As if sensing my pain, the baby kicked hard. "Can you get some for me?"
Annoyance flickered across Dante's face as he pulled his hand away, frustration creeping into his expression. "Those cannoli aren't anything special. Besides, you're pretty far along. You should watch what you eat." Standing up, he straightened his cuffs, the casual authority returning to his posture like a coat he'd shrugged back on. "For the sake of our son, just bear with it a little longer, okay?"
Our son. He was so certain it would be a boy. A Moretti heir. Another name to carry the legacy forward, another generation to inherit the territory and the blood that came with it. He never once considered that the child might be a girl, or that the child might not carry his name at all.
Without waiting for a response, he muttered, "I'm going to take a shower. I'm exhausted. Why don't you call your mother and ask her to make you something?"
The bathroom door clicked shut. Water began to run. The sound of it filled the house, and I sat perfectly still on the leather couch that his mother had chosen, in the estate that his family had built, wearing the ring that bore his family's crest.