his seat in the booth, whistling at her like a dog from across the room demanding the group's drinks.

Gwen took a deep breath, collecting herself before she presented herself to them yet again. Cid had only hired Gwen because her father saved him a lot of money whilst working on his car, and she was constantly reminded of it when he'd snap at her for any little thing.

Her customers were rude, allowed to get away with treating her without an ounce of respect. Her boss hardly tolerated her, and the few graces she received from him were because he owed her father a favor. Gwen looked down at her dark skin, and wondered if it really was a curse after all. She quickly pushed the ugly notion out of her aching head.

Despite other's constant efforts to belittle her, Gwen knew that she contained a great amount of potential. Her kind and gentle heart was her best quality and also her fatal flaw. She was always told her light laugh and luminescent smile brightened any room, and she was loyal until the und. Her second-class citizenship did little to dampen her spirits, even on the days when her feet ached after a long day, and she was forced to stand on the bus when there were plenty of the seats in the front. Or those occasions where she would rather wait in the colored section of the train section with a full bladder, than step inside the terribly neglected colored public restrooms.

"It took you long enough," the shortest of the five scoffed, reaching over to literally pick his drink off of the tray.

"I apologize. It's busy."

"Don't look to busy to me," another chimed in.

Gwen swallowed her retort, as she gave the rest of the table their drinks.

"Two Coca-Colas, one Dr. Pepper, and a water," she finished, handing the last two drinks to Arthur and Merlin respectively.

Alex looked down at his soda, and looked back at Gwen, rolling his eyes. "You got my order wrong. I ordered a Dr. Pepper."

Gwen looked down at her notepad, where she had written otherwise, and she knew what he had ordered. "You told me Coca-Cola."

"Well looky there," Alex said sliding the drink away from there. "I changed my mind then, didn't I? Be a doll, and go fetch me another."

Gwen's head tilted to the side in awe. She contemplated whether it would be beneficial to argue, but she decided against it. She wasn't about to lose her job over some brat who liked to see her run around. She plastered on the best fake smile she could muster, and donned her 'the-customer-is-always-right' tone. "I apologize for the mix up sir, I'd be glad to get you another."

Gwen reached over towards Alex's drink with a sigh, only to miscalculate and have her right elbow knock over another drink, the ice spilling onto the table as the liquid pooled directly into Arthur's nearby lap.

"What the hell! Are you slow, or somethin'?" he yelled at her, jumping out of the booth with a start. Some stray ice cubes fell from his lap, and his expensive khaki pants sported a large brown stain.

Gwen covered her mouth, as the rest of the table snickered except for the dark haired one who looked as mortified as she. "I'm so sorry!" she croaked, turning the flipped glass upright.

Arthur froze, his eyes narrowing to slits as he proceeded to tell her off. "Yeah, you are sorry," he snarled. He looked at the colored girl whose hair was out of place and her skin glistened with sweat, and revulsion twisted in his gut. He looked down at his stained pants, and it increased tenfold.

"It was an accident, I didn't—" The new busboy moved past Gwen in a hurry, leaning over the table with a wet rag to wipe down the mess, eyeing the snickering occupants in disdain.

"What's goin' on here?" Cid asked, his face as red as ever as he glared at Gwen. He was surprised to see his nephew Roger at the table, accompanied by a group of his college buddies.

Gwen opened her mouth to voice a reply which she knew would be futile, but the rude and vocal blonde who felt violated had beat her to it.

"Can you get us a new waitress? Maybe someone who doesn't have molasses in her britches, and who's smart enough to get a drink order right," Arthur glared at Gwen who to his surprised, returned the favor.

Cid watched as the bus boy departed after cleaning the table, and Gwen stood doing her best to avoid his accusing gaze. Shaking his head, he said, "Of course gentlemen, we do apologize…right Gwen?"

She knew that she had already apologized to the group of brats, but she reminded herself of how much she needed this job for the millionth time that terrible night.

"Again, I apologize," she lied, swallowing the pride that was creeping up her throat, threatening to give the spoiled man a piece of her mind.

Arthur said nothing as he brushed past the owner and the waitress, trudging to the bathroom.

Gwen leaned over to pick her tray off of the table, making a straight beeline to the back of the restaurant where the poorly lit and dingy employee locker rooms were. She sat on one of the benches which were between the row of lockers, and buried her face in her hands.

She wasn't one for crying often, but she was at her breaking point. Guinevere Gibson felt like her life was at a standstill…at only nineteen. Stuck in a dead end job, with a dim future…who was she to tell that group of guys off any way? In everyone else's eyes she was a nobody.

She heard footsteps walking into the room, and she did her best to wipe her eyes. The new busboy whose name was unknown to her, came into view in the doorway, and Gwen suddenly felt embarrassed for falling apart in front of a complete stranger.

He stood a moment at the doorway, deciding whether he wanted to come in.

"Sorry, if I'm in your way," Gwen said shakily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Ah, no no," he said, walking over. "Here," he said, digging into his left pocket and handing her a handkerchief.

Gwen gave him a small smile, holding up the embroidered handkerchief. "Thanks, that's very nice of you."

The bus boy stood there awkwardly, putting his hands in his pockets as he watched the pretty girl properly wiper her eyes.

"Are you new?" Gwen asked after a sniffle, trying to normalize the uncomfortable situation.

"Yeah, it's first day," he said running a hand through his long dark hair with was neatly groomed and complimented the dark stubble which lined his prominent jaw, and framed his warm dark eyes.

"My name is Guinevere Gibson, but everyone just calls me Gwen."

"I'm Lorenzo…Lorenzo Camello."

Pause. "It was very kind of you to bring me this," she said, holding up the small handkerchief. "Oh, and for cleaning up the table…you didn't have to."

"Cleaning tables is my job," he said, with a smile which made him appear to be trustworthy and kind. Lorenzo took a seat next to Gwen on the bench. "I'm sorry for how they treated you, but you gotta let stuff like that roll off of your shoulders. I'm sure it wasn't personal—though that doesn't make it hurt any less."

"How much of it did you see?"

"Most of it."

Gwen shrugged, laughing quietly."I don't even know why I'm crying. I should be used to this stuff by now; I get it all the time." She took a moment to take a deep breath. "I'm sure you do too."

Lorenzo nodded in understanding. "I do , but I also know you never get used to being hated."

Gwen looked at him, for he had stolen the words from her mouth.

"That's exactly it," she said, looking him in the eye.

Moments passed by before Gwen felt awkward, and looked away:

"Well, thank you, Lorenzo," she said standing quickly. "I'll wash this," she said, holding up the handkerchief. Giving him one last smile, Gwen hustled out of the room.

Gwen trudged through the front door of her small single-story, three bedroom home at around ten o'clock, her light purse feeling like a fifteen pound weight against her aching shoulders. One light in the hallway was left on for her, so she knew her brother Elliot and her father must be in bed already. Picking up her shoes, she dragged her feet all the way to her small room on the far side of the house.

"Oh, hey Daddy. I thought you were sleepin'," Gwen said tiredly as her Father stepped out of his room.

"Gwen baby, you're back late. How was work?" Tom asked drowsily, rubbing the sleep from his red eyes.

"Not too good: bad customers and bad tips."

Tom stepped into the small hallway, his brows furrowed in frustration. His daughter was so young, but was worked as hard as he. She was used to it though; Gwen had been the 'woman' of the house since she was eight.

"Want to talk 'bout it?"

"No, Daddy," Gwen said, sighing. She gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek, his stubble tickling her face. "I think I'm just gonna go to bed, before I fall asleep right here."

"Okay," Tom responded sadly. "Get some sleep, baby, okay?"

"'Night, Daddy." Gwen quickly went to her room, not looking back.

Slowly, Tom shut his door, his gaze fixating on one of the many pictures he had of his late wife Celia. It was at times like these, when he was reminded of the burden placed upon Gwen, that he missed his deceased wife the most.

Inspired by "To Plant a Seed" by We Came As Romans