A Moment Like This Novels & Stories

I stared at the Vercetti marriage contract my father pushed across the table. Without hesitation, I wrote my half-sister’s name, Demi, and slid it back. My father froze. Then his eyes lit up with ridiculous excitement, like he’d just won the lottery. "How can you give such a perfect chance to your sister?" Last life, my marriage was a joke for everyone around me. I was the red-haired, untamed little witch who dared to climb into the orbit of Cassian Vercetti, heir and leader of the old-blood Vercetti crime family. I was never perfect nor obedient. He loved goddess gowns. I wore mini skirts and danced on tables. He demanded missionary, traditional, orderly intimacy. I wanted to climb on top, ride him, lose myself completely. At a gala, society wives laughing at my hair, my dress, my “wildness.” I thought he would at least pretend to defend me. He didn’t. “Forgive her. She’s not…properly trained.” Trained. Like a dog. I spent my entire last life suffocating under his rules, bending myself bloody to fit the shape he wanted, until the night our house caught fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment I learned of the arranged marriage. I looked at the contract in front of me. This time? I think the nightclub boys suits me better. But the moment Cassian realized the bride wasn’t me, he shattered every rule he’d ever lived by.

Tunnels deconstructs the individual’s Romantic fascination with ‘love’ or the grammaticality of beauty. Ideally, the ‘tunnels’ in the collection are subterranean love poems from the suburban imaginary. These seemingly syntactic tunnels travel through one’s literary imagination or heterotopic dreamscapes, and while αγάπη (Greek for ‘love’) inspires these rhizomic tunnels to navigate the abysmal ‘meta-spectacle’ of gesture, language or moment of poemness, the mind like the many-colored jeepneys of Manila, where driving past roast goose restaurants in Shek Kip Mei or spotting stilt houses in Kampong Kleang, attempt to explore the transgeneric textualities of the everyday, alongside the unstructurality of time and space, the littoral and the liminal.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife? For richer or poorer, in sickness and health, will you remain faithful to her for the rest of your life?” I looked at Bridget with deep affection and was just about to speak. “Wait!” shouted someone urgently. I turned around in confusion and looked toward the audience. There stood a man holding a baby in his arms. He said pleadingly, “Bridget, our child is hungry… could we pause the wedding for a moment?” Hearing this, everyone erupted in an uproar. It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck me. Only then did I realize that Bridget had a child with another man. Bridget hurried off the stage, then turned to me coldly and said, “I only agreed to marry you out of obligation. But the moment Vernon appeared, I knew it. There’s no one else I want to marry but him.” So, she took off the ring and dragged the man away without looking back. I stood alone at the end of the aisle and clutched the undelivered ring in my hand, as a flood of bitterness crashed through every corner of my heart.

My sister dissapeared three days before her wedding and I was forced to get married in her stead, to the head of the Italian Mafia, Stefano De Luca, a man known for his brutality and ruthlessness. My dear husband thinks he's going to get an obedient little kitty like my sister but he has no idea how wrong he is, I only have one plan and it's to drive him to the edge of frustration, I'll do everything to make sure he divorces me. ***** From the moment I saw her, I knew she was nothing but trouble, Anastasia Sidorov. My rebellious little bride. As much as I hated the idea of this marriage, Anastasia posed an interesting challenge. Even though she tries to, the chemistry between us is undeniable and I'm willing to see how far I can push my feisty little vixen, how long it'll take before I break each of of her defenses. Because from the moment we said our vows, I have no intention of letting her escape my claws.

On the night of our wedding, my husband told me he wanted to have a child with his teacher’s daughter. When I confronted him, he turned it back on me. “Teacher is seriously ill, and her only wish is to see three generations under one roof. My junior and I are just doing IVF. It’s not like anything is actually happening between us!” “Besides, you were also her student. How could you refuse to help fulfill her last wish?” However, the next day, when I went to visit our teacher with a fruit basket, I saw my husband and his junior locked in an embrace at the corner of the hallway. The moment was like a bolt of lightning. I turned and walked away. The following day, my husband sent me a text: [I’m going with her for the IVF. Let’s postpone the family gathering for a few days.] I did not reply. Instead, I went back to my hometown alone, visiting each of my relatives to personally apologize. Then, I went to a lawyer. “I’d like to sue my husband for bigamy.”

I was never meant to be wanted. I was too much too wide, too soft, too full in all the places that made men forget their vows, their loyalty, their mates. My stepmother saw it as a curse. So she did what any desperate, jealous woman would do she sold me. Packaged me up like something shameful and shipped me off to Alpha Dane Blackwood, the most feared Alpha in the northern territories. A man they whispered about in hushed, pitying tones. Powerful beyond measure. Cold beyond feeling. And completely, devastatingly impotent unable to bond, unable to mate, uninterested in a Luna. I was supposed to be safe in my invisibility. I was supposed to disappear quietly into his rejection. But the moment Alpha Dane's eyes moved over my body slow, dark, and burning like something long starved, I realized that the rumors were about to become very, very wrong. And when the mating bond snapped into place between us like a chain neither of us had asked for, I understood the most terrifying truth of all. I was never a burden. I was always a reckoning.

“I'm going to miss this place, I'm going to miss you." He pushed himself up from the leaner of the couch and approached her, So I thought, why not make one last memory, one last good memory." He took her hands in his and wrapped her arms around his neck as he pushed play on the remote. A Moment Like This by Leona Lewis sounded through the speaker and his gaze locked with hers. Slowly he swayed them from side to side, softly singing the song to her as he did, every word laced with love and promise. That moment would be one she cherished forever because in that one moment his eyes said to her everything his lips never did, and strangely enough, she felt content. They would always have the memories they made together. “You are the world and more Sierra Brightly." He whispered when the song softened to a close. “Thank you for every laugh, for every memory, for every moment you gave me, Roman. Meeting you will always be my life's greatest adventure." She reached up and placed a lingering on his cheek, feeling tears burn the back of her eyes as she did. “Ready to go?" He asked when she stepped back. “Yeah, yeah I am." She in a deep breath and turned to the door. *** Sierra and Roman are two kindred spirits both hurt by love, sent halfway across the world for work. After a chance encounter over double chocolate ice cream, they make a deal to have an adventure in the six months which Sierra is posted there. The catch? No strings. No personal information. A clean break. Bound by loyalty and hurt by their past, join Roman as they navigate the budding romance between them and learn to uncross the stars…

“Are you going to treat me like the enemy?” Raffaele asked, hovering over me like a predator. “You are the enemy,” I sneered. He smiled. “Careful. You’re hurting my feelings.” “I hope I can hurt much more than that.” His eyes darkened. “You forget—I’m the one who can break you.” I vowed never to give my heart to a man. Never let one bend me. Never let one own me. Then a single night changed everything. When my best friend became a target, I took her place and caught the attention of the most dangerous man in the city. Raffaele, My friend's older brother, wasn’t supposed to see me. We were never meant to meet but the moment his eyes locked on mine, I became his new obsession. I don’t bend and he doesn't let go. Suddenly caught up in a world of blood and power, resisting a man like Raffaele might cost me everything...heart, body, and soul. He wants me, dead or alive.

The hospital suddenly called to inform me that the kidney I had been scheduled to receive had been transferred—by my husband—to his first love. I confronted him. He replied casually, "It's just one kidney. Are you really in such a hurry? Daphne needs it more, so let her have it first. You're not going to die anytime soon anyway!" I stood there holding the medical report proving he had uremia, and in that moment, my three-year marriage felt like a joke. Fine. He was right. I wasn't the one who was sick—so what was I rushing for?

Just a few days before my wedding, I accidentally come across a post while scrolling online. The title reads, "To the guy getting married in this city, your fiancée's already cheated on you." Curious, I click in to see the gossip, only to realize I'm the one being talked about. A deep male voice plays in the video. "I heard you're getting married?" The woman in the frame, bare-backed and trembling, chokes back a sob. "After you left, I realized you're still the one I love most. I'm done with him. Take me away, please!" The moment I hear her voice, it feels like someone punches me straight in the chest. Then I notice something on her wrist—the luxury couple's bracelet I gave her just yesterday. And in that instant, I feel like the biggest joke of all. Turns out the fool was me.