"Piccolino"

Merda. Pass the ball, stronzo... Ah, damn.

Fucking Germans.

My phone buzzes on the couch beside me. The family whatsapp group is exploding with outrage. Italy's out. Minchia. No FIFA World Cup finals for us.

Luca: pompinari. non riescono nemmeno a passare la dannata palla

Natalia: Sono inutili come voi stronzi

Gabriel: Leccami il culo, Nata

Yeah, it's before 11 am on a Sunday morning and the insults have already started.

I roll my eyes, take a breath, stare dejectedly at the screen before clicking the TV off.

"Uh... Nero?"

Rosalyn makes her way towards me, a small, soft smile lighting up her gorgeous face. She hasn't been feeling well lately, so I told her to get some more rest this morning. She doesn't care much for soccer anyway.

"Hey, dolcezza. Feeling any better?"

"Mm." She climbs onto my lap so her little white nightgown flutters over our hips. She wraps her slender arms around my neck, buries her face in the crook of my shoulder and takes a long whiff of me. Dio santo. She fits so perfectly in my arms that I know she was always meant to be here. "How was the game?"

I crack a dry smile. "We lost." Her tone is light except, as I study her, I can tell from the set of her shoulders and the preoccupied look on her face that something's not quite right with her. "What's wrong, cuore mio?"

She rests her soft hands gently on my shoulders, sifts her fingers into the back of my hair, bites her lip and looks at me with wide, bright eyes and... uncertainty? Excitement? I can't even tell. Normally I can read her pretty well, after two years of marriage and everything that came before, but I can't figure out exactly what I see in her expression this time. "I have... some news for you," she breathes, her sweet voice going all hoarse and fluttery in a way that makes my heart pound faster in my chest.

I rest my hands in the dip of her waist, feel her exhales fall softly against my face as she gazes back at me, looking so... vulnerable. Damn, now I'm worried, racking my brain for all the possibilities I can think of. "Everything okay, carina?"

She purses her lips together, trails a path across the stubble of my jaw so it scrapes against the tender skin of her fingertips. "I know we haven't really talked about it, but..."

My eyebrows furrow with confusion as I watch her, wait for her to just tell me whatever has her so anxious and timid. "Tell me, gioia." I stroke the back of her silky light-brown hair. Merda, I have so much love for this woman that I can't fucking stand to see her unhappy, even for a second.

A shaky breath before she whispers, "Nero, I... I'm pregnant."

For a second, I'm sure I must have heard her wrong.

The words ring through the air around us and she stares at me, lips parted, watching for my reaction, and I stare at her, probably looking a little dazed and surprised.

For some reason I'm completely blanking right now. She's pregnant.

Say something, you testa di cazzo...

Nothing comes out of my mouth.

Oh, fuck, there are tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whimpers. "I know we never planned for—"

The worry twisting her face breaks my fucking heart to pieces. "Amore mio..." I finally rasp. I grip her head in my hands, tilt her back and stare into those stunning hazel eyes. Brown and green and grey and copper, shining back at me with uncertainty and apprehension. "Rosalina. La mia vita. Don't apologize. I'm sorry. You just took me by surprise." I don't know exactly what to say so I just press my mouth tenderly to hers, hold her tight, feel her soften and melt and yield beneath my touch.

La mia anima. Ah, damn, I can taste the salty wetness of her tears against her sweet lips. I pull back and wipe the dampness away from beneath her beautiful eyes.

"Are you... happy?" she asks shyly, sucking her bottom lip distractedly into her mouth. She looks so innocent and angelic... My heart squeezes so tight in my chest that I can hardly breathe.

I nod vehemently, pulling her tight against my chest and burying a hand into the back of her hair. She presses her lips softly to my collar, her eyelashes a teasing flutter against my jaw. "So fucking happy, tesoro."

I can't fucking believe it. She's pregnant. With child. Our child.

Dio santo.

A hundred muddled thoughts swim around my head. So many feelings and emotions.

I... What the fuck do I even know about being a father? About being a parent?

My own father was... complicated. Our relationship was certainly not normal. Not what I would ever want for my own child.

My chest feels so heavy. Porca troia.

I don't know what to do right now, what to think.

Rosalyn. Amore mio. She's probably so scared, so nervous. I just want her to be happy, to feel safe.

I keep her firmly wrapped in my arms, lift her up with me as I stand. She winds her legs around my waist and I carry her to our bedroom, to our messy, unmade bed.

I rest her gently down so her head touches the pillow, hover over her, nudge her nose affectionately with mine. She arches her head so our foreheads can press together. "I love you, Rosalina," I grumble against her mouth. "You'll be an amazing mother."

Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears and she gifts me the sweetest, brightest smile, holding my head in those small hands of hers. "You're gonna be such a good dad, Nero. I know... I know you're probably scared and... shocked but..." More tears spill from the edges of her eyes and I kiss them gently away. Fuck, my heart is aching. "But you're... an incredible man, Nero. You're a wonderful husband, and... the love of my life and... I know we can..."

I capture her mouth because she's close to sobs and I can feel my own eyes stinging, my throat growing raw. Cristo. She knows me, knows about the shadows from my past, about the things I've tried to leave behind me, about the little doubts and insecurities that still lurk in the darkest parts of my mind. We've been through so much together. Built a new life together. Her and I.

Not just her and I. Not anymore.

"We'll do this together, anima mia. You and I... fuck, you're gonna make me cry, Ros."

She giggles a little, bowing her spine so her hips press tauntingly into mine. "I know how much you hate it when that happens..."

"How long have you known?" I ask, trying to process it all.

She wiggles her lower half a little against mine and my body floods with heat, reacts instinctively to the warm softness of her curves beneath me.

"I started to have my suspicions yesterday. I picked up a test from the drug store but didn't work up the guts to find out until this morning."

One of her hands floats between us, to settle delicately on her stomach. Oh hell.

She's pregnant. With our child. A piece of her and me, growing inside her. I can't even fucking wrap my mind around it.

I kiss her again, savouring the familiar, luscious taste of her. I trail my lips down the elegant slope of her neck, pressing my mouth against her thrumming pulse.

Her nightdress is so thin and her nipples rise in taut peaks, their colour faintly visible beneath the white fabric. I make my way down her body, pulling the tips of her breasts into my mouth through her flimsy dress. She gasps and whimpers, letting out those shallow, wanton breaths that get me so fucking hard.

Her body that I know sometimes better than my own is going to start changing. I haven't noticed any differences yet, so she can't be all that far along. I make my way down, settle myself between her legs. Her chest rises and falls and she watches me through those thick eyelashes of hers as I push up the hem of her dress, exposing her creamy thighs and the centre of her, covered in a small, lacy pair of panties. Also a bright, snowy white.

Her clothing makes her look so... pure and virginal. Fuck. Except she's exactly the opposite, because I fucked her, debauched her. Filled her tight, warm fica with my seed, countless times, and impregnated her. The primal part of me takes a strange, satisfied pride in the idea of it. A wave of possessive, protective hunger floods through me as I take in the sight of her, flushed and out of breath and spread for me.

I slide the short, pale, flowing skirt up above her stomach and my eyes are drawn to her flat belly. My child, our child, is a tiny, growing speck in her womb. Fuck.

I press my lips to the front of her mound through her panties and she threads her fingers into my hair, ruffling it as I trace a path upwards until my lips graze the tender flesh of her belly button. I suck her navel softly into my mouth, earning me a sharp, aroused breath. My fingertips skim across her abdomen, caressing her torso tenderly, with care. I press kisses all over her stomach and she sighs.

One thing my father never really did was talk to me. Well, he talked to me, but not in the ways that truly matter. I loved him with the kind of fierceness a boy who idolizes his seemingly invincible father would. But it was... messy and sordid and marred with the violence of his job, the danger of his life.

I want things to be different—merda, I need things to be different—with this son or daughter of mine.

It feels kind of stupid but the words seem to come out on their own. "Hey, piccolino." My lips brush the soft skin of her stomach and my voice is low and quiet and gruff as I speak to our child for the first time. "Sono tuo padre."

Rosalyn's hands sweep lovingly through the top of my hair and a small, happy whimper falls from her pink lips.

"When I married tua mamma, I promised her I was going to make her happy every day for the rest of her life. You and I are going to have to work together, okay? Perché è la donna più importante del mondo." I look up to find more tears streaking down her cheeks and a beautiful, effervescent smile lighting up her face. She wipes them firmly away. "And we're not doing a very good job, patatino, because she's crying a lot..."

She laughs a breathless, delighted laugh and assures, "You make me the happiest, Nero. We..." She blinks a few times to hold back the warmth threatening to spill from her eyes. "We're going to have a baby." She sounds like she can hardly believe it either.

She tugs at my t-shirt to beckon me up towards her and then she attacks my mouth with hers, kissing me so deeply and fiercely that I lose my breath.

Her fingers slide beneath the waist-band of my sweats, trying to push them down my legs. We pull off all our clothes until our bare bodies can fit together, her warmth and my warmth, her breaths and my breaths, her skin and my skin, her heart and my heart. I press myself into her—my wife, my closest friend, the love of my life, the mother of my child.

My family.

The truest, safest home that I have ever known.

***

A/N:

Idk what time of the month it is for me, but I cried. Just me?

XOXO Ami

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