Guilty as Gorgeous | Chapter 13
Sunday passed in a blur of simple comforts—resting her head in her mother's lap, lighthearted chatter, sharing work stories with Prayong and her sisters, and catching up on much-needed sleep.
By Monday, another day off, Phutphitchaya rose early. She spent a full hour practicing yoga in the workout room she shared with her sisters. Drenched in sweat, she retreated to her room for a refreshing shower and to get dressed.
The red blossoms on her skin had faded significantly, though they were still visible. She inspected herself in the mirror, hoping her skin tone would return to near-normal by Wednesday, when she was scheduled for a charity fashion show at a prominent hotel. Her phone's ring interrupted her thoughts.
"Wan Hom, I should reach your condo around ten."
"I called to remind you about that, but I need you to get here a bit sooner. We have business to discuss."
"New job? You can just tell me now."
"A biiiig job..." The 'g' was dragged out a hundred times in his typical over-acting fashion. "I'd rather talk in person so I can explain the details properly."
Phutphitchaya knitted her brows. Wikrant had never had an issue detailing work over the phone to manage their schedules. However, not wanting to nag, she glanced at the clock and nodded.
"Fine. It's eight now. I'll finish breakfast and head right out. Oh, Mom packed some food and sweets for you. Don't fill up before I get there."
"Eeee! My lucky day again!" The other sounded ecstatic; he was the ultimate devotee of Prayong's cooking. "I'll fast, flush out my small and large intestines, and wait to devour your mother's handiwork."
"Didn't you already 'flush your small intestines' last night? Spill it."
"What! You dare ask such lewd questions now? How scandalous!"
"Even if I don't ask, you'll end up telling me anyway." The actress smiled. Wikrant's days off were never quiet affairs.
"I'm not so sure I want to tell this one," he teased, playing hard to get.
"Why? Small trunk?"
"Gasp! Noooo... huge! Unforgettably so!"
Only when sharing special stories out of office, or when among friends of the same gender with alcohol involved, would Wikrant let his full 'inner self' out. Normally, he conducted himself as a polite, conventional man—staying 'undercover' so well that those who didn't know him personally couldn't imagine this side of him.
Phutphitchaya couldn't help but laugh. "Then you should be satisfied. Why the hesitation?"
"Oh, stop. I'm just shy."
"I'm hanging up then, going to eat."
"Hurry up. I took a selfie with him, too. He's gorgeoooous..." Again, the 's' was dragged out. "But still no match for your Mr. Wes."
Hah! Why must he ruin the mood so suddenly?
"Stop talking about that man!"
"Fine, fine, I'll try. But I can't help it. Get here fast!"
The young woman exhaled sharply through her nose before composedly finishing her dressing—a comfortable shirt with rolled sleeves and denim shorts. She wore no makeup beyond a thorough application of moisturizer, foundation, and sunscreen for the beach. Grabbing her wide-brimmed hat and a small prepared bag, she floated out of the room, cheerful at the prospect of another day of leisure with her family.
Due to her own hobbies, Prayong sent her daughter to see Wikrant alone after breakfast.
"Our house is on the way anyway. Once you're done with work, pick up your sister and then come back for me, dear."
"Alright, Mom. You just lie back and wait; I'll be back by noon."
Prayong smiled, seeing her eldest daughter to her car with her usual instructions to drive safely before re-entering the house.
Since Phutphitchaya became an actress with a schedule full nearly year-round and had insisted her mother stop working, Prayong spent her free time making sweets or meals for her daughter's colleagues on set instead, alongside tending her kitchen garden and keeping house to ward off loneliness.
Occasionally, certain producers—especially Anima, who was addicted to her cooking—would place specific orders. These ranged from catering for production launches and monk offerings to gift baskets for VIPs, all given several days in advance. Initially, Phutphitchaya didn't want her mother taking jobs, but Prayong stood firm.
'You look after me and your sisters well enough, but I want to work a little. It's not that hard, dear.'
'How is it not hard? The last job had you starting at 4 AM and not finishing until dark.'
'But Khun Lek paid me well for the effort. I enjoy it.'
'I'm afraid you'll fall ill again, especially since you're not that strong.'
'Don't over-worry. I'm still healthy. Sitting and lying around doing nothing... that's what will wither me away.' She'd laughed, patting Phutphitchaya's hand to ease her mind.
Before long, Prayong's royal-palace style savory and sweet dishes became legendary among behind-the-scenes crews. Orders began to flood in. Eventually, there was work almost every day, rivaling her daughter's schedule, until Phutphitchaya couldn't stand it. Her mother's hobby was turning into a small-scale cottage industry. Even Unakarn and Suphanniga had to help after work and school.
Finally, the actress announced to the set that she was taking over as her mother's manager to screen the jobs first. What used to be nearly daily work was slashed to a maximum of four or five days a month; if the quantity was too large, she'd refuse.
Some knew the ropes; despite being rejected by the actress, they'd secretly call Prayong personally, addicted to her flavors. The 'manager' remained unaware due to her busy schedule. Fortunately, these were usually light meal prep or gift baskets. The mother kept quiet, instructing both Unakarn and Suphanniga not to tell their sister—much like today.
Prayong was pouring sweets into a tray to set when the doorbell rang before 11 AM. She turned off the stove and went to open the gate, thinking Phutphitchaya had returned early, only to find a silver-grey Mercedes-Benz parked there.
The visitor stepped out of the car. The two women stared at each other for a moment through the iron gate.
"Do you have business?"
"I'm here for the sweets I ordered. Ratee's order."
The visitor spoke and then frowned as the other woman looked surprised but said nothing.
"Madam Khaekhai, you've arrived ahead of schedule. You'll likely have to wait about half an hour."
"You know who I am?"
"You are Mr. Bancha's wife."
"Are you a relative of Ratee?"
"No, I am not."
She replied with measured words before letting the guest into the house. She hadn't expected the woman to come here herself; usually, Ratee's driver picked up the orders. Bancha's assistant often ordered sweets or specific dishes for her employer's wife to give to VIPs or for her own consumption, but Ratee likely hadn't mentioned the vendor's background. Though done with pure intentions, it created an excruciatingly awkward situation for Prayong.
Even if she didn't follow celebrity news, how could a mother not know about the baseless 'rumors'?
She could only pray the sweets were finished before Phutphitchaya returned, unsure how the 'guest' would react.
Khaekhai parked and followed the woman, who looked to be in her late forties but remained beautiful even without makeup. She couldn't help but admire how lush and inviting the vendor's home was, despite its aged condition. Most importantly, it was impeccably clean and possessed an indescribable sense of taste.
"How many people live here?"
"I live with my three daughters. Madam Khaekhai, please wait here."
Prayong ushered her guest to sit on the sofa in the living room instead of the long dining table in front of the kitchen counter, where the other woman had begun to follow. From the dining area, one could see the family photos on the shelves behind—decorations other houses usually placed in the living room.
"Is no one else home today?" Khaekhai asked, her tone more polite due to the host's refined, lady-like demeanor as she hurried to bring a beverage. Prayong returned to the nearby kitchen, where they could still see each other and converse.
"The youngest is at school. The middle and eldest are at work."
"And the father? My apologies if I'm being intrusive."
"My husband passed away nearly ten years ago."
Prayong's face clouded as she bowed her head and hurried through her remaining tasks.
"My condolences..."
No further conversation ensued beyond a murmured 'thank you.' Khaekhai sat watching for the remaining time, but she avoided staring too blatantly to remain polite, even as she enjoyed the movement in the kitchen and the fragrant aroma of the sweets.
Nearly half an hour later, all the freshly made sweets were arranged exquisitely in baskets, and the curry was in tiffin carriers. Prayong felt relieved that she'd made it in time—until a sound erupted from the front of the house.
"Mom! Mai's home!"
The voice preceded the person, cheerful and accompanied by light, rapid footsteps, signaling the speaker was practically flying in.
"The professor canceled the last class today, so I hurried back. P'Paan won't have to waste time picking me up at the uni. I called her and she said..."
Suphanniga's words came to a dead stop when she entered the living room and saw a third party sitting there.
"Oh! My apologies."
"It's alright, dear. Just finished school?"
"Yes." She replied properly, pressing her hands together in a polite wai and offering a bright smile, though she couldn't help but inspect the older guest with curiosity; the face looked strangely familiar. "I feel like I've seen your face somewhere before, ma'am."
"This is Madam Khaekhai, Mr. Bancha's wife," Prayong interjected, sounding more hurried than usual. "She's here for the savory and sweet dishes Khun Ratee ordered the other day."
"Madam Khaekhai!"
"Mai, you're tired. Go up and shower. Your sister will be back soon."
"P'Paan is still mad at P'Wan; she won't be back that easily."
The young girl spoke distantly, still meeting the older guest's gaze with bewilderment, while the other woman looked back with equal interest but masked it far better.
"Nong Mai!"
"Yes, yes! I'm going. Goodbye, Madam Khaekhai."
She offered another wai, retreated politely, and then scampered up to the second floor like a squirrel, her brow furrowed in thought.
"Your daughter is beautiful. Such a lovely face, and a radiant complexion to match her name."
"Thank you." Prayong lowered her eyelids, the finished items in her hands. "I'll walk you to your car."
"The other one's name is Paan? The last one must be named after a fabric as well."
"I am fond of fabrics, so I gave my children nicknames after their natural textures."
"I am fond of them too. My daughters are named Nisakorn and Sasithorn—both meaning 'the moon,' like my own name, Khaekhai. If I were to give fabric nicknames, I'd probably name the others Prae, Paan, Mai..."
Khaekhai spoke airily, a certain glint in her eyes as she saw the shoulders of the woman carrying the items visibly stiffen.
"And what did you name yours?"
"Would you like me to place these on the back seat or the front?"
"The front." She opened the door, waiting until Prayong had arranged the items before asking, "You haven't answered me yet."
"Yes. Her name is Prae."
"And I'd guess their real names are flowers."
"My name is Prayong, so I named my daughters after flowers, following their mother."
"Like that Phutphitchaya flower, I suppose."
Khaekhai's tone shifted from normal to icy. She inspected the woman before her, who met her gaze with a calm, gentle demeanor like a cooling stream—one that should have been refreshing, but instead caused the anger she had suppressed before others to preserve her dignity to crumble.
"You should have named this daughter after a different flower. It would be more fitting."
"I assume Madam Khaekhai is referring to a 'Golden Flower'..."
The clear voice from the young girl behind them made both adults turn simultaneously. Suphanniga's lips were curved in a smile, but her eyes were defiant.
"Is that what you mean?"
"Nong Mai! I told you to go upstairs!"
Prayong's voice was a mix of reprimand and mounting anxiety.