THE RETURN OF THE SUPREME COMMANDER

Chapter 7

 

The tension in the Johnson family's ornate dining room was thick enough to cut with a knife as Marco sat quietly at the mahogany table, his simple work clothes a stark contrast to the expensive furnishings around him.

"So, Marco," Catherine said with a saccharine smile that didn't reach her eyes, "you mentioned wanting to host a dinner and invite some... important guests. Tell us, who exactly were you planning to invite?"

Marco set down his coffee cup carefully. "I thought we could have a simple gathering. Nothing elaborate. Just some colleagues and friends."

Antonio burst into laughter, the sound harsh and mocking. "Colleagues? You mean the other janitors from that decrepit water plant? Or perhaps the security guards who wave at you when you ride that pathetic excuse for a motorcycle through the gates?"

"The people I work with are honest, hardworking individuals," Marco replied calmly. "I believe you'd find them quite respectable."

"Respectable?" Catherine's voice dripped with disdain. "Marco, you're talking about maintenance workers and utility employees. These people probably eat with their hands and shop at discount stores. How exactly do you expect us to entertain such... lowly company?"

Patricia, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up. "Catherine, there's nothing lowly about honest work."

"Honest work?" Antonio scoffed. "Patricia, wake up! Your husband wants to parade a bunch of blue-collar nobodies through our home like they're dignitaries. It's embarrassing!"

Marco leaned back in his chair, his expression remaining neutral. "I understand your concerns about the guest list. Perhaps we could find a compromise."

"Compromise?" Catherine laughed bitterly. "Marco, let me make this crystal clear. You claim to have connections, you claim to be important, but all we see is a man who rides a broken-down bike and works at a facility that most people have forgotten exists."

Victor Johnson, who had been quietly observing from the head of the table, suddenly leaned forward. "Marco, my boy, let's put this to a practical test. You say you can bring important guests to a dinner party. Prove it."

"What kind of test?" Marco asked, though his tone suggested he already knew where this was heading.

"Simple," Antonio interjected, his eyes gleaming with malicious anticipation. "We'll go ahead with tonight's banquet as planned. You invite whoever you claim you can invite. If nobody shows up—or if the people who show up are just more maintenance workers—then you admit you've been exaggerating your importance all along."

Catherine nodded eagerly. "And if you fail this test, Marco, then you'll stop filling Patricia's head with fantasies about your supposed status and connections."

"And what happens if I succeed?" Marco asked quietly.

Victor waved dismissively. "If you actually manage to bring legitimate dignitaries to our banquet, then we'll... reconsider our assessment of your position in this family."

"But when you fail," Catherine added with vicious satisfaction, "which you will, I'm calling David Thompson."

Patricia's face went pale. "David? My ex-boyfriend? Catherine, you wouldn't dare."

"I absolutely would," Catherine replied coldly. "David is a successful lawyer from a respected family. He's been asking about you for years, Patricia. When Marco proves he's nothing but a fraud, you're going to need a real man to take care of you."

Marco's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "I see. And what about the fact that Patricia and I are already married?"

"Married to a loser who can't even afford a decent car," Antonio sneered. "Patricia deserves better than living in some run-down apartment with a man who brings home a utility worker's salary."

"Speaking of housing," Victor added, "Marco, where exactly were you planning to take my granddaughter to live? Do you even have a house?"

"We're looking at apartments," Marco replied simply. "Something modest but comfortable."

"Apartments?" Catherine's voice rose to near-hysteria. "You want to take Patricia from this mansion to live in some cramped apartment like common renters?"

"Patricia and I have discussed our living arrangements," Marco said calmly. "We'll make our decision together."

"No," Antonio said firmly. "Patricia is not leaving this house to live in poverty with you. She has a standard of living to maintain."

"Antonio," Patricia began, but her father cut her off.

"Patricia, you will stay here until your husband can provide you with a proper home. Not some rental apartment, not some cramped studio—a real house befitting your station."

Marco nodded slowly. "I understand. I'll work on securing suitable housing as soon as possible."

"You do that," Catherine said with obvious skepticism. "In the meantime, let's see if you can actually deliver on these grand promises about your dinner guests."

"Fine," Marco said, standing up. "We'll proceed with the banquet tonight. I'll make my calls and extend invitations."

"This should be entertaining," Antonio muttered to Catherine as Marco left the room.

Two hours later, Marco emerged from the guest room where he'd been making phone calls. Patricia waited nervously in the hallway, having spent the time helping with banquet preparations while listening to her family's continued mockery.

"How did it go?" she asked anxiously.

"We'll see tonight," Marco replied, then smiled at her worried expression. "Patricia, trust me. Everything will be fine."

"But what if nobody comes? What if Catherine really calls David? What if—"

Marco took her hands gently. "Then we'll face whatever happens together. But Patricia, I need you to prepare yourself for tonight."

"Prepare myself how?"

"There may be some... revelations that surprise people. Just remember that no matter what happens, you're my wife, and I love you."

An hour before the banquet was scheduled to begin, Marco and Patricia set out for the venue. Marco, still in his simple but clean work clothes, climbed onto his aging electric bike while Patricia, dressed in her best dress, sat behind him on the small passenger seat.

As they rode through the upscale Riverside District where the banquet hall was located, the contrast was striking. Luxury cars filled the streets, well-dressed pedestrians strolled along manicured sidewalks, and elegant shop windows displayed expensive goods. Marco's battered electric bike, making its characteristic whirring sound, drew stares and whispers from everyone they passed.

"Look at that couple," an elderly woman in a fur coat whispered to her companion as they waited at a traffic light. "Is that man really taking his wife to some formal event on that ridiculous contraption?"

"Probably can't afford a real car," her friend replied with obvious disdain. "Some people have no sense of propriety."

A group of young professionals in expensive suits watched from the sidewalk as Marco carefully navigated around a pothole to avoid jarring Patricia.

"Can you believe it?" one of them laughed. "That guy's dressed like he's going to fix someone's plumbing, and he's headed to the same district where the Governor's mansion is located."

"Maybe he's the entertainment," another suggested with cruel amusement. "Comic relief for whatever event they're attending."

Patricia gripped Marco's shoulders tighter, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the public scrutiny, but Marco seemed completely unbothered by the attention. He drove steadily and carefully, focused on getting them safely to their destination.

Meanwhile, back at the Johnson mansion, Catherine paced frantically while making last-minute phone calls to confirm banquet arrangements.

"Yes, I understand the premium pricing for such short notice," she said into her phone, her voice tight with stress. "But we need everything to be perfect. The reputation of our entire family is at stake tonight."

Antonio appeared in the doorway, his face flushed with anxiety. "Catherine, the caterers are asking about portion sizes. They want to know if we're expecting the full guest list to actually show up."

"Tell them to prepare for everyone," Catherine snapped. "If Marco's so-called important friends don't materialize, we'll be left with enough food to feed an army and a bill that could bankrupt us."

"Maybe we should scale back the portions?" Antonio suggested nervously.

"Absolutely not," Catherine replied firmly. "If we're going to humiliate Marco tonight, we're going to do it properly. When his pathetic little maintenance worker friends are the only ones who show up, everyone will see exactly what kind of man Patricia married."

Victor entered the room, adjusting his tie with shaking hands. "The first guests are starting to arrive at the venue. Margaret just called—the mayor's car just pulled up."

"See?" Catherine said triumphantly. "Real people with real status. Unlike whatever collection of nobodies Marco thinks he can produce."

At the banquet hall, Marco and Patricia were escorted to a VIP section near the front of the elegant ballroom. The space was magnificent—crystal chandeliers cast warm light over polished marble floors, elaborate floral arrangements adorned every table, and waiters in crisp uniforms moved efficiently through the growing crowd of distinguished guests.

Patricia looked around nervously at the sea of expensive evening wear and important-looking people. "Marco, are you sure we belong here? Everyone looks so... official."

"We belong wherever we choose to be," Marco replied quietly, but Patricia noticed his eyes constantly scanning the room, as if he were assessing something beyond the surface glamour.

Nearby, clusters of guests had begun to whisper among themselves, their voices creating a low buzz of speculation that seemed to follow Marco wherever he moved.

"Is that really him?" an elegant woman in pearls murmured to her companion. "The man they say is the legendary Defender of Seraphia?"

"It can't be," her friend replied skeptically. "Look at how he's dressed. Look at what he arrived in. Would a real war hero ride around on a bicycle?"

"But Patricia Johnson is sitting with him," the first woman observed. "And she's been claiming for years that her husband was some kind of military hero."

"Claims and reality are two different things," came the sharp response. "That girl has been living in a fantasy world, and tonight everyone's going to see the truth."

Catherine arrived at the venue and immediately sought out Patricia, her face a mask of forced politeness that barely concealed her underlying panic.

"Patricia," she hissed, pulling her daughter aside, "listen to me very carefully. Important people are watching tonight. Whatever happens, do not embarrass this family. If Marco's guests turn out to be a joke, you smile and pretend everything is exactly as we planned."

"Catherine, I—"

"No excuses," Catherine cut her off. "Our entire social standing is on the line. One wrong move, one embarrassing moment, and we'll be the laughingstock of the entire city."

Antonio appeared beside them, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "Has anyone seen Marco's mysterious guests yet? Because I'm starting to think our son-in-law might have been somewhat... optimistic about his connections."

"When this fails," Catherine whispered urgently to Patricia, "and it will fail, you're going to thank Marco politely for trying and then make it clear that this experiment in fantasy is over. Do you understand me?"

Patricia looked across the room at Marco, who sat calmly at their table, apparently unbothered by the whispers and stares surrounding him. Despite her nervousness, something in his demeanor gave her confidence.

"I understand," she told her family. "But I think you might be surprised by tonight's outcome."