The midday city streets shimmered about them, shimmered in the bright, morning heat, making shadows dance and making the asphalt kiss devilish mirages that made the city feel so molten, so vigorous, so bright. Luna could recognize it immediately, the way the whitewashed clouds milled about in the sky, hovered over people‘s gaze, and the way people‘s gaze wavered, lingered on her, lit up with that familiar, “Do me a favor…“crackling din. Cars flashed by in crisp flashes of Prada, blue, and Mercedes, silver. Pinstripe businessmen's shoulders crashed through these archways with contended ease. Office and AV setup hipsters strutted by, heels clicking up the cobblestones, textures dancing over silk and chicweaved jackets. All the while, over bars and restaurants and park benches, a particular judgment was rifling in with wave after wave of “Oh, he married her…out of all people, him…?

Luna hung on to Ethan. Walking beside him on Sukhumvit Road, her elbow pressed into his side amidst the crush. Her fingers flickered to and from, nonchalantly touching or not touching him, testing whether in the larger social world she could be out here and away from them all. The brunch at her apartment building was subdued, the table courteous and harried. I didn‘t care at all what they thought, she said. But arriving back in the more fashionable part of town, it was like they all been saying it for her, waiting for someone to take charge.

“Will they ever quit that staring?” she wondered aloud, suddenly gripping Ethan‘s arm more than before.

He didn‘t look rattled. Never looked rattled. His eye followed the street as he held still, watching me, unfazed and unoffended. “Their curiosity,” he told me, “isn‘t forever cruelty. But it can wear the very same face.”

Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she saw he was watching her too. He moved with quiet ease; shoulders slightly back, stride unhurried, yet he never flinched or tried to make up for it, if you see what I mean. He didn‘t halt, he didn‘t pause, he didn‘t look remorseful. That consistency was amazing. She shivered just a little, not frightened, but with warmer, keener respect.

Their first visit was a reception in an art gallery just off the high street... They truly were visual eaters. The light bounced off the shiny marble floorways, reflected by the huge, delicate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Champagne-like flowing and the sounds of glasses clicking. What is that noise? Small talk started in the background. When they arrived, Luna and Ethan could see glances circulating. Not obvious but not too subtle, perhaps a slight flutter that she noticed right away. Just enough whispers to start immediately. Is that her? She married that guy? That's so normal... normal guy?

A hot tingle snaked along her spine, and before she could jerk into her shell, Ethan‘s hand had grabbed hers. He didn‘t squeeze, he didn‘t speak. Just held on and kept her rooted in her body. “Nothing to worry about,” he said softly as he leaned into her. Warm and cool breath fluttered her ears. Luna inhaled deeply and nodded, desperate to borrow his calm.

They penetrated more into the Gallery and stopped before a seemingly abstract piece, which Luna simply brushed off, and then, without warning, a familiar voice interrupted the hushed crowd.

Luna! What an... Unlikely choice.

Vanessa, justinside the door, with a glass in her hands, smiled as a razor, sharp as the blade. Luna turned and groped for any outward signs of emotion, and settled finally on as politely as she could manage. “Good afternoon, Vanessa.”

Vanessa glared enviously at Ethan, less than impressed. “Wow, I didn‘t think I would ever see you marry someone like him,” she said in a nonchalant tone. “He even has... Aspirations, relatives, cash?”

Luna felt her chest tighten, but she didn‘t get a chance to speak before Ethan leaned in towards her just a little and whispered in a voice so quiet only she could hear, “None of that matters. Only what you think do.”

She took his hand in hers, managed to find his fingers in the blackness,s and squeezed. Love burst inside her. She looked her sister in the eyes and said, ‘I married him because I wanted to. And that‘s as much as I need to say.’

Vanessa let out a soft, unconvinced chuckle and floated away, too bored and too lost. It was a hollow sort of ache that trudged after the last one. Ethan didn‘t wallow in the emotion, but his thumb still lingered on Luna‘s knuckles in a gentle caress, slow and calming.

We hadn‘t gone far when a second woman approached us, her clothes as silky as perfume, the golden smile sweet, but a little curious in her eye. ‘Luna, dear, ‘she leaned toward us. ‘Can I ask you something personal? Did you agree to marry him because you pity him?

I don‘t think so, Luna thought, as the word struck her like a punch. What a shame. In an instant, she felt a wave of warm, solid energy form in her stomach. I‘m not going to retreat. “No,” she said hastily. I married him because I love him.”

Again, the hand crossed hers in the same gesture, a soft pat and a minuscule shake of the head. “Let them say what they will,” he whispered conspiratorially, leaning forward. “The truth is ours.

It felt intimate, it thrilled her so much, reassurance that it was only between them and its her alone to know, it wasn‘t known by the world. He pulls her close and kisses away the tiny kiss on her temple, then brushes her short bang back before she could repeat and shed it again. It is so tiny it‘s almost undetectable,e but she holds onto it. This is one of the reasons she picks him, not because he is safe or comfortable or because he is too good for her. Because with him, she feels real. But again, the gallery kept closing in. They watched them. The words floated free and were dispersed to the din, and the whispers were forming. She might have been married to wealth. To the station. To splendor. But she picked him. The pain was still there, but Ethan didn‘t appear to have noticed. He didn‘t need to put effort into appearing sure of himself; he was sure of himself.

Seconds later, Luna‘s head found itself resting in front of a sculpture of collapsed steel and glass when her cell phone vibrated. The display flickered and illuminated itself with a message that damn near froze her blood.

Quite interesting on Luna. This is very interesting. Sure, you have a lot of planning to do.

Marcus.

Her breath hitched. Ethan saw it immediately. He reached for her hand, taking it as he pulled her after him in silence. “They can‘t scare us,” he whispered. “Not us. We‘ll just continue as we were. Together.”

She nodded and tilted her cheek against his shoulder. The lights in the gallery sparkled against the windows, thin flashes of color rushing past. It was the first time that the world didn‘t seem as unlivable as before. Their fragile embrace, the soft kisses, the silent words of comfort, love is still here, still alive.

But once the evening slipped into the night, the tone relaxed once more. Everything was a little more pointed. Everything was a little more critical. Outside the gallery windows, the city shone in a gloomy glow; dazzled andamour wascerebrating. It was the risk and reward of beauty and censure.

Once they were finally outside, neon lights shone through on a wet road, and the warm promises of the city hit like a punch to the stomach. Luna‘s cell once again vibrated. We will know the strength of your love by what you do tomorrow.

As she read his note, numbing sensations swarmed around her. Ethan‘s fingers curled possessively and tightly around her hand, warm and unwavering. He seemed disengaged but in control, yet there was a flickering spark that shimmered in his hazel eyes.

CHAPTER CLIFFHANGER:

When she was out beneath the neon lights, litsky she saw it wasn‘t just Marcus‘s threats that were dangerous, but Ethan‘s unruffled calmness and that foolhardy conviction that he was more in control than he appeared to be. The stakes she‘d be facing tomorrow would be far more than her love. Tomorrow‘s revelations were meant to remain concealed deep in her soul, but when they surfaced, there would be nothing left of her marriage, her life, or the one she loved.

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.