Don't Explain

twenty five

As morning light streamed through the window, I quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Prince. The room was still, filled with the gentle sounds of his breathing, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my mind. The moment I stood up, a wave of nausea hit me, reminding me that morning sickness was still very much a part of my reality.

I took a deep breath, determined not to let it overwhelm me. After freshening up in the bathroom, I wrapped myself in a cozy robe and padded quietly to the kitchen. I mixed the ingredients for some focaccia with fresh herbs, hoping that the comforting scent would help settle my stomach. The dough rose as I mixed in fresh rosemary and thyme, both the fragrance and the process a welcome distraction from the queasiness that still lingered.

As the focaccia baked in the oven, I moved on to poaching a couple of eggs, their delicate whites swirling in the simmering water. The aroma filled the kitchen, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. I couldn't wait to share this little breakfast with Prince.

Just as I was about to plate everything, I heard a soft voice behind me. "Is that the smell of something delicious?"

I turned to see Prince, his hair tousled and a sleepy smile on his face. "Good morning," I greeted, feeling a rush of warmth at the sight of him.

He stretched and moved closer, the sleep still evident in his eyes but replaced by curiosity. "What are you making?"

"Focaccia and poached eggs," I murmured, motioning toward the oven.

He walked over, wrapping his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder as he peered at the bubbling pot. "You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.

I felt my cheeks flush at the compliment. "I just wanted to make something nice for us. Plus, I figured I could use the distraction."

"Distraction from what?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.

"Morning sickness," I admitted, trying to brush it off with a laugh, but he turned me around to face him, his expression serious.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

"I'm fine, really," I reassured him. "It's just a part of it, I guess. I'm getting used to it."

"Just remember, you don't have to do this alone," he said, his voice softening. "I'm here."

The sincerity in his eyes made my heart swell. "I know. Thank you, Prince. It means a lot."

As he joined me, I couldn't help but notice how natural it felt to have him in my space, sharing these small moments. He leaned against the counter, watching me with a mixture of admiration and amusement as I plated the eggs on the freshly baked focaccia.

"Do you need any help?" he offered, stepping closer.

"Just set the table, please. We can eat on the balcony if it's nice out," I replied, a smile playing at my lips.

"Got it," he said, grabbing plates and utensils, moving with an easy confidence that made my heart flutter.

Once everything was ready, we settled outside on the balcony, the fresh morning air invigorating. I took a bite of the focaccia, and to my relief, the flavors were delightful, the herbs comforting against the backdrop of my lingering nausea.

Prince took a bite of his own and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. "This is incredible," he said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "You've really outdone yourself."

I smiled, a sense of pride blooming in my chest. "Thanks! I'm glad you like it."

As we sat there, the sun rising higher in the sky, illuminating the balcony with a warm glow, we exchanged quiet conversation and laughter. It felt so normal and beautiful, sharing this intimate breakfast together.