Page 298 of Ricardo

“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “Not made of glass.”

A muscle works in his jaw. “The doctor said to rest.”

“I will rest after,” I say. “Right now, I want this. I want you.”

I see the battle in his eyes.

The part of him that wants me, that has always wanted me, is warring with the part of him that is terrified.

"I miss you," I say softly.

We've been at each other's sides for days, but he knows what I mean.

"I want to be close to you. Awful things are happening, but this baby deserves to be celebrated. Celebrate with me." I slide my hand into his hair and rise up onto my toes.

He makes a low growl in his chest, and I feel the shift in him. The restraint gives way. He lifts me into his arms with ease.

He carries me to the bed and lays me down as if I am precious. Delicate and irreplaceable. He follows me down, stretching out beside me, propped on an elbow.

He studies me in the dim light of the room.

I feel exposed. Not just physically. Emotionally. I am giving him all of me right now. My fear. My hope. My desire.

I wait for him to speak.

He reaches out and traces the line of my collarbone with his finger.

“You are certain?” he asks, his voice rough.

I reach up and cover his hand with mine, guiding it down, over my stomach, to the hem of his shirt I’m wearing. I push his hand underneath the fabric, letting his palm rest against my skin.

“Absolutely,” I whisper.

His eyes meet mine, and for a long moment, we just look at each other. The world outside this room, with all its violence and uncertainty, fades away. There is only the two of us. And the new life growing inside me.

His hand is warm against my skin, a pressure that both calms and excites me. He leans down, and I think he's going to kiss me again, but he doesn't. Instead, he presses his lips to my stomach, right above where our child is.

It's such a simple gesture, but it leaves me speechless with emotion.

It's a promise to protect us. To love us. To be the father our child deserves, and the partner I need.

Tears prickle at the back of my eyes again, but this time, they aren't tears of fear or grief. They're tears of love. Of overwhelming, soul-deep love.

I close my eyes and just feel.

His lips on my skin as he moves up my body, easing my shirt off as he goes.

I feel safe.

I feel home.

I feel cherished.

When he finally reaches my lips again, his eyes are dark with an emotion so powerful it takes my breath away.

“Amore mio,” he says and captures my lips.

His hands move over my body, relearning every curve, every dip, every inch of me. My own hands roam the hard planes of his back, the taut muscles of his shoulders, the soft hair at the nape of his neck.