Golda

***Completed***
"I'll marry you if you promise to kiss me every day."
On the harrowing day she lost her family, out of all the men she knew, Marcella didn't expect those words from "Sweet Baby" Tony. She thought he was not interested in her.
She had to ask him for the marriage as she wanted to fulfil her sister's last wishes. 
She got married the day she suffered a horrifying loss.
Don DeAngelo's youngest daughter became the wife of Antony Crawford. 
She didn't wait to think why he wanted to marry her when every men she knew wanted her for who her father was. She trusted him that much. 
But in a day, she learned that Tony was not so different from other men. 
What choice can she make?
She can throw away the marriage and lose custody of her nephew, or...
She chose to be married to him. Their marriage can be a deal. She needed him, he needed her. It's all fine. 
Except...
What does Tony feel? Is their marriage all but a business transaction for him? What is the secret he is hiding? Why can't he reveal it to her?

-----
*Excerpt*

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell," she said looking into his eyes. The alluring mystique behind those blue eyes made her heart skip a beat. 
How can she hate and love someone this much? She must be missing a part of her brain.  
In the silence of the dining room, the candle flickered. The curve of his lips widened and in the romantic ambiance, the thin lines around his eyes gave her a thrill.
"Quoting Oscar Wilde?" he chuckled comfortably, leaning forward. 
"Isn't that true in our case?" she asked.
She observed him, trying to digest every single expression on his face. 
He went silent. His lips pressed to a line. His pensive eyes never left hers except for the few seconds when he placed down his cutleries. She still couldn't guess what goes on in that smart brain of his. 
It is this, she thought. I am a decently adventurous person. He's an adventure. Maybe that's his allure!
"Then, Birdie," he stood up and walked to her.
Marcella's back got stiff as she tried to figure out what he was going to do. 
Also, is that a pet name? Birdie?  It's nice. But that came out of nowhere...
She followed him with his eyes. He kneeled beside her and held her hand. Only when she felt the warmth of his big hand on hers did she realize that she had been holding her breath for a while. 
This man is going to be the end of her. It sucks when he does not feel even half of what she feels. 
"Let's be angels," he kissed her hand. With a smooth smile that reached his eyes, he looked at her. "Let's be each other's angels, and let's make this world our heaven."
"You are..."
Unable to find any words to say to him, she buried her face in her hand. Her chest was heaving as if she ran a marathon.
This man surely is going to be the end of her. 
"What?" he chuckled while teasing her to show her face. "What am I?"
"You're a brute, Mr. Crawford. That's what you are," she said trying to hold her stoic expression to relay her "disapproval" of his methods. But in front of his goofy smile, she lost. 
She lost, and she didn't feel defeated. 
She felt delighted in his presence.
"Mark my words, Birdie. I am taking you to the White House," he said.
Marcella opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. The determination shining in his eyes...
He's not talking about a visit to the White House, is he?
No way! No f*cking way!
Her eyes widened. But he was smiling sweetly as always. He stood up and leaned to her ear. 
"Let's have today's kiss on the bed," he said.
Before she could form a resistance, he picked her up and walked up the stairs.
Again, Marcell pondered the one question she's been asking a lot lately. 
Whom did I marry?
-----

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🔊📖THE ARCHDUKE'S SONGBIRD  

"Is he asleep?" Tony peeked through the crack in the door. Making sure that the baby was sleeping, he opened the door wider. "Dinner's ready."


Marcella nodded. He was dressed, thankfully. But he was rather overdressed for dinner at home. He was wearing his formal shirt and trousers. His hair was slightly wet and messy. The contrast brought out a childish charm. 


Marcella averted her eyes. She couldn't ever see him as nothing but charming. She couldn't understand it. Was it a curse? Is first love that powerful? 


"You cooked all that?" she asked seeing the spread on the table.


There was meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas, beans, an apple pie, and wine, of course. 


"From scratch, except for the pie. Didn't want to poison you by cooking desserts," Tony smiled and pulled the chair for her.  


Marcella took a bite. "It's good," she said. "Perfect…" 


"I remember my dad cooking dinner for us all the time. Do you?" she asked. 


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