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."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly." - F. SCOTT FITZGERALD
—
"Do you think this suit gives it away?" Romessa gazed at her reflection in the mirror as she tried on what must've been her fifth suit out of a presumable many; it looked no different than all of the ones she'd tried before it.
Marco, who was exhausted and barely awake, simply mumbled. "Mm," was all he had to offer, without so much as looking her way. He found women and fashion to be a relationship he'd never understand—and though he considered himself to be perfectly stylish, as did he Romessa, he would never spend this long trying on any outfit.
Romessa let out a child-like whine, commanding Marco to open his eyes at the noise he found ridiculously irresistible. "Marco, you aren't even looking at me!"
They'd been staying in Casablanca for a week, and Marco felt as though he never wanted to leave. He adored Morocco far more than he was expecting to—then again, it was because this was Romessa's country of origin, and he adored her more than anything on God's earth. Marco had spent the past six days becoming the greatest of companions with Ephraim: in addition to visiting the organizations that Romessa supported with generous donations, the two enjoyed hanging out together. Just an hour ago, they'd been smoking a cigar while watching an old Moroccan football match—before that, they'd been out later than planned, as Ephraim insisted they have drinks over dinner, leading them to both tipsily go for more silly escapades around Casablanca.
But tomorrow was the big day—that being the first day of Romessa's trial. She was facing a sentence of five months in Moroccan prison; something that made Marco shudder. He had already been called as a witness to the trial, but he knew the odds weren't exactly in Romessa's favor: everyone on that boat had seen her attack Jessica, and with so much scandal surrounding their affair, plenty of her friends had turned on her. But with Mats and Cathy having agreed to testify in Romessa's favor and with Sahar and Romessa staying inside every day to prepare their arguments, Marco could only hope that the ruling wouldn't result in Romessa's imprisonment.
Marco rubbed his eyes in order to sit up. He was half delusional from a lack of sleep; admittedly tipsy from having one too many drinks at the behest of Romessa's father. But as his eyes landed on the Moroccan's chocolate brown orbs, and he took in the way her thick dark hair was thrown into two messy pigtails, he couldn't help but feel his breath slip away—and, thinking out loud, he spoke. "God, you're beautiful. You could wear anything, Romessa."
Romessa blushed, and Marco grinned even more. He'd spent part of his day in Fes, Romessa's city of birth. It was one the most magnificent places Marco had ever been, filled with awe-inspiring architecture and beautiful patterns engraved into symmetrical structures. It was when he and Ephraim were outside of an ancient madrasa when Romessa's father pointed out an Arabic phrase to him—one that, of course, Marco couldn't understand—before explaining it to him. "Heaven's beauty," he translated, with a grin. "Do you know what Romessa means?"
