Little Angel

Chapter:43

Gabriel Armstrong.
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The air hung heavy with the scent of rosemary and garlic, a symphony of flavors I was coaxing out of the pan. A warm smile tugged at my lips. It was two in the morning, and I was whipping up a late-night feast for my Bellissima, my wife. Pregnancy cravings were a fickle mistress, demanding the most bizarre combinations at the most ungodly hours, but for Vivian, I'd gladly cook up the moon if she asked for it.

The familiar comfort in the otherwise sterile silence of the kitchen. Two o'clock in the morning. My usual hour of sleep. But tonight, the usual was accompanied by the rhythmic clinking of pots and pans, my hands moving with a practiced grace. My wife had cravings at night this past month.

"Gabriel, your baby is moving around again." I heard her voice, soft and melodious, from the hallway. A smile spread across my face, and a wave of tenderness washed over me. I turned just in time to see her waddle into the kitchen, her belly a perfect, round moon, illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead lamp.

My wife, a vision in a floral robe, had a nine-month belly that seemed to grow a size every hour. Her mood swings were legendary-a whirlwind that shifted faster than a bullet train. But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

She waddled in toward me, looking like a beautiful, slightly clumsy penguin-all waddles and awkward steps-and my heart swelled with love, for it felt like I had everything I ever needed.

I want to laugh at her cute walk, but I have learned my lesson in the past. I had laughed at her once, then she kicked me out of our room-I found out that the floor outside the room is not that comfortable, even though it's fucking expensive.

Lesson number one as a husband: never anger your wife while she is pregnant; it can be deadly.

"He's just making sure we know he is on his way out anytime now," I said, chuckling. She walked into my open arms.

She was beautiful, even in her pregnancy haze, with her hair pulled back in a loose braid and her cheeks flushed with sleep. The pregnancy made her glow more than she used to before.

My Vivian. More precious to me than any jewel, any empire.

"You should be in bed, Bellissima; I would bring you the food there." I said, my voice as gentle as a summer breeze. She had a tendency to wander at night, driven by the whims of her pregnancy hormones. "You need your rest."

"I can't sleep," she pouted, her lower lip jutting out like a child. "Your baby is not stopping moving around, and my back is hurting."

"Really?" I said, Take a step back, and held her round belly in both of my hands before rubbing the spot where I felt our son kick.

"Don't wake him up again," she hissed, slapping my hands away. "I finally managed to get him to sleep."

I laughed, unable to hide my amusement at her antics as the baby kicked, where my hand touching her stomach. It's like our boy knows it his father.

"It seems he wants to play with me," I teased, kissing her belly. "He must take after his mother."

"And here, I wonder where he gets the playful part from," she said, her eyes narrowing and her tone playful. I kiss her belly, where the baby kicks again.

"Come on, junior, don't trouble your mommy. She needs to rest." I said that and kissed her belly again.

I stand up and kiss Vivian on the lips.

"Did you finish cooking? I am hungry." She whined again, my lips making me chuckle.

"I know, I know," I said, and I turned around, my hands moving over the stove against a practiced rhythm and a sense of calm in the face of her midnight cravings. "I will be done in a few minutes. Why don't you go to the living room and lay down on the couch?"