I crossed my arms, a frown set on my face. I couldn’t believe he was actually trying this shit right now.
“Ambrose, please. Just help me.” Marco said, his voice pained as he tried to put a suit on for dinner.
“Marco, I told you no. Why would you still try this? It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Ambrose. Help me. I am asking nicely.”
“No. Pick something else.”
“God damn it Ambrose!” Marco yelled, raising his voice at me in frustration and definitely pain.
“If you want my help out of that, you might want to check that tone right back where you got it from, before I decide I didn’t see this and leave you like this.” I said calmly.
“You wouldn’t!”
“I might.” I said flatly.
“Fine.” Marco hissed, in a bad mood now.
I helped him out of the bit of the suit he had got on. While he swore at me under his breath in Italian, I dug around in his closet to look for something more suitable for his wound and dinner. Since he didn’t want to show up in just sweatpants and a sweater, like I was. I didn’t have to impress my parents, neither did he, but he was set on it.
I set a nice grey sweater on the bed, and since sweatpants were out of the question, I found a nice pair of deep black jeans.
“You should help me into the suit, Ambrose. This—--”
“No. It’s not happening.”
“I have an appearance to—--”
“I’m going in sweatpants and a sweater, keep it up, and I’ll dress you in the worst things you have in this closet, Marco Di Salvo.”
He bit his tongue, words clearly there.
“Smart choice.” I muttered.
He dressed in what I picked for him, slowly. He stood up fully when he was dressed and walked to the mirror, and looked over the outfit he put on himself.
“Ambrose, give me back the suit. I will get into it on my own if I must.”
“We will be late for dinner. This is enough.” I said, before pressing my lips to his and smiling. “Besides, you look less like a Mafia underboss when you’re dressed down. I like you dressed down.”
“Flirting with me to get me to accept the current situation, huh?” Marco said.
“Eh, it’s easier than forcing you to comply with me. Less likely we both will be mad at each other when it’s over.” I said, smiling at him.
“You think you could force me?”
“I bet I could. You’re injured.”
“One on one, when I’m healed. If I win, I want you for the night, from sunset to sunrise. Anyway, I choose.” Marco said, this devilish look in his eyes.
“Deal. Shake on it?”
He stuck his hand in mine and we did just that, shook on it. I didn’t like how his eyes showed a plan there.
“You’re not going to kill me, right?” I laughed.
“Hmm, no. It’s too late for even that, Ambrose.”
“I suppose that’s comforting.”
“I wouldn’t kill you, anyway. You saved my life.”
“You would have done it for me, probably.”
“Take a knife for you? Or the saving of your life?”
“The saving of my life, Marco. I would never want someone else to take a bullet for me. That’s not romantic, it’s heartbreaking.” I groaned.
“Really? You’re not even slightly turned on by that heroic action?”
“God no. How could I be happy knowing that someone else chose to die because they thought my life was more valuable than theirs? I believe that death is peaceful.” I said, looking at Marco before speaking again. “Come along. I have to wake Wren and get him ready before we are late.”
I watched Marco look in the mirror once more, shaking his head before he followed me out of the room. I went into Wren’s room and woke him as he was getting his diaper bag together. Wren was unhappy. He cried, and I tucked his soother into his mouth and held him against me, rubbing his back. I wiped his eyes when he settled down quickly.
“Let’s go see daddy.” I told him, walking out to the living room.
Marco had the bag and the baby carrier and was holding his side.
“Did you hurt yourself? Do I need to look at it?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Ambrose.”
“I’ll take your word for now.”
“You worry too much.”
“Did your ex-husband not care if you were injured?”
“I nursed my own wounds, and half the time I said nothing to him. In the end, we weren’t living together, so it was easy to pass off as being alright.”
“Marco!”
“What? It’s the truth. Why would I tell him?”
“I want to know if, when and how you got hurt, and I want to look—-Sorry.” I muttered.
“No, please continue. It’s refreshing to hear someone cares about me.” Marco said, a soft smile on his lips. “But also, hand over my wiggle worm. I want to hold him.”
Passing Wren to Marco, he kissed his son’s forehead and spoke to him in Italian before doubling back to English.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m not scared of your dad, and besides, I want to know where you grew up, and all the embarrassing things you’ve done.”
“God. Don’t. My mother is going to show you everything.”
“Good. I hope so.”
“You will regret that.” I laughed.
While I buckled and snapped Wren into the car, Marco struggled to get in. I offered to help, but he wasn’t feeling accepting of it. Once he was in and settled, I buckled myself in.
“Ready?”
“Yes, drive.”
I started the car and backed out of the driveway. Marco looked uncomfortable and was holding his side.
“Nope. You’re in pain. We are calling this off.” I said.
“Don’t you dare. This is important, I need—-“
“You have nothing to prove to my father Marco, you’re injured and I won’t have you hurt yourself for him.”
“I have everything to prove to him, Ambrose. Everything!” He yelled, clearly in pain and annoyed.
“You need not yell about it and the baby is in the car.” I replied. He didn’t need to be yelling at all, but if he had to, I preferred he didn’t do it around Wren.
“Listen, I need to do this. Ok, just trust me. That’s all I’m asking. Just trust me, if it’s too much, I will let you know.” Marco said. Masking the pain that he was definitely in.
I took it easy and drove slowly. His pain was making him very nitpicky and not so nice.
“Must you drive like a damn old lady?” He hissed.
“Must you be a prick about it?” I snapped, without thinking about it.
“Excuse me?” Marco snapped back.
“You heard me. I am driving slow to save you the pain of hitting bumps and holes, and you’re being nitpicky about my driving. I don’t see the need to speed when I have your son in the fucking car. If I crashed and something happened to him, I wouldn’t be alright with that and I would feel terrible.”
“You’re being fucking dramatic.” Marco snapped.
“I am being dramatic? If I’m dramatic, then you’re a bloody moron!”
I pulled the car off the road onto the shoulder and got out. Slamming the door and walking a small distance away to get some air. Marco had gotten under my skin with his behaviour and I needed to get out of the enclosed space with him, so that I didn’t punch him. I wasn’t known for violence at all, but he was pushing it. If that happened, and I hit him, I would never forgive myself for that. It was a chance I wasn’t willing to take.
After a few deep breaths of the cool air, I pulled my hand through my hair and walked back to the car. Opening the door, I got back inside and put my seatbelt back on. Marco was quiet in the passenger seat most of the rest of the way to my dads, only saying something once we got into town, about wanting to grab something for dessert for my parents.
Stopping at a grocery store, I handed the keys to Marco and left the car running.
“I’ll run in and grab them something. You just stay here.”
“Spare no expenses.” Marco said, handing me his credit card.
“Yeah, yeah. Understood.”
Getting out, I headed inside and grabbed a small fancy cheese cake with loads of fresh fruit and a bottle of wine at the little store inside the grocery store on the way out. I set both on the floor behind Marco’s seat.
At my parents’ house, Marco again refused to let me help him. I knew this was a moment of pride for him, and he didn’t want to need my help in front of my parents. But I was more concerned about his health than his pride and ego. We were slightly late when we got inside. Dad took Wren instead of the wine and cheesecake from Marco.
“Here, let me get that—---”
“Ambrose Grayson, you’re late for dinner again.” I heard my mother say, from wherever she was.
“Yeah. That’s—--”
“That’s my fault, Mrs Grayson.” Marco said politely, covering my ass and holding out the wine and cheesecake as she crept out from the kitchen with a look on her face.
“Your father said you were bringing someone to dinner, but I thought he was spouting nonsense again.” My mother said, taking the wine and cake from Marco and thanking him for it.
Mom and Marco went to the kitchen, and I met dad in the living room. He had Wren out of the car seat and propped up in the couch’s corner as he fixed his clothing and then tickled him. Counter-productive if you asked me, but he seemed like he was having a blast with Wren.
I cleared my throat, and he turned around.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
“Who did you think it was?”
“Marco, looking for his spawn.”
“He is with mother.”
“Ah, Your mother hasn’t even spotted the baby yet.”
“Give it a few minutes.” I said.
“You look stressed out, Ambrose.”
“It was a rough ride. Marco gets nitpicky when he’s in pain, but he wouldn’t let me cancel the dinner. You know, pride and ego.”
“I understand. He thinks I invited him here to rough him up, or whatever parents do to their children’s partners, but I’m not about that. You know this. I leave that up to your mother, and from the sounds of the chit chatting, she likes him.”
“I know dad, I tried to tell him he had nothing to prove to you, but he kept going on about having something to prove. Yet little does he know, it’s not you to worry about, it’s the she-devil in there.” I said lowly, laughing and pointing to the kitchen.
The sound of footsteps coming to the living room meant Marco had no doubt told my mother about poor sweet little Wren and she was coming to claim him from my father.
“She’s coming to steal the baby.”
“I hope not. I like him.” Dad said, tickling him some more.
“Me too.” I mumbled, looking at his small little face, his giggles making me happy too.
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