The morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of the master bedroom, casting a soft golden light across the room. Dante stirred awake, blinking as his gaze immediately fell on Isla, who was curled up on her side, her hands cradling her large belly protectively. Her features were softer now, her cheeks rounder, and a natural glow radiated from her even in sleep.
Dante stretched, letting his hand rest gently on her hip. He couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. Isla had always been beautiful to him, but now, as she carried their second child, she was radiant.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Good morning,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
“Good morning, my beautiful wife,” Dante replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a boulder,” she admitted, shifting slightly. “But getting out of bed feels like a whole mission these days.”
Dante chuckled, moving to help her sit up. “You’ve earned the right to take things slow. You’re doing the hardest job in the world.”
Isla rolled her eyes playfully. “I’m not sure waddling around the house counts as ‘hard.'”
He gave her a mock-serious look. “Waddling? Isla, you are gliding with elegance.”
She laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “You’re ridiculous.”
Dante crouched in front of her, his hands coming to rest on her belly. “No, I’m in love. And this little one has made you even more beautiful than I thought possible.”
Her heart melted at his words, and she reached out to run her fingers through his thick, dark hair. “You’ve turned into such a sweet talker.”
“No talking here,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to her belly. “Only facts.”
—
As the weeks had passed and Isla’s delivery date drew nearer, Dante had grown more attentive and doting than ever. He made it a point to be home for every appointment, every craving, and every moment she needed him. Isla couldn’t help but marvel at the way he’d transformed. His tough, brooding exterior seemed to soften every time he looked at her.
That morning, as Dante led her downstairs to the kitchen, she noticed the distinct aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
“You’ve been busy,” Isla said, eyeing the tray on the counter.
“I thought I’d try my hand at something sweet for my sweet,” he said, pulling out a chair for her.
“Flattery and cinnamon rolls? You’re really spoiling me, Moretti.”
He winked. “Only the best for my fluffy queen.”
Her jaw dropped, and she swatted at him playfully. “Did you just call me fluffy?”
Dante laughed, catching her hand and kissing it. “I did. And I love every inch of your fluffiness.”
Isla tried to look indignant, but his teasing grin disarmed her. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“I know,” he said smugly, setting a warm roll on a plate for her.
—
Later that afternoon, as Isla sat in the nursery folding tiny clothes, Dante walked in carrying a package.
“What’s that?” she asked, curious.
“A little surprise,” he said, placing it in her lap.
Isla opened the box to reveal a beautifully crafted photo album. The leather cover had their family name embossed on it, and the inside was filled with pictures of their journey-her and Amara playing in the garden, Dante kissing Isla’s belly, and even candid shots of their everyday life.
Her eyes filled with tears as she flipped through the pages. “Dante… this is incredible.”
He crouched beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “I wanted us to have something to look back on. This baby is going to grow up knowing how much they’re loved.”
She leaned into him, her heart full. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I try,” he said with a smirk, kissing the top of her head.
—
As evening fell, Dante insisted they take a walk in the garden. The cool breeze was refreshing, and the sky was painted in hues of lavender and orange. Isla held onto Dante’s arm as they strolled, her steps slow but steady.
Amara ran ahead of them, chasing fireflies with unbridled excitement. “Look, Mama! They’re glowing!” she called out.
Isla smiled, her heart swelling at the sight of her daughter’s joy. “She’s so full of energy,” she said to Dante.
“She gets that from you,” he teased.
“I think she gets it from both of us,” Isla replied, leaning her head against his shoulder.
Dante stopped walking, turning to face her. His hands rested on her shoulders, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “Are you nervous about the delivery?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But knowing you’ll be there makes it easier.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he said firmly. “You’re my world, Isla. You and our children.”
Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she reached up to cup his face. “You’ve changed so much, Dante. I don’t think I say it enough, but I’m so proud of you.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice soft. “You’re the reason I changed, Isla. You showed me what love really is.”
—
That night, as they lay in bed, Dante wrapped his arms around Isla, his hand resting protectively over her belly.
“I was thinking,” he began, his voice low. “What if we named the baby after you?”
Isla turned her head to look at him, surprised. “After me?”
He nodded. “You’ve given me everything, Isla. It feels right.”
Her heart swelled with emotion, and she reached up to stroke his cheek. “You’re going to make me cry again.”
He chuckled, kissing her softly. “As long as they’re happy tears.”
Isla snuggled closer to him, feeling a deep sense of peace. Despite the challenges and the uncertainties, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be-with the man she loved and their growing family.
And as Dante held her close, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, Isla felt a renewed sense of hope for the beautiful life they were building together.