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“Do you want breakfast in bed?” Lucas asks a few minutes later, trailing his fingers up and down my back. My eyelids are heavy, and I could easily fall asleep right now.
“Yeah, that’d be nice,” I say sleepily. “I need my morning sickness potion first.”
“Are you feeling nauseous? You’re twelve weeks tomorrow.”
“I am?” I’m a terrible pregnant lady. I haven’t read any books and lost track of time. I did go through a planner I found in Lucas’s office and numbered the remaining weeks. According to a pregnancy calculator online, I should be due right around the middle of June, assuming things progress normally. “And it’s almost December. This year has been…been a lot. Most of it good.”
“I hope you’re considering our whirlwind romance, marriage, and you getting knocked up good.”
“Eh, it’s on the list.” I smile and let my eyes flutter shut. “I love you, Lucas.”
“I love you, too, Callie. Go back to sleep. I’ll make you breakfast when you get up.”
“Okay,” I say, settling back down in bed. Lucas stays with me, rubbing my back until I fall asleep, which only takes a few minutes. I love sleeping in and know these days will soon be numbered.
I wake up an hour and a half later with Scarlet stretched out in Lucas’s spot. I never turned the heated blanket off, and with my hellhound next to me, I’m hot and sweaty. I push the blankets off and pet Scarlet’s head.
“Remember when you were little and fluffy?” I ask her, and she rolls over, giant paws in my face. “This look suits you, though.” Her tail thumps against the mattress. “And I was never a dog person, but technically you’re not a dog.” I lounge in bed for another few minutes and then grab my phone, checking the bookstore’s Instagram account. The Thanksgiving photos I posted got the most interaction in a while, and reading and replying to the comments reminds me why I started this account in the first place.
Obviously, it was mostly a way to get the word out on the store, but I love talking to fellow book lovers from a distance like this. Betty posted a photo of the store busy with Black Friday shoppers yesterday, and she’s already got another post up today, highlighting the staff’s favorite holiday reads.
I should really relinquish all social media to her and give her a raise for the extra work. Months ago, Lucas told me I didn’t have to work. I was “his” before we got married, and he said he’d provide for me. He has a ton of money, after all, and I don’t need to work.
Being a trophy wife might have been on the top of my list when we had to go to a boring career day way back when I was sixteen and attending Grim Gate Academy, but I never thought it would happen or that I’d be happy to sit at home doing nothing. Though I don’t exactly do nothing, and my current schedule is full of demon hunting, curse breaking, and general avoidance of death. It makes it hard to show up for my shifts, and I took myself off the schedule so I wouldn’t put anyone in a bind. Those who know me understand, and those who don’t won’t judge me too harshly if they think I took time away from work solely because I’m having a baby.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, sitting up. “What am I supposed to tell people?” I ask Scarlet. “My close friends know the truth, but other people know I’m married and they know I’m married to a vampire. I can’t exactly go around saying he was cursed and was able to get me pregnant.”
Rubbing my eyes, I get up and go to the bathroom. I fell asleep right after sex, which is something I try not to do. I don’t get sick easily, but my body is more human than ever right now, and a UTI is the last thing I need. I get myself cleaned up, wash my face, take a few drops of my morning sickness potion, and run a brush through my hair. Then I go into my closet, picking out black leggings, tall fuzzy socks, and an oversized black sweater for the day.
I go down the back stairs and smell bacon before I get into the kitchen. The counters are spotless, and there’s a note taped to the oven, letting me know my plate of food is in the warming drawer. There’s coffee in the pot—half decaf, half regular—and I grimace at myself for ruining a perfectly good cup of coffee with sugary creamer, but I just can’t stomach black coffee right now.
“Where is Lucas?” I ask Freya, who’s rubbing against my legs, hoping I’ll give her some of my bacon, which I will. She lets me know he’s in his office, and I take my food and coffee with me, walking to the front of the house. You don’t realize just how big this house is until you walk from one end to the other.
