“Was there anything in the mail?”
Before I fell asleep, Leka told me he was going to go into town to get the mail.
“A couple of DVDs. A part for that radio I’m fixing up.”
I nudge him with my toes. “Anything else?”
“Were you expecting something?”
“Yes.” I tap him again. “And if you opened my package, I will get my revenge.”
His beautiful lips curve up. “Your Hershey’s Kisses, all 64 ounces of them, are unopened in the kitchen.”
“Your life is saved,” I announce and lie back. I peer through my eyelashes. He’s beautiful to look at, glorious to touch, and delectable to taste. With him in front of me, I forget why I so desperately needed chocolate the other night. There’s nothing sweeter than him. I run my tongue across my lower lip.
He pauses mid-sweep, his fingers tightening around my right calf. “You hungry?”
We both know he’s not talking about food. I smooth a hand over my burgeoning stomach. “When am I not?”
Leka glides upward to rub his cheek against the small bump. “Then we’ll need to feed her.”
“It’s a him,” I correct but pat the top of his head to lessen the sting. Leka’s wanted the baby to be a girl since the moment we discovered I was pregnant.
“Could be a her,” he stubbornly insists. He rises and then helps me to my feet. I’m drowsy from the sun and from the lazy lovemaking we’d engaged in before my nap.
He pulls a yellow gauze dress peppered with bright blue flowers over my head. We laugh because my arms don’t seem to be working properly and keep getting in his way. He finally gets the swath of fabric over my head and then tucks me against him.
I lean into that powerful frame of his and allow him to half carry me into the kitchen, where we find a platter of fresh fruit on the counter and the makings of sandwiches in the refrigerator, courtesy of the part-time housekeeper Leka employed when I found out I was pregnant. The man has read every article on the internet about pregnancy and is convinced that any amount of work is too much. To say that he’s overprotective would be an understatement.
I let him think I’m being lazy and when he’s gone, I get my stuff done. I’ve learned to be very efficient. I bypass the fruit and tear open the silvery bag of goodness. The foil-covered Kisses tumble out onto the counter. I unwrap one and pop it into my mouth. Leka starts assembling a sandwich big enough to feed the island.
What a perfect life this is. My child is growing in my belly. I have a huge bag of chocolate lying by my right hand and my very fine man is standing in front of me with his off-white linen pants hanging low around his hips and his red and white cotton shirt unbuttoned enough that I can see the hard slabs of muscle and the sharp V-line definition where his obliques and abs meet. I shift in my seat as my sex starts to throb. Another side effect of pregnancy is constant horniness.
“Which movie do you want to watch? Italian Job or Oceans 8?” he asks. His head is bent over his culinary masterpiece, so he doesn’t see the need in my eyes.
“Ocean’s 8, of course. Rihanna over everyone.”
The corner of his mouth slides up again. “Rihanna it is.”
I stick another chocolate into my mouth and watch the best movie reel on the planet—the one involving my gorgeous husband slathering mayo over his bread. It’s a simple, domestic scene, but it’s my dream come to life, and that is something better than Hollywood could ever conjure up.
There’s only one thing I’d change and that’s the setting. I rub a hand over my stomach and broach the topic that has been knocking around in my head for the last few weeks. I don’t know what he’ll say. He’s never once shown any dissatisfaction with our current situation. Not many people would. This small patch of land in the Maldives is more beautiful in real life than any picture could convey. The water is so clear that you have to boat out for miles before the bottom disappears from sight. The fruit seems like it is always ripe. The fish are plentiful and the people around us are kind and generous.
If we get the hankering for company, there are several resorts, although they are rarely very busy and the tourists usually keep to themselves. The one thing that paradise is lacking is families. There aren’t many families down here, and with a little one on the way and possibly more children to come, I keep thinking that perhaps the island isn’t right for us any longer.
Paradise is wonderful for two people with no responsibilities, but now that we’re going to have a family, I want to put down roots.