Moments: One-Shots || Benedict Bridgerton

Moments: Family Dinner

"Bleurghhh, what is that?" Amelia shudders, looking over at Thomas' food as he sits perched in his little wooden high chair, feeding more of his face than his mouth but proudly brandishing his spoon unaided just before his first birthday.

"It's stewed apples," you respond, "perfectly tasty; you love apples, Amelia."

"Not apple soup," she responds, pulling a nauseated face.

"Eat your chicken, please," Benedict soothes.

"I don't like it anymore," she opines dramatically, crossing her little arms and frowning so hard her whole face scrunches up.

"Yes, you do," he laughs, "you were just eating it."

"Well, I changed my mind," she sniffs and pushes away her plate. "May I get down and play?"

"No love, you have to wait until we are all finished," you reply calmly.

"Whyyyy," she whines petulantly, pouting in rather an epic way. If James is your artist and Isobel is your lawyer, Amelia is most certainly your actress, prone to dramatic outbursts.

"Appdebaba!!!!" Thomas chatters happily, waving his spoon at Amelia, flicking tiny flecks of apple in the general vicinity.

Amelia's little pout cracks, and she can't help the giggle that erupts at Thomas' antics.

"See, my heart, even your baby brother knows polite table manners," Benedict points out.

"Daddy, I don't want more dinner. Can I sit on your lap, please?" She wheedles, already sidling over and clambering into his lap. He will never say no to his babies, and she knows it.

"Just this once," he sighs, knowing he is lying to himself.

"Why can't I sit in your lap, daddy?" Isobel pipes up. "I've been a good girl and finished all of my dinner," she adds, pointedly holding up her plate to prove her case.

"Fine," he capitulates, knowing he will have no peace this dinnertime. Amelia perches on his left leg as Isobel climbs up onto his right. You huff, bemused, as you watch your husband holding both his daughters, unable to finish his meal but looking happier than ever.

"James, what are you reading?" you address your eleven-year-old son, who is now engrossed in a book; he is ignoring everyone.

"The Swiss Family Robinson," he responds. "It's an amazing adventure story."

"That's wonderful, but it is rather impolite to read at the dinner table, my dear," you denote diplomatically.

"I have finished my dinner, but, as you said, we have to wait for everyone else to be done; I thought it more polite to read quietly than complain like Amelia," he replies airily, frowning at his younger sister.

She sticks her tongue out at him, and you watch James pull the exact meh-meh-meh mocking face you have seen Benedict aim at Anthony on many occasions. The resemblance is sometimes frightening.

"Estiplifffff," Thomas adds, spit-bubbling apple all over his face but grinning triumphantly.

You sigh. "I recall a time when I could have dinner peacefully without sudden chicken hating, apple splattered everywhere, and book reading," you say pointedly, but to no one in particular.

"Yes, but mummy, wasn't that time so very boring?" Your tiny lawyer argues from her father's lap.

Benedict chuckles.

"Isobel has a point, my love," he replies mildly.

You look around the dinner table at the five beautiful faces that are your whole world. She's right. As she usually is.

"Mama-mama," Thomas babbles, looking directly at you.

"Did he just...?" you gasp, clutching your hand over your heart.

"I think he did," Benedict agrees, a huge smile breaking out on his face.

"Oh, my darling Thomas!" You exclaim and grab him from his high chair, cuddling him tight, uncaring of all the apple mess being mashed into your dress. "Yes! I am your mama!"

"Mama mama mmm," he chatters again, with a four-toothed grin, wiping his apple-y hands on your cheeks for good measure.

In an ebullient mood, you twirl around with Thomas in your arms until you are behind your husband, both daughters still in his lap.

"You are right, Isobel," you smile at your eldest daughter over Benedict's shoulder. "I wouldn't change this for the world."

Apropos of nothing, except perhaps feeling left out, James leaves his seat and comes to hug you as you stand behind Benedict. He's so tall now that he is up to your shoulder, but you happily wrap your spare arm around him as he curls into you, and you kiss his hair.

And there you stand for a few moments of bliss amongst the chaos, James and Thomas in your arms, Isobel and Amelia in Benedict's.

Benedict tilts back over his chair with a grin, and you can't help but lean over and land a kiss upside down on his lips.

The beautiful moment is broken by the chorus of disapproving noises from your three oldest children at their parents' display of affection, and you giggle against each other's lips.

"Umm a nooooo," Thomas even opines, which has you and Benedict breaking out into belly laughs, foreheads touching.

Some family dinner moments are so very precious.