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Mouse raises her eyebrows at me. “You… cook?”
“Of course, I cook.” I grin. “Do you want to come down to the kitchen with me or do you want me to come and get you when I’m done cooking?”
“Oh, no, sir. I’m coming. I’ve got to see this for myself.” She puts the book down on the little side table and pushes herself up and off the armrest of the recliner I got her. Her belly is nice and round now and because of her petite frame, she looks as if she is farther along than seven months. She’s starting to wobble when she walks, too, and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
If I have it my way, I’ll have her pregnant forever, just because she looks so fucking sexy swollen with our child. She loops her arm into mine, and we walk downstairs together. It doesn’t take her but a few steps to notice that something is up.
“Where are all the guards?” she asks curiously.
“I gave everybody the night off.” I shrug nonchalantly, because really, it’s not a big deal.
“You did?” She looks around like she is expecting a guard to pop out and scare her.
We get to the kitchen where I’ve already set out all the ingredients for parmesan chicken. It’s not a gourmet meal, but that’s not the point. It’s not about making something over the top or expensive. It’s just about creating a meal for the woman I love.
I guide Mouse to a chair, and she sits down, watching me intently as I fill the pot for the pasta with water, salting it I put it on the stove. I move around the kitchen with ease, as if I’ve done it all my life. I grab a knife and start cutting the chicken breast into smaller pieces.
I feel so domesticated, and it’s all because of the beautiful fucking woman sitting across from me.
“Do you want me to help you? I mean, I kinda miss cooking. I haven’t done it in what seems like forever.”
“You can join me if you’d like, and as you know, you’re welcome to cook whenever you want.”
She smiles and gets up and walks around the kitchen island, coming to stand beside me.
She pours breadcrumbs into a bowl and makes an egg wash in another before taking the cut-up chicken from me. I wash and dry my hands after cutting up all the chicken.
I know I should probably turn around and preheat the oven, but I can’t help but step behind her. I snake my arms around her body, resting my hands on top of her round belly. She leans against my chest, her head resting against my shoulder.
She smells of brown sugar and vanilla, like a perfectly cooked dessert that I just want to devour but savor all at once.
“Is this the kind of normal you were talking about, Mouse? Because I could get used to this,” I whisper into her hair.
“Yes, I like having you all to myself. I like us being just a normal couple. I want to go baby shopping and on dates.”
“We’ll make this happen more often, I promise. Someday, we might not even need guards. It will just be you, me, Q, and Adela, and maybe one or two more little ones.”
“You want more children?” Her tone tells me she is surprised.
“Of course. Have you seen how beautiful you are? Now that I’ve seen you like this, I don’t think I can imagine you being anything but swollen with our children.”
“You do make cute babies,” she giggles. “But I don’t know about staying pregnant my whole life. I’m miserable right now, and we still have another two months to go.”
“How about we take it one day at a time.” I kiss the back of her head and she sighs into my touch. She’s so reactive to my touch, to my love, and I know that she is meant to be mine.
We finish cooking together. Our movements are synchronized, as if we both belong and work in the kitchen together every night preparing dinner, and maybe, someday, we will. If I can let go of the control, let go of the crippling fear of someone hurting my family… maybe then, someday, somehow, we can live a normal life.
I guide Mouse over to the leather couch, and we snuggle together. We talk about how Violet is putting the baby shower together, and all the things Mouse still needs to get. I remind myself to take her shopping, just her and I at least once more before our baby girl gets here.
I get the chicken out of the oven and prepare two plates. We eat together, just the two of us in a quiet house. When we’re done eating, Mouse gets up and grabs her plate as if she is about to clear the table. I take the plate from her hand and motion for her to sit back down.
