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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C H R I S | I S A A C - Wicked Game "What a wicked game you played, to make me feel this way; what a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you."
—
"I've been benched."
"You've been what?"
"I said," Marco closed the door to Romessa's office, locked it, and raised his voice slightly. "I'm fucking benched! I'm not starting the match on Thursday night."
Romessa bit her lip. A week after winning her prestigious Women of the Year award, things finally felt like they were going back to normal—well, until this moment. It was only last night that she and Marco had been with one another, intertwining their limbs under the sheets of his home while Jessica was out of town. So the Moroccan spoke, slightly confused—particularly by his raised voice. "And why are you telling me this, Marco?"
"Because it's William's decision who plays and who doesn't play. He's gives the recommendations to Favre. Favre would have no reason to bench me. My playing has been remarkable. But William," hissed Marco, "That son of a bitch. Does he know, Romessa? He must know."
Romessa felt her cheeks warm at Marco's anger. She stood and made her way around her desk before standing before him, peering up at the German with big round eyes. "Is it true that you weren't wearing your wedding ring when you got off of the jet from Amalfi?"
Marco drew in a breath. A single photo had been captured by the media; one of him—without his wedding ring—walking a few feet away from Romessa and Bella after landing at the airport. The difference Bella made in the implications of that photo were humongous—if she wasn't there, it would've been easier to assume that Romessa had something to do with the absence of the ring. Still, he and Jessica had gotten into a public argument over that one photo—and the tabloids subsequently wasted no time reporting the photos of that argument, which must've been what Romessa was referring to. "You were there," he responded, eyebrows still furrowed. "Why don't you tell me?"
"I don't know if he knows, but he must know something. And that's why he's benched you, Marco. To punish you." Romessa ran an anxious hand through her hair.
Marco shook his head, then muttered a German profanity under his breath. "Then we have to stop seeing each other," Marco finally spoke. "At least until we're in the clear."
Romessa bit her lip. "Seriously?"
"What do you mean, seriously? He benched me. Do you know how embarrassing that is?"
"I'm sorry that you were benched, but I think you'll live." Romessa pouted. "And how will you fare without me, Marco?"
Marco scoffed. "Until I'm back on the starting roster, you and I are like this." He lifted two fingers, one on each hand, then purposefully made them pass one another without ever touching. "What we have, romantically, is nonexistent."
