Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
Apollo
Rayna is an absolute madwoman when she bakes. I’ve been watching her for an hour, completely entranced by her simultaneous stressed out groans and sweet singing to the music playing low on her phone.
She swears she loves making pastries and it helps her get out of her head, but that sounds like a load of bullshit considering how many times she’s growled at the oven.
One second she’s cursing the name of the inventors of macaron, the next she’s swinging her hips and skipping around like a happy little camper.
Now that her pink macaron shells are in the oven, she’s making some cookie dough to put in the freezer. Apparently it’s something she’s done for Yordan for years. All he has to do if he wants a freshly baked plate of cookies is to pop the pre-portioned dough into the oven and set a timer.
I can’t wait to see the cute little things she’ll do for our son when he’s growing up.
Her stomach has started to grow little by little since her appointment.
As the days go by, I notice it more and more.
Now she has a tiny little bump that I can’t take my eyes off of.
And her tits, fuck, they’ve never looked so full and round. She looks like a fucking dream.
“Try not to hurt yourself as you assault the chocolate bars, yeah?”
She rolls those brilliant green eyes at me, her lips twitching in a smile. “It’s the only way to get proper chunks. Rage.”
I shake my head, laughing a little at the glimmer of joy in her eyes while she clutches the butcher knife. Who the hell bakes with a meat cleaver?
“I hope you can see why I thought there was an intruder in your apartment now.” I nod to the chaos surrounding her. “You bake like you’re in a rampage room.”
She’s unperturbed by the comment, shrugging playfully. “I don’t always go this hard. It’s cathartic, though.”
“Feeling pent up?” I ask, arching a brow. “I thought I gave you plenty of release last night. And this morning.”
Her cheeks tint but she shakes her head. “I’m just frustrated, but not that kind of frustrated.”
When she doesn’t go on to explain herself, I prompt her to do so. “And what kind of frustrated are you, love?”
My wife groans, an unmistakable pout pursing her lips. “It’s dumb.”
“I doubt it.”
“It is,” she insists, setting her knife down.
Pouring the chocolate chunks into her mixing bowl, she folds them into the dough and sighs.
“I keep getting these annoying food cravings and they’re pissing me off.
I’ve been pregnant for months without knowing, and now that I do, I can’t stop thinking about all the food I want to eat.
And I want it the second I think about it. ”
“I’m fairly certain that’s quite normal—”
“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head hard. “Why now? Why didn’t they start before I knew? These are placebo cravings. They aren’t real, this is my brain being greedy and wanting an excuse to eat whatever I want, when I want it. It’s ridiculous.”
I can’t help the laugh that rises up in my throat. “You’re so fucking cute.”
She gapes, lips popping open into an O. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Baby, you can eat whatever you want, when you want it. Even if you weren’t pregnant. You’re allowed to have cravings. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you. You don’t need to brutally bake to ignore the desire for whatever food you want.”
She looks down with a frown. “You think so? It doesn’t seem greedy or ridiculous?”
“I swear, the things you worry about sometimes.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Tell me what food craving has you so worked up that you had to furiously make macarons in the middle of the day.”
Rayna sighs, looking down at her cookie dough.
“I want thin and soft french fries. Not soft like the shitty oven-baked ones, but soft like the ones you get in your basket of fast food fries that are wiggly, salty, and fucking delicious. And I want them with a bucket of sweet and sour chicken. Not fried chicken wings or drums or breasts, the crispy little golden nuggets of joy you get at a Chinese takeout place. The kind that comes with that bowl of neon red sauce that’s too sweet and sticky to be healthy. ”
I have to smother a smile, listening to the detailed way she explains her craving. I could practically hear her drooling as she spoke. “It seems like you’ve been thinking about this more than just today.”
“I’ve been dreaming about it, Apollo,” she groans. “Don’t make fun of me. I can’t make it go away.”
“I would never.” I hold up my hands. “I’ll get you your food, love. Finish up here, get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
“I love you.” She sighs, sniffing back emotion. “You’re so good to me.”
My heart gives a loud beat, still becoming familiar with her lips forming those words. “I love you too, micina.”
When I come back from picking up my wife’s food, the kitchen is spotless. I was only gone for twenty minutes, but she cleaned up all of her mayhem, and even finished filling her macaron. They’re all stacked in the middle of the island counter, towering on two decorative plates.
I find Rayna in the living room, changed into an oversized T-shirt, tiny cotton shorts, and fuzzy socks. She has a thriller cued up on the TV and a shiny look of excitement in her eyes.
“I can smell it from here.” She holds her stomach, watching me as I carry over two bags to her. “Did you get yourself something so you can eat with me?”
“I did,” I confirm, passing her a tray to set her food on so she can eat where she sits.
I’ve come to learn that Rayna doesn’t like eating alone, especially if it’s take out.
She hates to feel like she’s the only reason food is being bought.
I don’t know why, but I don’t mind accommodating it either.
“Here, love.” I put her items down and press a kiss to her forehead. “Eat up while it’s still hot.”
She claps her hands together, doing an excited little dance into the couch. “It looks so good, oh my gosh.” As gasp leaves her as she gets a closer look. “Did you separate the fries? So many of them are soft!”
“I did my best,” I confirm, grabbing my own container and sitting a cushion away from her to give her space. “I got you a coke, did you want something else?”
“Coke is perfect.” She takes the soda and inhales a large gulp, sighing happily after she swallows. I watch in awe as she moves onto her food. My wife devours a handful of fries and groans. “So good. What did you get?”
“Pepper steak,” I respond as she tears open her box of chicken. She dunks the first piece into her sauce and pops it into her mouth while closing her eyes to bask in the first taste.
“Oh my Goooood,” she moans, taking another bite and chewing slowly until she swallows. “This is the juiciest, crispiest, freshest sweet and sour chicken I’ve had in my whole life. I’ve had less euphoric drunk munchies than this. Just…holy shit. I’m so fucking happy.”
Dipping another fried bit of chicken into her tub of bright red sauce, she opens her mouth with lidded eyes, tossing the whole piece inside.
“I could eat this chicken off your abs and die happy, Apollo. Seriously, is this some kind of exclusive Chinese restaurant that only rich people have access to? Because I’ve never had chicken this good.
I want to absorb it into my bloodstream. Get me an IV of this chicken.”
“I’d prefer to keep fried food off of my bare stomach, thank you,” I say with a chuckle. “And no, the restaurant isn’t exclusive, or expensive. That container and the sauce was eight dollars.”
“Eight dollars?” She gulps down her next bite. “They can have all my dollars. I’m going to eat this entire thing. And all the soft fries. God, remind me to do something sexy for you for picking out all the best fries.”
“I will. But promise to tell me the next time you have a craving, micina.”
“I’ll have to now,” she agrees, nodding happily. “I know that you exceed expectations and I won’t be able to resist.”
“Good,” I rumble.
Taking care of her is my favorite thing to do.
Her, and our baby.
Rayna
I’m still full of chicken and fries when it’s time to get ready for bed. I’m almost overwhelmed with how warm and happy, and in love, I am—a feeling that truly can’t be beat. Going into the bathroom to start talking off my makeup, my phone rings before I get my hands wet.
I frown, hearing it buzz and chime. Unplanned calls are few and far between for me. Typically if I’m answering the phone, it’s after texting with Sienna or Jade. We almost always give each other a heads up before going in for a phone call.
Grabbing the device and looking down at my screen, my confusion only grows.
Unknown caller.
I have the instinct to let it ring, and go to voicemail. But it could be Yordan or even Sienna. My brother is supposed to be out doing some nighttime training thing with night vision tech with Javi and Elio. But maybe he’s using one of their burner phones?
Unease has me hesitating, but eventually, I pick up. “Hello?”
“Rayna Todorov,” a deep and chilling voice crackles over the line. “You didn’t think we would forget about you, did you?”
An eerie understanding crawls up the back of my neck, and my throat tightens as my heart begins to race. I don’t recognize the voice directly, but it sounds familiar, and angry.
Something is wrong, really wrong.
“That’s not my name anymore,” I reply stiffly. “How did you get this number?”
“Yes, how silly of me. I forgot that you go through last names like a dog goes through bones.” He laughs bitterly.
“I think a better question is, how did I get my hands on that brother of yours? The Morettis have done such a good job of keeping you two locked away, but there’s always a flaw to exploit if you wait long enough.
My stomach churns and burns, horror flooding me.
“You’re lying! Who the hell is this?”
“I think a brother for a brother is poetic, don’t you?”
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no, no.
“Luis,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.