The soft breeze passing through my--our--hotel room’s beige curtains awoke me from my deep slumber. As my eyes fluttered open they caught the beautifully perfect live image our hotel room’s window showcased of the Eiffel tower.
Knowing the noisy Parisian traffic and pedestrians traveling by our window would prevent me from falling back asleep, I said: “It’s seven in the morning, and they’re already at it” to Ethan, who was already wide awake.
“It’s actually ten in the morning,” he replied, his voice further away from me than I had expected. I sat up from my laying position and saw that he had been quietly eating breakfast near the room’s coffee table. A confused expression fell across my face, why was Ethan shirtless? I don’t remember him taking off his clothes last night. We were too tired from the wedding reception to even undress and change into our night clothes.
“The kitchen in our suite was too cold, so I decided to eat in here,” he said, misunderstanding my confused expression.
I rushed my hands through my tangled hair, wincing when my left hand tangled itself inside my brown locks. As I freed it from the endless knots, my blue eyes caught the five carat diamond Ethan had bought as a wedding ring. Seeing me emotionally struggle with it, Ethan said: “You don’t have to wear it, you know.”
“Oh. But I do,” I replied. People would suspect something was wrong if I didn’t wear my wedding ring; every move I do from now on would be carefully monitored. A crumbling marriage is the best gossip in Manhattan, regardless if it’s fake or not.
“Okay. So what do you want to do today? We could go to the Louvre, check out some art, then have dinner at Le Meurice, and then head to the Eiffel tower around eight. All widely public places where I’m sure the Parisian Elite hang out.”
The Parisian Elite. I had completely forgot I had to convince them that my marriage to Ethan was legitimate. They were the only reason why Ethan stayed in Paris after the wedding, his mother had persistently asked him to return with her to New York City where he would have told people he was back for school.
I thought Melissa would be happy I married her son, but moments after she heard the news of our wedding, she traveled to my home and screamed at me for an hour about how using others is deeply frowned upon and how she couldn’t prevent her son from being used if he wanted to.
“Maybe we should stay in today, I’m not feeling so well and if we go out it wouldn’t look like we’re enjoying our honeymoon room,” I suggested.
“That’s true. I’ll call the front desk and ask them not to disturb our room today,” Ethan said, picking up the telephone sitting next to the bed.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted as Ethan ended his conversation with the front desk clerk.
“About?” he asked, laying next to me.
“Starting work in three weeks. I don’t want to disappoint my mother,” I replied. Taking on this job wasn’t about me, it was about making my mother proud of raising me and carrying out her legacy.
Ethan wrapped his arms around me as he whispered: “You’re going to be fine. Your mother gave you her company because she thought you were ready, and if you fail at least you tried.”
I rested my head on Ethan’s shoulder as he began to play with my bird-nest hair. For half an hour, we laid together in silence; enjoying each other’s company, until a knock on our door rushed us back to reality.
“I’ll get it,” Ethan said as he untangled himself from me and walked out of the room.
I heavily sighed, almost missing the vibration noise angrily coming from my cell phone.
YOU ARE READING
Monsters of Manhattan
Teen FictionPeople aren't called monsters because they paint rainbows and snowflakes. No, they're called monsters because they have a limitless ambition to achieve what they want and maintain what they have, and in Manhattan, what you want and what you have mig...
