Loving Marcello

Alternate Ending pt.2

It's been 3 weeks since they've checked me out of the hospital, 3 weeks since Marcello began his move to the U.S. 3 weeks since I agreed to move out of my small apartment and into a bigger place with Marcello.

The hospital parking lot is where he'd asked me. Uncle Benny drove off moments before so I was left to my own devices. He'd come from Itsly to live in America, and I saw what a life without him was like. I didn't want to risk losing him again. So I happily said yes.

Now, looking at my surroundings, it's hard to believe that this is my life with Marcello. It's not everything I'd imagined, like the ugly beige couch set he had insisted on getting. But everything was still perfect.

I haven't even run into a wall yet so it's safe to say that this house isn't as abusive.

Marcello, who was previously giving me an impressive tour of the house, plops down onto the matching beige loveseat and blows out an exaggerated breath.

I walk slowly toward him until I'm standing between his bent knees. His signature dark wash jeans look particularly good on him today paired with the black t-shirt that fits him almost perfectly.

Part of me still can't believe that he gave up his life in Italy to be with me here.

Of all places.

Here. My hometown. The two are hard to put into the same equation.

Marcello is an Italian mafia boss and he lives in the same town I'd grown up walking home from school. Getting ice cream with Uncle Benny. Meeting my first best friend who would eventually betray me. Losing my virginity.

That last one makes me feel guilty as I refocus my eyes on Marcello.

I guess it's hard to see someone so perfect in a town that's so...imperfect.

It's as if Marcello belongs in Italy, where everything is as beautiful and flawless as he is.

But he's here with me. I'm most definitely not complaining.

"What're you thinking about?" He asks in his silky accent that I've grown used to. Sometimes I forget he has an accent altogether, but when it's as pronounced as it was in his question, I melt all over again.

He brushes a stray hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear gently, his eyes attempting to read my own, as if he can read my thoughts if he looks hard enough.

"I don't know. It could have something to do with that unibrow you've been growing." I tease.

"You. Did. Not." He gasps dramatically, pulling his hand from my face to trace the outline of his nonexistent unibrow. His eyebrows are perfect, actually. I think I'm more prone to grow a nice unibrow than he is.

"Oh yes I so did." I say with a laugh, swatting his hand away from his face, "We both know that your body would never commit such an injustice. Your genes are too pretty for hair in unwanted places."

A smile plays on his lips and I just know he's about to say something quirky, so I silence him with a kiss just in time. It was supposed to be a peck on the lips but he wraps his arms around my neck, craning his neck to deepen the kiss.

His lips move slowly against my own, completely controlled and passionate.

Sometimes I can feel the change in our relationship through how he kisses me. For the first two weeks since he's arrived here, every kiss I'd recieved from him was unsure, desperate, and feverish.

Now it's a bit more calm, but heated enough to send a wave of butterflies through my stomach and all the way down to form a second heartbeat.

I pull away before we could get too caught up. We still have some more unpacking to do.