Man Size Meatballs
Eighteen months had gone by since your great escape in Riga. You and Helmut didn't quite have to hide like you once did - not after the unfortunate events in Moscow in which the two of you had an absolutely awful run in with the mafia, to which your bodies were later publicly identified in the Moskva River. New identities in tow, not that you asked how he did it, you were free to live your lives. You maintained your own nationality under a new name; Helmut took on the role of your ‘loving German husband’.
You had grown out your hair, even adding new shades to your locks to help change your look. The Baron kept the beard and let his own hair grow a bit longer than he used to. He never complained when you ran your fingers through it constantly; in fact, it drove him nuts when you'd tug on the strands.
Now you sat on the most luxurious couch in a penthouse flat in New York City. Zemo had some things to take care of in his office so you were catching up on American television. You sipped a cup of tea as you watched. Occasionally you would pull out your phone to text Helmut.
You: Juniors mini cheesecake holiday assortment (1:42pm)
You: 24” plug in nostalgic light up tree - green (2:16pm)
You: Retro bluetooth speaker - blue (2:57pm)
Baron 💜: ? (3:02pm)
You: Lladro crystal candle holder set (3:39pm)
You: Philosophy shower gel - Bubbly & Cinnamon Bun (4:03pm)
Zemo’s curiosity had peaked. Wrapping up his work and closing his laptop he went to find you. You sat in the living room, brows furrowed in concentration, as you watched some sort of infomercial. “What is all this nonsense you’ve been texting me, schatz?” He sat down and flipped the fallen hair out of his eyes. “And what are you watching?”
“My wishlist - it’s the Christmas in July sale on QVC. I used to get drunk on cheap liquor and watch it with my friend when we were in undergrad,” you explain.
“Ah, so you are one of those people.”
“Says the man that routinely drops hundreds of dollars on bottles of wine, and had no idea what this even was.” You point to the screen. “This is what us non-royals do for fun, Baron.” He hums through his smirk.
“Oh my god look at those, ugh,” you moan. The most delicious looking mozzarella stuffed meatballs were being displayed now. “Please…” Helmut looked at you from the corner of your eye. He watches as you pull out your phone, type something, then toss it back into your lap. A second later his own phone dings -
Schatz: Mama Mancini’s stuffed meatballs (4:21pm)
He chuckles. “I am sitting right next to you? You don’t need to text me.”
“But I don’t want to forget about it later. I mean look at those things! God, they’re man sized meatballs! With cheese!” you gesture to the man showing off the sauced Italian dish.
“You know they make these things look better than they actually are to entice you to buy them, yes? I could literally buy you anything your heart desires, but you want television meatballs?”
“So?” you defend.
“Schatzi, they are probably terrible.” Your Baron is openly laughing at your antics now.
“Let me live my life, Zemo!” you quip with an exaggerated finger wiggle.
-
Two weeks later you open the fridge to a case of those stuffed meatballs.