THE OTHER MAN / germany nt

TWO

TWO ✐ Mr. Romantic Meets Mr. Schweinsteiger

As Marco walked down the streets of Bielefeld, a sudden surge of confidence overcame him. Here he was, about to surprise the love of his life and probably earn himself a good session of love making if he really kept it sweet. Life was good. Almost too good to be true, in fact.

Rya Schweinsteiger's house stood tall and proud at the end of a long, stoney driveway. It was grand and large, especially considering it was owned by a woman who lived alone.

Brushing himself down, Marco admired his attire. It was a fireman's outfit, with what you could call a sexual twist on it. He was pretty proud to wear it, too. Marco didn't mind the odd looks he got from old grannies as he marched his way through the Bielefeld streets, chest and abs on full show. After all, he knew that Rya would like it once he arrived at her house and that's all that truly mattered to him. It was a night that Marco was going to make sure he remembered, that was for sure.

"Come on, Marco," he motivated himself, pressing the doorbell and standing in an exaggerated fireman pose.

In anticipation, he rang it multiple times. Again, again, again. Then, the door cracked and swung open widely.

"Yes?" A gruff voice asked. Marco's eyes met a man around six feet tall, with a pink fluffy apron tied around his waist.

Hesitantly, Marco thought quickly. Who was this guy? Perhaps he was the architect Rya had mentioned about a month ago. The one who Rya told him was going to draw up her new extension that leads onto the patio. Or perhaps a brother? However the likelihood of this man being her brother slowly started to become slim to none.

"You must be Rya's architect," Marco blurted out quickly, trying to die down the awkward silence looming between the pair.

The guy spoke again, folding his arms and leaning on the door frame. "No I'm Bastian, Rya's husband. What the fuck are you wearing, by the way?"

Marco froze. Was this for real? How fucking typical, he thought as he stumbled backwards from the porch. Just as he finds a seemingly perfect girl, she winds up having a husband all along. Brilliant. This was Marco's life in a nutshell. If something isn't flawed in the relationship, something would soon be.

"Uh," Marco mumbled. "I- you- I think that I, uh, I probably have the wrong house."

Bastian frowned suspiciously. "Who exactly are you looking for?"

Shrugging, Marco tripped and fell onto the stones. He scrambled awkwardly for a moment, like a fish out of water, before regaining his feet and brushing himself down. All he could do was look up to find Bastian's confused, confused expression on his face.

"It must be another Rya. Mrs. Rya Shweeney," Marco made up frantically, retying his shoelaces. He was officially a hot mess. "Yeah, great woman. Short, bad dress sense, uh, bald?"

Bastian looked alarmed.

"She lives on Wendy Lane! Yep, that's it. Wendy Lane. I'll go there."

Letting out a sigh, Bastian said, "There is no Wendy Lane around here. Whoever it is you're looking for, just try to find her off my property."

All Marco could do was stumble and race his way back to his car, parked what felt like miles away. He felt like calling Mario to inform him on what happened, but all he would get was an I told you so and that is not what Marco wanted at a time like this. Not at all.