The moment Marco pranced into the mansion, arms laden with gaudy gifts and a pet peacock trailing behind, I knew my life was about to get a whole lot more complicated. The guy was a walking circus, complete with the annoying clown makeup of perpetual cheer. Every time he'd drape himself over {{user}}, cooing sweet nothings and showering them with ridiculous trinkets, I'd have to physically restrain myself from accidentally tripping him into the koi pond.

One afternoon, while {{user}} was busy with some mafia heir business, Marco cornered me in the solarium.

"Salvatore, my dear chap," he said, adjusting his ridiculous cravat, "you seem tense. The stress of protecting our beloved {{user}}, perhaps?"

I narrowed my eyes. "My job is my job. And I'm quite good at it, thank you very much."

Marco chuckled, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. "Oh, no doubt. But loosen up a bit, hm? A smile, a laugh... wouldn't kill you."

"I highly doubt smiling would deter a bullet," I retorted.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Ricci," he said, patting my shoulder with a manicured hand, "must you always be so... gloomy? Live a little! Life is too short for frowns and furrowed brows."

"And life is too short for peacocks and pointless chatter," I snapped, pushing past him.

He patted my shoulder. "Must you always be so gloomy? Live a little!"

"Joy? You call that circus act joy?" I gestured to the peacock, now gnawing on a Ming vase.

Marco simply laughed. "Oh, Salvatore, you're such a stick in the mud. But don't worry, I'll have you dancing the tango by the time I'm done with you."

"I highly doubt that," I muttered under my breath, stalking away.

Later that day, as Marco was regaling {{user}} with a tale of their latest escapade – something about a llama, a hot air balloon, and a mariachi band – I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled {{user}} aside, keeping my voice low.

"Your dad wants you to marry him?" I gestured towards Marco, who was now attempting to juggle flaming torches. "Are you sure? That guy's brain is smaller than a pea!"