Three months since Gabe tried to take me. Three months since I chose Adrian completely. Three months of learning what it means to be his wife in every sense.
And now, at thirty-three weeks pregnant, our son could arrive any day.
I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains and Adrian's hand on my stomach.
Not possessive. Not claiming. Just resting there. Like he's checking to make sure we're both still here.
His fingers are moving slowly, caressing the skin. I sigh at the feeling. It's nice.
"You're awake," I murmur, not opening my eyes yet.
"I've been awake for an hour."
"Why didn't you get up?" I snuggle deeper into the warmth of his body. It's a rare occurrence that he is still here when I wake up, and I plan to enjoy it.
"It's Saturday." His thumb strokes lazy circles over my belly. "And I'm exactly where I want to be."
I open my eyes to find him propped on one elbow, watching me. His hair is messy from sleep. He's shirtless.And he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that exists in this moment.
"You've been staying home a lot lately," I whisper into his chest. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"Let it be a problem." His voice is firm. "Bianca called three times yesterday. Leo's been handling the shipments. The business doesn't stop just because I'm not there every second."
"But—"
"But nothing. I spent ten years putting business first. Work first. Power first." His hand presses firmer on my stomach. "And I almost lost you. Almost lost him. So if Bianca's pissed that I'm choosing Saturday mornings with my wife over another meeting? Let her be pissed."
Something warm unfolds in my chest. "Adrian Nero, are you being romantic?"
"I'm being practical. You're thirty-three weeks pregnant. Things could happen at any time."
I laugh. "Are you nervous?"
He lifts a brow in challenge. "I'm the heir to a mafia family. I'm never nervous."
This makes me laugh harder, and I fall further into the easy warmth of the moment—until I remember something.
"We need to pick out a name!" I exclaim, sitting up. "We started talking about names when we went shopping, but we never settled on one."
"Shhh." He caresses my hair. "We have time."
I nestle into his side, my belly pressed against him. At thirty-three weeks, I'm not huge, but I'm definitely pregnant. The doctor keeps saying I'm measuring small, that I need to gain more weight. But our son is healthy. Active. He kicks constantly, especially at night.
Right now, he's quiet. Content.
"Italian names," I say. "Obviously. He's a Nero."
"Obviously." Adrian's voice rumbles against my ear. "What are you thinking?"
"I don't know. My name is..." I trail off. "Unique."
"You don't like it?"
I chuckle. "It was hard to spell."
"Something short then."
I nod.
