Burning Moon by Jo Watson Read Free Book Online

bubbly. Like I said, a curiosity.
    “Come with me, please, I’ll show you to your room,” the friendly petite woman said, stepping out from behind the desk in an exquisite traditional Thai dress. It was made of brilliant purple silk and covered in the most intricate gold embroidery I’d ever seen. Annie would love it. Perhaps I should buy her one to apologize for ripping all her hard work to shreds?
    When we walked all the way through the hotel and out the other end into a beautiful lush garden, I realized that the honeymoon suite must be separate from the rest of the hotel. The evening air smelled sweet and sticky, and I looked around. The moon was almost full and hung so low, it felt like I could reach out and touch it. The sea was only a short distance away now, and it had been turned into a silver liquid under the moon’s glow. The sand, too, had been transformed into something that shimmered. It was all very magical and this should have pleased me, but it didn’t. Because a movie started playing in my head.
    Roll romantic music and in three, two, one. Action!
    Michael, big, beefy, beautiful, and strapping strides onto the beach in his swimwear. He turns, his oiled chest glistens in the moonlight, and he smiles. He holds out his hand and Lilly runs. Lilly runs and jumps into his arms. He swings her around, and they go tumbling onto the soft, cool sand. His big body rolls over her. He strokes her face.
    MICHAEL: (Looking intently into Lilly’s eyes) I love you, Lilly.
    LILLY: I love you, too.
    MICHAEL: I’m so happy you’re my wife.
    He kisses her forehead. He kisses her cheek. He kisses her on the lips, and she kisses him back. It’s slow and passionate and then everything goes soft-focus and the director pans to a palm tree swaying in the breeze. The romantic music swells.
    Cut! Cut, cut, cut!
    Suddenly there was a searing pain in my chest, as though someone had plunged a knife into my solar plexus. My heart was beating fast, but it was fighting against the strong grip of an invisible fist tightening around it, trying to squeeze the life and blood out of it.
    This was the pain of my heart breaking.
    “Are you okay, Lilly?” Damian was right next to me. “You look pale.”
    “I’m fine. I’m fine.” But I wasn’t.
    We finally arrived at the suite. It was situated behind a neat perimeter of palm trees for maximum privacy, I guess, giving honeymooners the opportunity to do what honeymooners do best. It was also close to the beach. We walked up four small stairs and onto a wooden deck, where an inviting plunge pool greeted us—again, probably there for the purpose of “aqua aerobics.” The receptionist stopped and handed Damian the keys, which made me very uncomfortable.
    “I hope you’ll be happy here. I’ll get someone to bring your bags and some complimentary champagne and snacks.” The elegant woman turned and glided away, and I felt Damian elbow me in the ribs.
    “Told you. Free stuff.” Despite myself, I smiled. A real one. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t carry you over the threshold?” he said in a joking tone.
    “Not at all. I’m probably too heavy anyway, considering the amount of food I’ve sucked down in the past twenty-four hours.”
    Damian flicked his eyes at me quickly before putting the key in the lock and opening the door.
    “Nonsense. You look great.”
    Did I hear that correctly? Were my ears deceiving me? Okay…rewind!
    I implied I was fat, and he told me I “looked great.” Not good, not nice, not okay. But great! I was speechless, for several reasons really. First, it’s a bit of a weird thing to say to a stranger. Second, it’s a really weird thing to say to a stranger. Third, it’s even weirder to say to a stranger whose nonhoneymoon you’re on. And last, I clearly wasn’t his type.
    I didn’t have any tattoos or piercings in strange places. Nor did I listen to depressing music and write angst-filled poetry about my inner child and pharmaceuticals. And