#hey if Simón can have a car and drive in this story nothing is off the table- let me cook

[hide-in-imagination]

Suddenly all these chokers Ámbar wears could have a whole different meaning to me, like, she could be using these collars to avoid any stupid alphas trying to bite her- Gosh, this omegaverse AU is rotting my brain

[smolfangirl]

A little fresa story V

This is it. The last fresa part. It’s been taking ages to finish, but it’s here now, and I might be a bit emotional. I have lots of people to thank and credit tho, so I’ll save my breath :D

Thanks and/or credit go out to:

@huffletiika for the date night idea and the patience with my attempts at Spanish

My roommate for the actual, very true quote about answering a phone

@miris-xo for, well, everything

A gif from the TV show Bones that I can’t find rn even though I tagged it for this purpose :( but it was my inspo for the scene where Matteo comes home

Also @lutteoheart for the basic idea for the last scene with Aurora, I changed quite a bit, whoopsie

And, dear mortals and bots, one last time: @ac-ars and @sky-girls used the name Rory first. I used my own brain to end up with this name (also because of my roommate who is obsessed with Gilmore Girls and keeps trying to talk me into watching it), which is why I didn’t give them any credit.

Word count: 5.6k

///

“Can I say something weird?” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper. Luna leans against Matteo’s chest, so close to him that their conversation moves on quietly and calm. His hand softly ruffles through her hair while their favorite movie flickers over the TV screen. He ordered their favorite pizza and even lit some candles to set the mood for this special evening.

But somehow, Luna isn’t feeling any of it.

“Weirder than your comment last week? What was it?” Matteo pretends to think, the amused snort impossible to miss. “It’s strange when you pick up the phone and someone answers?” Her idiot fiancé chuckles and wiggles away from the finger she tries to poke him with. “Hey, you have to admit that was priceless. High-quality comedy, even.”

Luna grunts. Moves away a bit, until he pulls her back into his arms with a laugh as warm as her hands when she hides them in the sleeves of his hoodie. “Okay, okay, I’ll let it go. What did you want to say, little moon?”

With a sigh, she stares at the empty crib by the sofa. “I miss her.”

Glancing up at him, she discovers a sad smile on his face. “I miss her too.”

“Does this mean we’re a horrible couple or just good parents?”

Matteo rests his chin on her head, releasing a heavy breath. “I don’t know… but is it too bad if we drive to your parents and pick her up?”

She wants to answer immediately, she wants to grab her jacket and the car keys and walk out of the door. Her leg already twitches towards the ground, because she misses her little sunshine this much. She wants to hold her in her arms and cuddle with her until one of them falls asleep.

But something holds her back.

Something; the dreams, the ideas, the plans that added up for this night during the past days and weeks. It doesn’t matter that none of them received the luxury of turning into reality. As long as she can indulge in his voice when it drops as he’s almost breathing the words, as long as his touch fuels her heart, Luna is fine with whatever they do in those few sacred hours alone.

Or that’s what she thought.

Because in this moment, the house feels empty. Lifeless, almost. Every decision, every minute is about their daughter since she was born, she’s the fixpoint they both revolve around. However, now that she’s being spoiled by her grandparents tonight, Luna’s mind runs all over the place like a Ferris wheel on the loose.

“I don’t know,” she finally mumbles. “I miss her, but this is our first date night.”

“I don’t know either.” A pause. “You know what’s funny? Gastón was so sure we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves, but we haven’t even made out like lovesick teenagers yet.” His lips hover over her, way too pointed. He’s being dramatic, like he loves to be, but it makes Luna giggle, and when she catches a breath a minute later, her shoulders are less filled with tension.

“How about this, chico fresa? You can try to kiss me, and in an hour, we’ll see if we still want to give up and get her?”

Matteo raises an eyebrow, the hand in her hair frozen. “Try to kiss you? Are you planning to resist me?”

“Well, there’s some popcorn waiting in the kitchen…” Luna explains while she struggles to get up. However, his grip on her tightens and with his best smug grin, he leans in to press his mouth on hers, a slow, savoring kiss that says, ‘I know you’re not serious about resisting me’. The second one steals a sigh from her and by the third, she surrenders to the soft movements of his lips.

///

When Matteo lets go of her to finally prepare the popcorn, the last minutes of the movie play. Luna sits through the credits without seeing them. Her mouth tingles from kissing him endlessly, but also from smiling so much. It almost hurts – or maybe that’s just her stomach protesting for a snack or two… (Since when does she feel snacky only two hours after dinner?)

Eventually, she gives in and follows the sweet smell into the kitchen.

Wrapping her arms around Matteo’s waist, she asks him how much longer they have to wait to get the bag out of the microwave.

“Always so impatient, munchkin,” Matteo teases her, without giving her the satisfaction of an answer. She snuggles closer to him and grins, “Except when it comes to marrying you.”

He shakes his head. “Rude and uncalled for.”

“Aww, I’m sorry, my chico fresa. But see, I wanted to talk to you about that anyway, and you just gave me the perfect set-up.”

In a smooth twirl, he faces her to lift her on the counter, so they’re eye to eye. Luna hurries to send him a smile, because if she wants to avoid one thing, it’s any doubt in his mind about her love for him. “I was thinking, what if we, hypothetically I mean, hired a wedding planner? One of these fancy people with lots of connections and the weird talent to make literally anything happen, no matter how extraordinary. Like these tv shows? I mean, we could still focus on Rory without having to postpone the wedding again. It might strain our budget a bit but,” she says, although Matteo doesn’t let her finish.

“You know the budget is no problem,” he replies before he caresses her cheek.

The noise of the microwave cuts through the silence, mixes with the obnoxious pop song from the movie credits. Yet his gesture alone turns this moment into something precious, intimate. Like the popcorn or the DVD-player don’t matter. Don’t exist.

“If you think a wedding planner can help us, we’ll hire one,” he adds.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

This time it’s her who pulls him close for a kiss. And when the microwave gives off a little pling and he attempts to break apart, she waves him off, whispering the popcorn can wait.

Eventually, they stumble back to the couch. Too lost in each other, it’s a miracle already that they’re not dropping their snack left and right. Luna selects her favorite scene from the movie but looses track of it quickly when Matteo starts feeding her and rewarding her for every bite, with a peck on her hand, her shoulder, her neck. She pays him back by throwing a piece of popcorn up in the air for him to catch.

He throws one for her next. Back and forth, it soon turns into a competition filled with laughter until her stomach hurts and her lungs plea for more oxygen.

“Try one more time,” Matteo instructs her, barely breathing after her last failed attempt. The piece of popcorn he catapults into the air hits her nose and falls on her cheek from where she catches it with her tongue. “Not bad,” he presses out in between more hysterical giggles, and in revenge, Luna threatens to hide some sugared corn in his hair.

Shrieking, he ducks. “Mercy on me, please!” he begs, hands lifted in surrender. (Luckily for him, the bowl is almost empty anyway.)

“Hmmm…” Slowly, Luna moves closer to him until his breath tickles her skin. “What would I get for giving you peace?”

“Always so demanding, little moon.”

She rests her head on his chest again to glance up at him with her best puppy eyes. “That’s not an answer, Matteito.” For a moment, he returns her gaze, speechless. Then, a smile unfolds on his lips. “You know, I could show you the final cut of the music video. But only if you promise to not get any of this sticky stuff close to my hair.”

“Deal.”

///

Contigo todo cambió

Veo un mundo diferente

Dejé de sentirme solo

No cerraré mis ojos nunca mas

Estás siempre en mi mente

///

“What do you think?” His voice cracks from all the excitement. His left leg shakes a bit, and the way he looks at her, Luna can’t help but think of Simón’s dog when he watches his leash being taken off the shelf.

She chuckles. “Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I bet you my left skate that there’s at least one gossip magazine that thinks the sunrise after the moon means you dumped me for some other girl. But other than that, I absolutely love it. Your ass in those outfits will have the fangirls go crazy.”

Dumbfounded, Matteo stares at her. His face mirrors the turns and jumps his brain takes, and if Luna concentrates enough she can see smoke coming out of his ears.

A few seconds later, he catches himself and grins slightly. “That sounds like a safe win for you. And horrible news for Rory. Who would even be the one to tell her?”

Silence.

“Oh my god.”

“Did we really just forget about our daughter?”

Helpless, Luna throws a glance at the clock on the wall. 9pm. Way past bedtime for little Aurora, and almost two hours after their mini-breakdown as well. “I think we did,” she whispers.

Matteo looks like he bit into a lemon. “We’re such horrible parents.”

“Oh god, we might be,” Luna agrees, cheeks paler than a moment ago. Guilt takes over, she can’t believe she didn’t think of their chica fresa for one second while goofing around with Matteo, when usually not a second goes by without her daughter being in the back of her mind somehow.

But when her parents bring her over not even half an hour later, a part of her decides this has been the best date night in easily a year.

///

It’s not the right weekend to sit alone in a hotel room with an overpriced bucket of ice cream from the room service while crying to the rhythm of the rain on the window pane. There are other weekends, other days for Luna to sob into tissues until they cover half the floor.

This isn’t the weekend. This shouldn’t be it.

But here she is, lonely yet not entirely alone, while everyone important and famous in the skating community is celebrating in the lobby. If she takes a deep breath and remains silent for just a few seconds, she can hear them shouting and cheering from downstairs.

In a mindless gesture, her hand rests on her belly. Maybe her absence will cause rumors, a drop of gasoline in a flame that’s already smoking. No, it will definitely cause rumors. Since her planned break from the work as Argentina’s most promising skating trainer leaked to the press, they’ve been watching her every breath. Day for day she wakes up to new theories and emails begging for an interview, and the desperate need for a vacation and more time for her family are the nicest speculations the media had to offer.

And the ones closest to the truth.

Luna sighs. If Matteo was here, maybe she’d have a laugh over all the stupid gossip, or maybe she wouldn’t be so exhausted from crying. But he’s back home while she’s here, and there’s nothing she can do to stop the tears from rolling over her face.

Without wanting to, her mind jumps back in time to a competition years ago, the last test leading up to her first ever world championship, where she found herself in a situation painfully similar to her current one.

Back then, she sat in a hotel room just like now, crying on the floor. Back then, she doubted everyone and everything, and mostly herself. She leaned against the bed, sobbing and shaking until her eyes burned and throat dried out. Because of Matteo, because of a fight with him and the break they hastily agreed to take. She cried because she missed him, and because her skate at the final rehearsal for the most important sport event of her life went terrible. Catastrophic, even. Jumps she couldn’t stand, turns she began too late for the music, a fall.

Leaving the rink, she didn’t even know how to look her trainer in the eyes.

And then she cried because that just made her miss Matteo more.

(A week later, Luna had cried once again, tears of joy mixed with the sadness that he wasn’t with her for her victory and that he hadn’t even send a text.)

Now, it’s different. There’s been no fight, no competition and still… the result remains. Luna cries because she misses him, she misses her sunshine of a daughter, she misses all the little drama coming along with having a young family.

With her hormones all over the place, indulging in a distraction seems impossible. No colleague, no idol in the world could make her feel better now. This mood swing demands to be felt, so she’s staring at the hotel ceiling, trying to come up with a solid reason to call her husband during dinner time. Maybe he’s breaking the rule of no phones by the table to wait for her number to light up on the screen?

Luna still ponders over his opened contact when a call comes in.

Matteo.

“Chico fresa, hey, oh my god, what a surprise!” Her tongue almost trips over the letters, earning her an amused chuckle from the end of the line and another teardrop on her cheek. “Hi, my little moon, how are you?”

Her sniff ends in a deep breath ending in a sob, and she’s not sure she can speak. “It’s so nice to hear your voice, you have no idea how much I miss you and… and I…” She stops, blowing into a tissue.

“Luna, hey, are you okay? Hang on, are you crying right now?”

She pauses. Nods. “I miss you, chico fresa. I want to be home, with you. With…”

“Mommy?!” A high-pitched voice filled with excitement creaks through the speaker. Hurried little footsteps follow, and Luna wonders how a heart can both heal and break more at the same time. “Mommy! Mommy!”

“I’ll put you on speaker,” Matteo announces and a second later, Luna can hear their little chica fresa giggle. “Hello Aurora, darling!” She keeps her voice steady, tries to smile. Her baby girl doesn’t need to deal with her homesickness, besides, smiling is almost easy when she imagines Rory’s face beaming with happiness. “Is everything okay? Is daddy being nice to you?”

“NO,” Rory shouts at the top of her little yet powerful lungs, making Matteo wince. “Aurora, you're hurting my feelings here.” Then, her husband declares, “Just for the record, that is still her favorite word that’s not gibberish. She’s a liar.”

A hint of a laugh hushes over Luna’s mouth. Her mood already lifts, the weight on her chest fades and as her hand finds her belly again, gently stroking it, she thinks that perhaps she’s done crying for today.

Little Aurora, however, isn’t as happy anymore. “Coglio!” she yells at her dad, once, twice.

Luna frowns. She waits for a second, allowing her brain to catch up on the meaning, and when realization hits, it’s not so surprising anymore that Matteo remains silent.

“Matteo?”

“Yes, my love?” A casual tone, too casual in fact.

“Was that supposed to be an Italian curse word?”

Silence. Then, a groan. “I used it for Gastón once, okay? Once. He annoyed me so much with his stupid puns and it just kinda… slipped. But since then, she keeps repeating it, while ‘please’ is just too hard for her to say, I guess, since she only heard that one about a million times.”

“You’re…” she takes a breath to scold him, half-serious about the annoyance she’s intending to show. But he cuts her off with a smirk that she can hear all through the phone, which sounds dangerous enough all on its own. “No, no, no, don’t act like you’re all innocent here. I first thought I’d let it slip, you know, to be a nice husband, but now you asked for it, chica delivery. Would you mind explaining to me why your daughter keeps mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like baby talk for your favorite curse word, hm? Because I definitely don’t use it, so you better not give me shit right now.”

Speechless, Luna listens to his ramble.

Matteo has a point, of course, maybe she used cabrón one too many times in front of her baby girl. But to be fair, she never expected him to find out…

“Don’t you have anything to say to your defense?” her husband inquires, chuckling.

She clears her throat. “I mean, I can still blame Simón for teaching her naughty words. You’ve got nothing on me, chico fresa.”

“Ah, that’s where Rory has the whole lying thing from.”

“While it’s your fault she’s as dramatic as you are. If you could keep your dignity while throwing tantrums, you would never stop.”

By the time Matteo gasps in pretended offense, Luna’s grin deepens. The few days apart from him made her long for these silly banters more than she ever deemed possible. At home, not a day goes by without at least one teasing comment in the other’s direction, and over the years she grew as used to it as to the comfort of his touch. Since she arrived here at the conference, stepped into halls too crowded to get reasonable internet connection to chat with him, it becomes more and more obvious to her how much they both enjoy gently mocking each other.

When Matteo begins to argue he’s not that dramatic, therefore his daughter can’t be either, said little troublemaker cries out. He sighs. “Can you hold on for a minute? She’s ready for dinner now and…”

“She won’t eat unless you sing to her?” Luna finishes the sentence. “I told you, she learned from the best.”

“Aww, thanks, babe,” he giggles in a pitched voice, before he pauses and adds, “She is so damn extra. Hm, you tiny troublemaker? Insisting on your demands like the cute diva you are?” In a sing-song Matteo tells Aurora how soon she’ll outdo every spoiled starlet he ever met in the course of his career, but from the content babble that follows, Luna figures dinner won’t be a problem for today. Or for as long as Matteo sings, really.

The next time her husband takes a short break from feeding their chica fresa and complains about Rory’s eating habits, Luna suggests calling his best friend. “You could ask him about spoiled toddlers, I’m pretty sure he can tell you a weird habit or two about Felicia as well.”

“Hm, yeah… no. This is really weird. And I’m not talking about the singing.” He sounds horrified, which brings back pictures of one particular evening where Rory decided to be extremely picky.

And a bit gross.

“Oh boy, please don’t say she wants to eat her veggies with chocolate yoghurt again.” With a glare into the ice cream bucket in front of her, Luna notices her dessert melted and now resembles that yoghurt way too much.

She pushes the bucket away.

“Nope,” Matteo replies, to which Luna breathes in relief. Maybe she can still enjoy her sugar treat, after all. “Trust me, this is worse.” (Or maybe not.)

Taking the spoon out, she licks it, while she wonders what could be worse than veggies and chocolate yoghurt. Nothing comes to her mind, although she’s sure Matteo will explain whatever it is in great, disturbing detail.

Of course, he doesn’t let her down. “Remember when you were full of pride that our baby will be half Mexican and half Italian and said that it will be so cool?”

“Oh boy, please, just make it quick. What did she do?”

“She put spaghetti in a tortilla. Or, forced me to put spaghetti in a tortilla for her.”

“Ugh, what? Gross!” Luna gasps, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. It’s not that late, but she isn’t exactly keen on provoking any attention from other hotel guests, or worse, be heard by the paparazzi lurking outside. Sighing, she gets up to close the window.

Spaghetti in a tortilla, that must be the weirdest and most cliché combination Aurora has come up with so far.

“I know,” Matteo says. “It’s such a disgrace to the pasta.”

///

They stay talking on the phone for easily an hour more. Matteo puts her on speaker as he changes Aurora into her pajama and with a smile, Luna listens to the lullaby he puts her to sleep with.

However, as nice as being part of the nightly ritual is, his silence warns her the moment he closes the bedroom door behind him and walks back into the living room.

“Luna,” he whispers, her name as fragile in the air as a floating bubble. “Are you okay? I didn’t expect you to be crying when I called you.”

“Yes,” she mumbles back. “I just missed you and it got a bit too much.” Laying on the bed, her legs dangle from the edge, draw circles into the air that give her thoughts a calm rhythm to think to. It’s a bit embarrassing to look back on all the tissues she wasted with her crying, especially when the reason was so… not exactly meaningless, but simple.

“Aww, little moon, is the convention that bad? That you can’t be three days without your favorite fresa?”

Luna snorts, although it comes out weak towards the end. “Let your pregnant wife be emotional, okay?”

“But you’re having fun, right? Meeting some cool people who you can show off to with your medals and titles?”

He’s only half serious, but sometimes, Luna wonders if Matteo forgets that she’s not the center of the figure skating world. So far Luna felt like the others were the ones impressing her, not the other way around. She got introduced to people who won everything there was to win, who competed in three, if not four Olympics, who dedicated their whole life to this sport since they were little kids. And yes, she claimed the title as world champion for a few years, and she’s infinitely proud of her Olympic gold medals. But she’ll never be close to achieving legend status like the skaters around her, and that’s okay for her.

“I am having fun,” she admits, quickly smiling, yet carefully as to not let it slip into her voice. “You know, it’s actually nice to be more than just your wife for once. No one really cares about you here, or only very little.”

No reply, not even a snort. Just silence.

“Your ego can handle that, right?”

///

When Matteo unlocks the door, he swears he’s going to fall on the sofa and won’t move again until it’s time to go to bed. Interviews tend to be fun, but Jazmín didn’t interview him, no, she interrogated him. Squeezed him like an orange for breakfast juice, and now he feels drained of every last bit of energy. Not even blasting his favorite songs on the ride back home helped to forget her over-excited laugh or the never-ending questions, about the meaning of each new song, about Luna, about his family.

Just the thought of having to promote this episode next week makes him want to delete every single social media account he has.

With a sigh, he slips out of his jacket and loudly announces to Luna that he’s back. No answer, instead, silence greets him. Perhaps she’s napping somewhere, wouldn’t be the first time, although jealousy stings him at the mere thought. Not only can Luna spend more time with their chica fresa, she also manages to doze off before dinner, yet doesn’t struggle to fall asleep at night while Matteo can only dare to dream about day-time naps.

If you ask him, it’s not really fair. (But he chose this, after all.)

He trots into the living room. Knowing his sleeping beauty, he needs a solid plan to wake her up, but all ideas fall short as soon as he discovers her on the couch. The view in front of him surprises him, charms him, all while a warm fuzzy sensation lingers in his chest.

He might have expected his girls to be asleep, but he didn’t expect them to be asleep together. Luna’s hair is spread out over her shoulders, head supported on the cushions and her mouth opened just enough to give his wife a peaceful (and maybe a little bit dumb) expression. On one side of her, Matteo spots an open book, little Aurora’s favorite, a story full of tiny adorable animals and terrible rhymes. Too many times did they read it to her until her eyes slowly fluttered shut, too easily can he recall those lines. But it doesn’t quite matter, not when his daughter rests against Luna’s still growing bump, snoring gently.

It’s the cutest thing he has seen all week.

They neither wake up from his soft hello kisses nor from the picture he snaps for the next family collage. Only when dinner warms up in a pan and the delicious smell of risotto fills the room does Luna join him.

“I didn’t notice you were home,” she mumbles, hugging him from behind the exact moment the baby decides to kick. Right into his back. It doesn’t really hurt, but Matteo winces anyway. “Damn, this one’s definitely a troublemaker.” A short kiss for his wife and he leans down to gently follow their little one’s movements. “Hm, tiny peanut? Hello to you too.”

“You know it’s weird how you say peanut when it feels more like a watermelon.”

He chuckles and checks how much the risotto heated up. While he feeds her a spoonful, he replies, “I’m not gonna call our baby a watermelon just because it’s more accurate. You were the one who suggested to wait with the name and all. So, peanut it is.”

“But why peanut? Why don’t you say… I don’t know, raisin?”

“Because raisins are gross, duh. They’re the wrinkly grandmas of grapes, I’m not eating that.”

Luna chuckles as she shakes her head. “You’re not supposed to eat our baby.”

“Sometimes I get the feeling you think I’m stupid,” Matteo pouts, earning him a soft pat on his cheek. It’d be a cute gesture if it wasn’t for her answer. “Only sometimes?”  

“Haha, you’re so funny, Valente.”

She sticks out her tongue at him.

Matteo sighs in surrender, then changes his mind. “So, since we’re talking names now, what do you think about Violet Drizzle? Or Sven Olaf?”

“Sven Olaf? Like from Frozen?” With the nod he gives her, his wife seems to realize where this is going.

She pops her finger bones like she’s about to step in the ring.

“Sure. Why not Misery? Or what about Ben Jerry? Unicorna?” Rolling his eyes, Matteo tries to shake off the laughter. Fails. Coming up with ridiculous baby names isn’t hard, he knows too many celebrities and their children, but he didn’t expect Luna to play along so quickly. (And fairly, so brilliantly.)

Within the blink of an eye, he follows her suggestions with five more. In the span of three minutes, they’re bickering like it’s the most important competition of their lives. Ideas are traded back and forth, and so is their laughter.

But none of their names clearly outdoes the others, and they’re both too stubborn to surrender. Except when he’s about to suggest a draw, Luna makes him laugh so hard he almost burns dinner.

His wife snorts, although the huge grin on her face gives her away. “Jeez, chico fresa, if you’re as careful with Fresa Risotto as you are with our dinner I might have to raise my kid alone.” Snatching the spoon out of his hands, she shoves him towards the sofa. “Why don’t you just go and wake Aurora up? She asked about you all afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes before he caresses her bump one last time and leaves the kitchen, grinning. His daughter already blinks her eyes open at him.

She’s tired. Still tired and clearly confused and not quite landed in reality yet. Once the last shreds of sleep let go of her, though, she squeals and claps her hands in excitement. Just like her momma, Matteo thinks as he picks her up to press a kiss on her forehead.

Aurora beams with joy.

“Hello, my sunshine, did you sleep well?” When she babbles something that he assumes to mean yes, he asks if she wants to be a little airplane. Of course, Rory nods – she’ll never say no to her favorite game after all.

When Luna calls him for dinner, he’s still whirling his baby girl around and around and around.

///

“Did you call Simón today?”

He’s sitting in front of the couch, Aurora on his lap. Since her favorite toy disappeared without a trace, she’s been whiny, but cuddling with him distracts her enough to give Luna time to find it.

His wife nods. “Yeah, he sounded really excited to be back on tour. Greetings from Pedro, by the way.”

“Thanks. Did you talk to him, too?”

“No,” she replies, and sighs when Rory’s little plush cat remains nowhere to be found. “We weren’t on the phone for long, Simón seemed kinda… busy.”

Matteo sends her a look. Usually, they ended up chatting for hours especially on a day like this, with no concert in the evening. “Huh?”

His chica fresa plants her hands all over his face. When he kisses her little sneaky fingers, she giggles. “Come on, Matteo,” Luna meanwhile groans at him. “I told you about Emma and him. You said he obviously had a type and all. Now, if I could just find this stupid kitty…” Before he gets a chance to remember Emma, Luna waddles out of the room.

Matteo prays she finds the plush toy quickly. He wants his intel, after all.

///

She’s clumsy. Not normally, all this training to become a world champion wasn’t for nothing. But her bump makes it hard to navigate her own body sometimes, and she can barely spot her feet. Can’t spot them at all, to be correct.

So, of course she stumbles over the bright red plastic car on the floor.

Matteo blinks at her confused, then breaks into laughter. She tries to catch the kitten in her hand, almost catches it. Accidently throws it up into the air again, reaches out again. Ultimately fails, because it’s keeping her balance or the plush toy.

Her husband still laughs. “Don’t bother,” he manages to get out once she tries to bow down enough to grab it. (Her belly. Naturally. She feels like a walrus.)

But it’s not Matteo who picks the kitty up or presses it against his chest with a cry of joy. It’s her daughter, who must have escaped her daddy’s grasp and now clutches her fingers around the worn out plush. Dragging her regained treasure along, she crawls back to Matteo before she sits down to stare at Luna.

A frown appears on her forehead.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Luna asks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find Mr. Whiskers earlier.”

Rory stares. And frowns. And stares. The grin on Matteo’s face slowly dies.

“What are you planning, fresita?” he whispers, although too late. One last skeptical glance and their baby girl tosses her cat into the air and watches it fall down.

Matteo is rolling on the floor. “I can’t believe I have two Lunas now,” he pants before losing his breath from all the laughter.

Rory beams with pride and repeats it a second and a third and a tenth time.

///

He makes it up to her with a massage. Their little sunshine is dozing off in her bedroom, their favorite show flickers over the TV screen and he even prepared a hot chocolate for her.

“Didn’t you want to tell me something about Simón’s new blondie?” he asks so casual that she’ll probably figure he’s been thinking about it for at least an hour.

Rolling her eyes, Luna gently slaps his arm. “Rude, chico fresa. Emma might be blonde too, but she’s not like Ámbar.”

“You still meant to tell me.”

“You’re right, I was.”

He presses a kiss on her neck. Maybe she’ll scold him for setting her up on a distraction without letting her finish, but her skin is warm and soft and he’s just a man who loves his wife a bit too much. (To his surprise, she even robs backwards on the couch until she lays against his chest.) “So,” he whispers into her ear, “how do I know Emma?”

“She spent a few weeks in the Roller back during my last year of school, remember? I think they met up during the promo gigs or something.”

“And they’re good together?”

Luna tilts her head for their eyes to meet. She smiles. “I’m pretty sure they’ll marry each other one day.”

His hands wrap around her bump. Carefully traces the baby’s little kicks, while he thinks if Simón was half as happy as he feels, the guitarist would get incredibly lucky. “You believe he might overthink what he said about not wanting to get married ever?”

“Sure,” she smiles, again, and steals a kiss from his lips. “That was after Ámbar, after all. Emma is different. And you know him, he’s an old romantic.”

“Like me.”

“Nah, you’re just cheesy.”

Offended, he gasps. But in the totally not fake dramatic argument that follows, they both think how they wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the whole wide world, because as long as they’re together, everything will work out fine.