“Maybe the lion fell in love with the sheep. Now he wants her to keep him warm for the rest of his nights.” He brought me in closer, his hands squeezing my ass cheeks.
I blinked up at him. “Did you get that from a book? A movie?”
He stared at me for a beat and then shook his head. There were times when he wouldn’t even touch what I put out there. “Get on, Ballerina Girl.”
Mia loved the rush of the ride—sheweeee’dthe entire time, holding her new toy close to her heart. She was definitely her father’s daughter. Brave. A thrill seeker. I only hoped she didn’t end up wanting to dive with sharks someday.
I enjoyed it, too, until my stomach rushed up my throat and we had to make an emergency stop in a corpse of larch trees. I attempted to bury the evidence in the snow, even the wash I used to rinse my mouth, while Brando shook his head.
“Stop,” he said. “Just get back on. I’ll deal with it.”
“Brando!”
“You worry about all the wrong things, Ballerina Girl. Some animal will come along and eat it. Look, the soup is still warm. You reheated it for nature.”
“Gross!” I lost my stomach again.
He sighed. “I need to call Tito.”
“You know why I’m sick,” I snapped. “Schwangerschaft.I was feeling peaked before. I thought the food would help. It did. But my stomach didn’t agree with the ride. And if you’rethatworried, he’ll be at the restaurant.”
“I’ll talk to him,” he said seriously.
I almost rolled my eyes but didn’t. I was too afraid the motion would make me sick again.
“Look on the bright side.” He kicked some snow at my new mess. “We’re not far from the restaurant. You can refuel again.”
“Ooh, fondue!”
He laughed and grinned the entire way to the restaurant, having so much fun with Mia, both of them mimicking me—“Ooh, fondue!”—when“weee” got boring.
Well, Mia ooh’d. Brando filled in the rest.
Though my stomach still felt sour, the smile on my face couldn’t be erased. I could have sworn I heard an echo of my husband in the sound of this man’s laughter.
* * *
The restaurant was cozy, fires blazing in brick ovens, the warm smells of comfort food surrounding us along with pleasant conversation.
A beatific aura wafted off Brando as he watched me while I ate. If it had beeneat or dieearlier, it had becomeeat or hurtanyone who stood in my way. That someone was close to being my own mother. She kept throwing me daggers. Pregnancy was no excuse to make a glutton of myself, in her opinion.
She wasn’t the one pregnant, though. I’d never felt this ravenous before.
“You know what would be good,” I said as I speared a cornichon. It was on top of raclette and a potato. I’d wanted the fondue, but my stomach didn’t, so I went with everything else.
“‘You know what would be good’while you’re eating something that’s obviously good.” Brando smirked. “It’s a miracle. My wife’s talking about food while eating food.”
I waved him off. “Homemade macaroni and cheese with those artificially flavored crackers.”
“I’m surprisedMatiever let you eat anything artificial.”
“She didn’t. I tried them for the first time at school—in Natchitoches. You remember the ones I’m talking about?” I described them to him in more detail; square baked crackers that tasted like cheddar cheese.
He said the name, remembering the brand. I pointed a cornichon at him and said, “Yes!” He leaned in and stole it from me.
“Ooh, that was low. Stealing food from a pregnant woman.”
He shook his head, but his eyes were lit with an internal fire—if I wasn’t mistaken,hewas glowing.
