bound; governed by fate or extremely likely to occur.
"Face it, Marco. You and I are bound to one another. Even after all this time, even despite the consequences of our love, you can't keep yourself away from me-and neither can I."
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H A L S E Y - Graveyard "It's funny how the warning signs can feel like they're butterflies." —
The next morning, Marco arrived to his training session extra early, praying that Romessa might arrive soon after so that he could be alone with her. Their conversation the previous night had left him exhilarated and lustful, unable to think about anything but her fingers on his skin even while he continued to play FIFA with his teammates. But when he returned home to an innocent Jessica, who he truly did love, he felt beyond guilty. Marco knew it was wrong to entertain his fantasies of his old lover, and for reasons beyond the fact that he had a wife. At twenty, Romessa was still much younger than the thirty-two year old—for anyone to discover them now wouldn't be hardly different than it'd be if she was still eighteen. Besides, their relationship was supposed to be strictly professional: Romessa's success was on the line, as was Marco's recovery. If they were to be discovered by either of their higher ups, they'd be punished, and it would cause another scandal on its own.
This was why Marco desperately needed to speak to Romessa—to explain to her that he couldn't, that he refused, to become a victim of her seduction. But he still needed to convince himself of that before he could convince her. Judging by the fact that he couldn't think about her without wandering off to thoughts of her warm fingers on his flesh, that would take quite some time.
Several minutes of waiting turned to thirty, thirty turned to an hour—everyone on Marco's recovery team, except for Romessa, arrived in a timely manner. Marco wasn't the only one confused about her unexplained tardiness, but he did seem to be the only one who was furious about it. How could he not be? He'd wanted to be alone with Romessa so desperately, and because her tardiness had ruined his chance, he resented it immensely. Besides, she was the only one who had access to her program. Marco couldn't exercise beyond stretching without recording his stats—those were orders from the Bundesliga itself.
When Romessa finally strolled into the training room, Marco was furious. It was already lunchtime, but he'd been working on some extra stretches while his trainers went to eat in the kitchens. The German was upset particularly because Romessa didn't seem to care about her tardiness as much as he did. "Christ, Romessa. You're two whole fucking hours late!" His voice was loud, accusatory. "What the hell happened?!"
Romessa blinked, unfazed by Marco's profanity—or so she seemed, for Marco couldn't see her eyes through the dark sunglasses she wore. "I overslept," she muttered. She was hungover from having had so much to drink at Bella's, and woke up that morning next to one of the professors from her university.
Marco scoffed. "That's your excuse?! Do you know how long I've been sitting here and waiting for you? Do you realize what's at stake for me?" His nostrils flared as his lips pursed into a flat line, a clear expression of anger.
