Loving Marcello

Chapter Nine

"Can I go back to my hotel now, my feet hurt." I whine.

We've been walking around some museum for hours now, and I can feel my feet throbbing, and my stomach rumbling, too.

I need food and rest.

Mr. Toughguy groans irritably, "Why did I even offer to show you around? All you do is complain." He turns to me and glares.

"You're the one that forced me to come along!" I defend.

"Whatever." He grumbles, knowing I was right and he can't say crap on the subject.

"Can we go get food nowww? I missed breakfast." I begin my whining again.

"Too bad." He snaps.

"Why're you so cranky?" I ask distastfully.

"Why're you so annoying?" He retorts

"Because I can be." I continue.

Don't get me wrong, the museum is beautiful and all, I just think food would be more beautiful right now. And a chair.

I've already tried walking out of there more than once, but he stopped me every time.

"If I'm so annoying, then why won't you let me leave?" I ask when he doesn't reply to my earlier statement.

He stays silent, still walking forward.

I sigh, feeling defeated as I stop abruptly, refusing to go another inch forward. Time to rebel.

Mr. Toughguy stops when he notices I'm not moving, and a look of impatience crosses his face.

"Come on." He snaps.

"No." I lift my face childishly.

"Yes." He argues.

"Nuh-uh."

"Move. Now." He demands again, that time more threateningly.

"Nope."

"Keep walking, or I'll carry you." He warns.

I snort, "Doubt you could even if you tried."

He narrows his eyes, "Don't push me."

"I already have, what're you gonna do about it, Mr. Toughguy?" I challenge.

A look of determination plants itself on his face as he takes a step towards me. I actually feel scared that he might really try to carry me.

Oh no.

No no no no. Please don't. Don't even try.

"Are you serious?" I back up fearfully.

"Dead serious." He replies.

"No, please don't." I respond desperately.

I feel the embarrassment already creeping up my face, which is really something. I don't know if I'm blushing, but if I were to have red cheeks, I'd probably laugh if I saw myself. It's been a while since I've blushed, and I don't miss it one bit.

"Too late." He mutters as he effortlessly picks me up and carries me in his arms.

I gape in horror, then confusion, then awe.

How?

How is he still holding me?

Why hasn't he dropped me?

This is a weird feeling. I've never been carried before, maybe when I was a baby, but still. It's a rather nice feeling. Not bad. Not bad at all. Aside from the fear that he might not be able to handle my weight and drop me.