At seven months, the nursery was complete.
Eric had spared no expense. The walls were soft lavender, the furniture was hand-carved oak, and the closet was filled with more clothes than any baby could possibly wear. A mobile of hand-painted stars hung over the crib, and a rocking chair sat in the corner where I planned to spend countless hours.
"It's beautiful," I breathed, standing in the doorway.
"Not as beautiful as you." Eric came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my swelling belly. "Not as beautiful as her."
I leaned back against him, content. "I can't believe we're having a baby."
"I can." He pressed a kiss to my neck. "I've been waiting for this my whole life. A family. A home. Someone to love."
"Someone to love?" I turned in his arms. "You have me."
"I know." His eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way I rarely saw. "But this is different. This is forever. This is a piece of us that will exist long after we're gone."
I kissed him softly. "You're getting sentimental in your old age."
"I'm getting grateful." He kissed me back, deeper this time. "Grateful for you. For her. For everything."
He led me to the rocking chair, settling me on his lap. The chair creaked softly as we rocked, the mobile spinning slowly above us.
"What should we name her?" I asked.
"I've been thinking about that." He was quiet for a moment. "Isabella. After my grandmother. She was the only person who ever made me feel loved as a child."
Tears pricked my eyes. "Isabella. I love it."
"Isabella Moretti." He tested the name. "It suits her."
"She's kicking." I took his hand and placed it on the spot where I felt movement. "Feel?"
His face lit up as he felt the flutter. "She's saying hello."
"Or demanding to be fed. It's hard to tell."
He laughed, that rare, beautiful sound. "I love you, Seraphina. I love this life we're building."
"I love you too." I kissed him softly. "Now carry me to bed. Your daughter is heavy."
He lifted me easily, cradling me against his chest. "As you wish, my queen."