The days since Isla shared her pregnancy news with Dante had been a mix of joy, excitement, and unexpected challenges. While Dante had fully embraced his role as a doting husband and father-to-be, Isla was beginning to experience the whirlwind of pregnancy mood swings. Her emotions ranged from giddy happiness to sudden irritation, and Dante, ever patient, tried to keep up.
One sunny morning, Isla found herself sitting on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed. She glared at her reflection in the mirror, her hair pulled into a messy bun and her robe loosely tied around her waist.
“I look like a mess,” she muttered.
Dante walked in, holding a tray of breakfast with freshly squeezed orange juice and scrambled eggs. “Good morning, bella,” he greeted with a soft smile, placing the tray on the nightstand.
“Does this look like a good morning to you?” she snapped, her hands gesturing at her appearance.
Dante raised an eyebrow, his smile faltering slightly. “You look beautiful, as always.”
Isla shot him a look. “Don’t patronize me, Dante. I know I look like a disaster.”
Dante set the tray down and approached her cautiously, kneeling in front of her. “You’re carrying our baby, Isla. That makes you the most beautiful woman in the world to me.”
She sighed, her irritation melting into guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just… I feel so out of control sometimes.”
Dante cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “It’s okay, bella. Whatever you’re feeling, we’ll get through it together.”
Isla’s mood softened, and she leaned into his touch. “You’re too good to me,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his.
—
By the afternoon, Isla’s mood had shifted again. She stood in the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry with a frustrated sigh. Dante walked in, his brows furrowed.
“Everything okay?” he asked, setting down a stack of papers he’d been reviewing for work.
“No,” Isla replied, her voice tinged with annoyance. “I want something sweet, but not too sweet. And salty, but not too salty.”
Dante blinked, trying to process her request. “So… sweet and salty?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, turning to face him. “But not just anything. It has to be perfect.”
He smiled, grabbing his car keys. “I’ll figure it out. Be back soon.”
Isla watched him leave, her heart swelling with affection despite her earlier frustration.
—
When Dante returned an hour later, he carried a bag filled with various snacks, including chocolate-covered pretzels, salted caramel ice cream, and a box of her favorite cookies. Isla’s eyes lit up as he laid everything out on the counter.
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.
Dante chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Anything for you, bella.”
—
That evening, Isla’s mood swings took another turn. As they settled on the couch to watch a movie, she leaned into Dante’s side, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.
“You’re warm,” she murmured, her voice taking on a softer tone.
Dante glanced down at her, his hand resting on her back. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yes,” she replied, shifting to straddle his lap. Her hands trailed up his arms, her eyes locking with his. “I want you to touch me.”
Dante’s lips curled into a small smile, his hands settling on her waist. “Your wish is my command, bella.”
Isla leaned in, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”
Dante’s smile widened, his hands sliding up her sides as he pulled her closer. He kissed her deeply, his fingers tangling in her hair. Isla melted into him, her earlier irritations forgotten as desire took over.
But just as quickly as the moment had ignited, Isla suddenly pulled back, her hands pressed against his chest.
“Wait,” she said, her tone abruptly serious.
Dante froze, concern flickering in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m too hot,” she complained, fanning herself with her hand.
Dante chuckled, his head tilting back against the couch. “You’re impossible,” he teased, his tone filled with affection.
Isla crossed her arms, pouting. “I can’t help it. It’s your fault I’m like this, you know.”
Dante raised an eyebrow, his hand resting on her thigh. “My fault?”
“Yes,” she insisted, though her lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “You’re the one who got me pregnant.”
Dante laughed, his deep voice filling the room. “Guilty as charged,” he said, pulling her back into his arms.
Isla allowed herself to relax against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for being so moody,” she said softly. “I know I’m not making it easy for you.”
Dante kissed the top of her head, his hand stroking her back. “Bella, you’re growing our child. If anyone has the right to be moody, it’s you.”
His words brought a smile to her lips, and she tilted her head to kiss his jaw. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you too,” he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.
—
The next morning, Isla woke up to the sound of laughter coming from the living room. She wandered downstairs to find Dante and Amara building a fort out of pillows and blankets.
“Good morning,” Isla said, leaning against the doorway.
“Mama!” Amara called, her face lighting up. “Come help us!”
Isla joined them, her earlier moodiness replaced with joy as they spent the morning playing together. Dante couldn’t help but steal glances at Isla, his heart full as he watched her laugh and play with their daughter.
As the day went on, Isla found herself feeling more balanced, her mood swings easing with Dante’s unwavering support. She knew the journey ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with Dante by her side, she felt ready to face whatever came their way.
And as she lay in bed that night, her hand resting on her growing belly, she whispered a silent promise to their unborn child: to love and protect them, no matter what.