Half an hour later, the waiter, his face bruised and swollen, brought the dishes to the table, his face a mask of grievance.
While Timothy was still in the kitchen, the waiter seized the opportunity and whispered to Emily with a pitiful look, "Miss, your man's cooking is indeed exceptional, but his temper is too much. I just went along with his joke, saying even Goddess Sylvia was my wife, and he beat me up like this. You've got to stand up for me!"
"He's not my man!" Emily's pretty face flushed with a hint of red and panic.
Shaking her head to clear the chaotic emotions, she glared at the waiter and said, "And you, daring to joke about Goddess Sylvia, you deserved that beating. Do it again, and I won't think twice about cutting out your tongue myself!"
"Miss, aren't you worried your man will be swept away by Goddess Sylvia!" the waiter tried to stir up trouble again.
