Page 71 of Forever We Embrace: The Later Years
“No lifting anything heavier than Rosalie,” Quentin says through the speaker. “No moving furniture, no skipping meals because you’re busy, and call me if the nausea gets worse instead of deciding it’s normal.”
Luca glances toward the sitting room, where the armchair has changed positions twice this month. “I said I’d stop moving it.”
“You said you’d stop moving italone,” I remind him as I lower the lasagna onto the table. “That isn’t the same promise.”
His mouth curves as he looks up at me. “I knew you were listening.”
“We were all listening,” Blake says. He lifts his glass toward Luca before setting it down again. “No lifting, no skipping meals, and no pretending the baby isn’t using your bladder as a chair.”
Luca lets out a soft giggle as he lowers his phone beside his plate once Quentin ends the call. “Blake, you’re definitely better at giving orders than taking them.” Blake playfully throws Luca a finger as I rest my hand briefly against the back of Luca’s neck when I pass behind him, and he leans into the touch before supporting the underside of his stomach and shifting closer to the table.
“He also said everything looks normal,” Luca says.
“Normal for you,” Maceo corrects. He fills Luca’s glass and places it within easy reach. “That came with several conditions and another appointment.”
Luther sets the salad bowl between them. “Did he narrow the delivery range?”
Luca shakes his head. “Not enough to give us a date. The baby’s developing more like Rosalie than the twins did.”
I pause with the serving spoon above Blake’s plate. “Rosalie was a little over four months.”
“And this one might be close to that,” Luca says. His fingers move slowly across the curve beneath his shirt. “Quentin thinks we’ll probably make it through the ceremony before the baby decides he’s done waiting, but he won’t promise it.”
Oliver’s voice rises from Blake’s phone, which is propped beside the flower samples at the far end of the table. I forgot he was even still present, the Omega remaining on mute through the appointment.
“Probably is not a word I accept from anyone involved in my event schedule, Luca.”
Luca laughs and reaches for his fork. “Then don’t ask Quentin.”
“I intend to ask him several more specific questions,” Oliver says. “Beginning with whether the Omega carrying the baby should be allowed near furniture he keeps trying to relocate.”
I serve Luca before taking the chair beside him. “He shouldn’t.”
Luca turns his head and kisses my shoulder as I settle. “Traitor.”
I just shake my head as I grab a plate for myself, steam rising from the lasagna when I cut into it again. I take the first bite before checking whether anyone needs another napkin or more water. Luca reaches for his nearly empty iced tea, and my body prepares to move before I stop it. Luther picks up the pitcher, refills the glass, and returns to his conversation with Oliver without looking at me.
Oliver gestures with a garlic knot. “The peonies need more water. I don’t trust a florist who keeps using the word minimal.”
Nicholas moves Oliver’s bread farther from Samuel’s reaching hand. “The florist has a cooling van.”
“That doesn’t mean she understands abundance.”
Across the table, Samuel demonstrates his ring-bearer walk for Bartholomew, lifting his knees with unnecessary seriousness as he crosses the space between the dining room and the living room.
“I’m not gonna trip,” he says. “I practiced.”
James holds the small cushion he designed for the rings. He has added a narrow ribbon across the center and keeps testing the knot with his fingers.
“I shook it really hard,” he says. “The ring didn’t fall off.”
Rosalie sits beside Luca with her crown tipped slightly to one side. One hand rests against the curve of his stomach while she studies the cake sketch on the table.
“The dragon has to be pink,” she says. “Not red. Not orange.”
Luca laughs and kisses the top of her head, one hand resting beneath his stomach. “The baker knows, Rosie. Pink dragon.”
Blake catches my eye from the end of the table, his cane resting beside his chair. He lifts his glass toward me before returning to the argument about flowers.
