War

Chapter Ten

A/N - how are we ten chapters in already??

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Aniyah
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I was marrying Marco in two days time.

Forty-eight hours.

Two more sleeps.

And I still didn't know how I felt about all of this.

Though I had to say, Marco was surprisingly...surprising.

Sure he came home with blood on him more days than he didn't, was completely monotonous when he spoke, never wore anything that wasn't a three-piece suit and had a crippling addiction to peppermint tea - but he also cared about his brothers more than life, wore different comical cufflinks on a daily basis, and was definitely the most beautiful man I'd laid my eyes upon.

I was in too deep at this point, and I'd only been living here for just over a week now.

We'd fallen into somewhat of a routine, with me making breakfast and a peppermint tea for my fiancé while he sat there and grumbled almost incoherent replies to what his brothers were saying to him.

It was a win-win, if you asked me.

"So there's seven of them?", I checked, twisting a braid around my finger as Marco nodded, gaze focused on the road and eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

"Seven hooligans who are even worse than my brothers", he muttered, cracking his neck, "but they're all we have, so I suppose I should cut them some slack". I was due to meet Marco's seven cousins in the next fifteen minutes, and it was safe to say I was slightly terrified. His brothers had taken me in with no questions asked, and while I was praying his cousins gave me the same reception, I couldn't shake my worry.

"Are their parents-", I'd figured parents were a sore subject in Marco's life, but I didn't know if that went for his aunt and uncle too.

"Dead", he finished for me, "same as ours". You could cut through the silence with a knife.

"Right. Sorry", I winced, "my Mum's dead too, if that's any consolation".

"Thank you?", he cocked his head and I laughed, not knowing what I'd expected him to say after that, "I believe we should save the trauma until the knot has been tied".

"Two days", I reminded him, even though I knew damn well that wasn't a chance in hell he'd forgotten.

"Two days", he repeated, silence filling the car again as I watched him out of the corner of my eye, "you're staring". He'd said that to me the first time I was in his car, when I'd just found out I was marrying him.

"How many tattoos do you have?", I found myself asking, ignoring the heat I could feel on my face; at least he couldn't see me blushing.

"Nine", he replied instantaneously, "you?".

"Only one", I replied, he just hummed, "is it weird that I'm terrified?".