I Think Married the Wrong Man... Not Knowing He Owns Bangkok

Lunchtime at the Harris home was an event in itself for the amusement and pride of the wealthy. Crystal chandeliers illuminated a giant dinner table covered with a white linen and silver platters into which untested dishes were served, with more imported diamonds nestled between the appleseeds in your soufflé. Smells of spices floated between gallons of champagne, coupled with playful insults, whispering whispers, and the eagerly waiting audiences of judgment. Luna felt it the moment she arrived: the iciness of the regard, the probability of criticism, her own mind beat, taking alibi to the inadequacy she had no choice but to embrace. Without release, her fingers squeezed Ethan’s. Ethan was tall, unreliable, and familiar. A dependable bulwark to the predicted storm of evaluation. Vanessa, with her Prada heels, hit tumbling on the marble tiles and orchestrated her way into the scene. “Oh, Luna, Ethan. How implausible...” she said, arching yet surprised eyebrows. Her smile was melted, proof, but her speech was frozen. Artificial. It was as if she were stabbing Luna, but blindfolded with velvet. Ethan nodded, motionless and friendly. “Hello.” Nothing defensive. No “Hi” or an apology. Just the handshake of another new acquaintance. Luna was flushed and red-cheeked. She knew her family was watching, distracted by her blinking and missing eyelid, waiting for her to cower down, to admit her vote was fatal, and that she was forever victimized by them. Instead, she held her goofy eyes fixed. Ethan was tight, affectionate, and her safety net. Many individuals would have merely stumbled backwards, but he gave her comfort with the smallest of motions. It was not much, but it meant a great deal. Uncle Rose interrupted him, amusingly: “Ethan, what is happening with your endeavors?” There was a honeyed sweetness yet weighty suspicion in his words. Ethan shrugged. “I am hunting some,” he sounded even and careless, like he did not influence her. The group gulped. Empty, arid. In. “Ventures?” Uncle Harris inquired again. “So you are... out of work?” Vanessa yelled. “Luna, dumdum, you married a futile twenty-something lacking in that thing called a major. Fundamentally, a nobody. Is this what you asked me for?” Luna wasn‘t going to be shaken. She took a deep breath and grasped Ethan‘s palm. He looked behind her with confidence but no condescension. Luna bewitched their stares. “I married Ryan because of who I love,” they said with a convincing giggle. Ethan was soft. “I married Luna because I chose to.” The sentiment struck the market aisle. Funny how unconvincing the routine sounded, as if speaking of old shoes. Rumors shook the room. Family friends. Neighbors. Folks who shared the same gossip circuit, who regurgitated their lies more times than they could remember. They thought they liked their website as it was. “Other than what?” Aunt Rose replied dryly, unsettlingly. Her voice was breakable and cracked. “With your power. Your influence. Why not go outside your class and discover something you like?” There was a full minute’s silence. Smokey, acrid. When Uncle Harris looked up, he said, “Ventures?” slowly. “So you didn’t mention this yourself? Out of a job?... Vanessa roared, “Luna, honey, you married a man without sponsorship, without employment, without prospects. Was this the one you wanted?” Luna was trying to make sense of the group. She had to figure out how they wanted her to act. To reflexively cower. To justify her wedding, to look traumatized and unhappy. She persevered. She looked through them. Ethan felt the hugest squeeze and was satisfied. He was an unmanageable man. He nodded. Luna announced to the others, “I married him because of love.” Ethan responded with a smile that was just a whiff of air. “And I married Luna because I wanted to.” Unexpectedly, those words swept away the nice old rhythm of conversation as they floated through the space. Regurgitation from the past. Old neighbors. Old acquaintances. Old informants. They got really excited about those subjects. “You could have really done better,” snarled Aunt Rose as her veneer slid off. “Power. Fame. Money. And instead, this.” She loosened her hand, lazily directing McEthan in the direction of them, as if he were a long-standing curse of theirs. Ethan’s eye flicked to Luna, and she agreed internally, okay. Whatever. Luna nodded her ok. Whatever. Whatever. Now was not the time. Everyone in the room glared at Ethan and called him false and insignificant. Luna knew he was being just as dignified as he knew how to be. She understood why and responded to his gesture accordingly. “I sought him out because I love him,” she said happily. Ethan agreed. “I wanted to be with her.” In the balloon of the room, the words popped, stealing a light breeze of jokes. Luna heard over and over about her impending failure, that this couple was so handicapped they would be blown away, sent flying into a pitfall after episode. Ethan was healthy. He barely countered, only shrugged, and amused himself with tiny tokens of affection while the crowd poured war paint into their eyes, each one calculating Ethan as an ersatz nobody who would go under for sure. Ethan kept smiling. He accommodated the baits, blandly smiling and then encouraging Luna with tiny compasses against the fire of anger. A faint echo of fingers on Luna’s knee. Quiet words blended down her face. Fingers sprinkling beneath tables. Each touch shielded Luna from intruders to her universe, telling her she was with him alone. Then, in the middle of dinner, a couple buzzed her pocket. The funny reveal ID that he was floating flashed. Luna's cheeks moved into the position of goose flesh. Marcus. “No title, no part, no aspiration,” he typed. “I suspect chatter was accurate. We will find how quickly the romance flies.” Ethan moved her phone to the table with a still of confidence and placed his hand softly on her own, studiously avoiding Marcus. ‘We will torment him,” Ethan promised. “Will we? They headed into the sunlight-saturated road. Even the heavenly sky spanned with serenity above the street. Usually, the glare of heat would help Luna, and she would feel newly relaxed. This time, nausea fluttered in her bowels. Love is stronger. It is hearty. It is authentic, and Luna was grateful she had it. However, Marcus’ malignance was near, imminent, and invincible. Her mobile vibrated. But she could not press it against her skin until she reached her home. Her next message was from Marcus, more merciless than before. “Oh, look. Thwarted bitch... No hope, no job, no aspirations. Damned gossip was real. But love has to stop now.” Ethan snatched her phone away but only clenched his fists around it and then put it down. “Marsh, ummm. We’ll fix him.” Back in the car, with thousands of miles to drive, Luna forced her laughter to come out. Azure House was peppered with business discussions she refused to listen to. Someplace beneath the cracks, she knew exactly how she wanted her story to seem, and she would not move towards it but would only proceed at her pace. As they left, Aunt Rose warned again: “It would be so much edgier. We will see how tepidly long this crime lasts.” “Pure love cannot alone prop up a marriage,” Ethan quipped. Luna held her hand one last time. Her head tilted inside the truck, she tried to ignore matters. Her greater worry than hunger was the firebug looming tomorrow and about to come. Love was great, but not even close to being extreme enough anymore. Not with Marcus launching now, much faster than Luna could run. How long can she hold on? How long can love keep her safe and free? Why was all the fury itself leading in circles towards her, unstoppable? Cliffhanger: Atropos descended from the sky in the near horizon, and Luna saw clearly in her ears' term why tomorrow would haunt her. No matter what rage everyone else had, that could not be compared to how her fury would explode. Love, unbend. Love, uncontrolled. Love, who? Long journey and Marcus’ fangs—she carried her notebook close to her spine, forlorn and admiring of her unloved city. When the soul came into sight, it would cover her. The night would wrap her. And she had no idea how such a loss could stab her.