Chapter 39
So I’m pregnant with twins… and my husband is being very weird. Not normal weird.
Lorenzo De Romano level weird, which is honestly a little terrifying.
He has suddenly become the most overprotective human being on this planet.
Yesterday he took away my coffee. My coffee. The man who once threatened someone for breathing too loudly near me is now acting like caffeine is a deadly weapon.
Apparently the babies don’t approve of espresso. Traitors.
This morning he replaced my coffee with some herbal tea that smells like grass and disappointment.
I stared at the cup for a long moment, then slowly looked at him. He stood there calmly, like he hadn’t just committed a crime.
“Drink it yourself,” I told him, pushing the cup back toward him.
He pushed it back toward me just as calmly. “For the babies.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “They’re the size of grapes.”
His face remained completely serious. “They’re my grapes.”
I still haven’t decided if I should laugh or throw something at him.
Right now Lorenzo is sitting on the bed beside me with a book in his hands. The title? How to Be a Good Father.
He’s reading it like it’s some kind of mafia strategy manual. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, completely focused, like this book holds the secrets of the universe.
I watch him flip the page slowly before he suddenly speaks without looking up. “Did you know pregnant women need more sleep?”
“Lorenzo,” I say, already annoyed.
He keeps reading. “And stress can affect the babies.”
“Lorenzo.”
“And apparently twins require extra nutritional care.”
“Lorenzo!”
He finally looks up at me like he’s been interrupted during a very important meeting. “Yes?”
I point at the book. “You’ve been reading the same page for ten minutes.”
He closes the book slowly and sits up straighter. “I’m studying.”
“You’re panicking.”
“I’m preparing.”
“You confiscated my coffee.”
“It’s for the babies.”
“They are grapes.”
“They are important grapes.”
I sigh and rub my face, wondering how the most feared man in Italy has been defeated by two microscopic humans.
A moment later he shifts closer to me and gently places his hand on my stomach.
His expression softens immediately. The change is so sudden that it almost makes me smile.
“Two babies,” he murmurs quietly, staring at my stomach like it’s the most fascinating thing he has ever seen.
“They’re not even showing yet,” I tell him.
“They will,” he replies simply, his hand still resting there like he’s guarding them from the world.
After a moment he suddenly straightens again, like he just remembered something important. “I also read something else.”
That sentence alone makes me nervous. “What now?”
He looks completely serious. “Pregnant women should avoid stress.”
“Yes…?”
“So you’re not allowed to yell at me anymore.”
My jaw drops. “You are unbelievable.”
A faint smirk appears on his face. “You married me.”
I grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him. He catches it easily, of course he does, and instead of throwing it back he pulls me closer against his chest. His hand returns to my stomach immediately, like it belongs there now.
Then his eyebrows slowly knit together in concern.
“What?” I ask suspiciously.
He looks genuinely worried now. “The book didn’t say what happens if the babies inherit your temper.”
I gasp. “Excuse me?”
He sighs dramatically. “That poor future nanny.”
Another pillow hits him, and this time he actually laughs. And for the first time since everything happened, the mansion finally feels warm again.
I didn't even know when did i fall asleep in his arm, but then I woke up in the middle of the night feeling something warm around my feet.
For a moment I was confused, still half asleep, my mind trying to understand what was happening.
Then I slowly opened my eyes.
The room was dim, only the soft light from the bedside lamp glowing faintly.
And there he was.
Lorenzo was sitting at the edge of the bed, gently holding my foot in his hands.
He was massaging it carefully, his thumbs pressing softly against my skin like he was afraid I would break.
A small smile rested on his face.
Not his usual smirk.
Not the dangerous one that makes grown men nervous.
This one was soft.
Peaceful.
Almost… shy.
I stayed still for a moment, quietly watching him.
The most feared man in Italy.
A man who commands armies of men and terrifies half the world.
And right now he was sitting here at two in the morning… massaging my feet.
For me.
For the babies.
My heart squeezed a little.
“Lorenzo…”
My sleepy voice made him freeze immediately.
His head snapped up and his eyes met mine.
For a second he looked like a child who had just been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
“You’re awake,” he said quietly.
I pushed myself up slightly, resting against the pillows while looking at him.
“What are you doing?”
He hesitated.
Then he gently placed my foot back on the bed and cleared his throat like this was a completely normal situation.
“You said your feet hurt earlier.”
My eyebrows slowly lifted.
“That was eight hours ago.”
“Yes,” he said calmly.
“And?”
“And they might still hurt.”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Completely serious.
“You woke up in the middle of the night… to massage my feet?” I asked slowly.
He looked almost offended.
“Pregnant women need comfort.”
“You read that in your book, didn’t you?”
He didn't deny it.
Instead he quietly picked up my foot again and continued massaging it.
His touch was gentle.
Careful.
Like he was holding something precious.
“You’re ridiculous,” I murmured, shaking my head.
“And yet you married me.”
I sighed but couldn't stop the small smile forming on my lips.
After a moment he placed his hand gently on my stomach again.
He looked down at it with that same soft expression.
“They will be strong,” he murmured quietly.
“Because they have you.”
My chest warmed at his words.
But then he frowned slightly.
“However,” he continued.
I already didn’t like where this was going.
“If they inherit your attitude…”
I gasped softly.
“Lorenzo!”
He chuckled under his breath.
“Then God help me.”
I grabbed the pillow beside me and hit his shoulder with it.
He only laughed quietly before leaning closer and pressing a gentle kiss on my stomach.
“For my grapes,” he whispered.
I groaned dramatically.
“Please stop calling them grapes.”
He looked up at me with complete seriousness.
“Important grapes.”
I covered my face with the pillow.
This man was impossible.