Chapter 90 WORRIES OF A MOM.

Chapter 90 WORRIES OF A MOM.
DANTE.
I pulled her into my lap in one smooth motion, and she let out a small sound of surprise. In an instant, my hand was in her hair, and my mouth was on hers, making whatever Noah and Allie were doing in the rain seem like someone else's concern.
She kissed me back, her hands gliding up my chest. I felt her breath against my lips, and that soft moan went straight to my cock.
We stayed glued, her sitting in my lap, both of us taking our time as the living room remained quiet, the lamp's gentle golden light bouncing off the couch and floor while a faint chocolate scent from the strawberries filled our noses.
Then she broke the kiss.
She didn’t pull away quickly. She withdrew just enough to catch her breath, her forehead leaning toward mine, both hands still resting on my chest.
"Baby."
"Mm."
"Can I ask you something?"
Her cheerful tone had vanished, prompting me to open my eyes.
"Don't you find me—" She hesitated before starting again. "My body has changed since Oliver." Her fingers lightly curled against my shirt. "I see it in the mirror every day, and I know it has— the stretch marks, the weight that never fully went away." She avoided looking at me. "Sometimes I get scared that one day you'll look at me and want someone else. Someone who hasn’t gone through all this."
I froze in place.
I moved back and looked at her face. She was looking at my collar. There was no performance in what she'd said. This was the vulnerable version of my wife, telling me the truth about what she carried alone.
I frowned.
"Where did that come from?"
She shrugged with one shoulder. "It's just — always there. I manage it. But it doesn't go away."
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I said, "Stand up."
She blinked. "What?"
I moved her gently off my lap, stood, and crossed to the wall. Clicked the living room light on, the main one, full and bright flooding every corner of the room in clear, honest light.
I turned back to her.
"Take the dress off, Cinnamon."
Her lips parted. "Dante—"
"Take it off."
Her gaze on me was one that showed that I'd  lost my mind. I didn't back down, all eyes on her, waiting.
She waited too, searching to see if this was a tease. When she saw my seriousness, she reached behind herself and found the zip. The red dress slid from her shoulders and pooled on the floor around her feet.
She stood in the full brightness of the living room in nothing but her jewelry and her shoes, and instinctively her arms began to move, an attempt to cover herself.
"Don't," I said quietly.
She dropped her arms.
And I looked at her. All of her.
The soft curve of her stomach did change, yes, carrying the faint silvered lines that Oliver had left behind like a signature. Her hips, fuller than the day I met her. Her breasts. The roundness that motherhood had added and that she clearly spent time in front of mirrors resenting.
I took her in for a long, before looking down at myself.
I didn't need to say anything, because my body had already said it. Visibly, undeniably, straining against the fabric of my trousers with an enthusiasm that left absolutely nothing open to interpretation.
"Look at him," I pointed to my crotch.
She followed my gaze and the faintest color rose in her cheeks.
"That," I said, stepping closer, "is what you do. Every single time. You walk into a room and he already knows." I stopped in front of her, close enough that she had to raise her chin up to hold my gaze. "I need you to understand something, and I need you to actually hear it." I brought my hand up, tracing my thumb along the line of her collarbone, down across her shoulder. "This body—" my hand moved, slow and reverent, fingers brushing lightly over her stomach, over the marks she hated, "grew our son. Inside you. For nine months, this body kept Oliver alive and warm and safe, and then it brought him into my arms." I held her gaze. "And you want me to find it anything less than extraordinary?"
Her throat moved.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever stood in front of," I said. "In daylight. In this light. Every morning when you've had four hours of sleep and you're grumpy at the coffee machine. Every version." I shook my head. "Don't you ever stand in front of a mirror and apologize for this body. Not to yourself. Never to me."
Her eyes had gone glassy at the edges. She pressed her lips together.
I suddenly spanked her.
She yelped and lurched forward, spinning to look at me with wide eyes. "Dante—"
"That," I said, entirely without apology, "was for the trash you were talking about a perfect body."
Her mouth opened. Closed.
I leaned down, close to her ear, my voice dropping.
"Now. Go upstairs to the bedroom, get on all fours." I stood up seeing the surprise on her face with flushed cheeks. Her breathing had shifted completely. "Because I'm going to spend the rest of this night making absolutely sure you never doubt yourself again." I jerked my head towards the staircase. "Consider it a punishment."
Cinnamon looked so lost, the corner of her mouth moving with a smirk. Without a word, she turned without a word and walked toward the stairs with every confidence I had just spent ten minutes trying to restore to her.
I watched her go.
Reached over and switched the living room light back off.
Then I followed my wife upstairs.

Feather-light kisses fell on my face, one by one, touching my forehead, cheekbone, and the bridge of my nose. I kept my eyes closed, savoring the moment and feeling wonderfully rested. After a little while, I reached up, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her down to me in one smooth motion. She shrieked playfully, squirming in my embrace as I held her tighter, burying my face in her hair.
"Baby," she laughed. "You're going to crush me."
"Good."
"Dante—"
"Stay."
She giggled against my neck, the scent of her body wash enchanting me. All I wanted was to hold her like this for the entire day.
Cinnamon pushed gently against my chest. "We need to get ready. I can't be late on my first day back. That would be unethical."
I sat up quickly while still holding her close. "You're really coming back." I looked at her intently. "You're actually coming back."
She chuckled at my reaction. "Yes, Dante. I said I would."
"You've said a lot of things before and then just let them go. I had to be sure it was real this morning."
With great affection, she rolled her eyes. "I'm a woman of my word. Yes, I'm coming back." She paused for a moment. "Risa too. She's been wavering but agreed last night."
"Both of you." I ran a hand over my face in relief. "Do you know how much of a relief that is—"
"And Khole is moving to New York," she added sadly, her smile fading. "She's looking to explore opportunities there, especially with her writing."
"That's great. She's extraordinary, Cinnamon. No one writes like she does—the emotional depth of her stories alone—" I caught myself before going too far into it. "I’ll make some calls."
She blinked at me curiously. "What kind of calls?"
"To help advance her craft. I have connections in publishing; people who can help get her work out there. It deserves a place in airport bookstores and on bedside tables across countries she's never even seen." I shook my head in disbelief at how long she'd been overlooked.
Cinnamon looked at me for a moment as happiness filled her eyes.
"Thank you." She leaned, kissing the corner of my lips. "You have no idea how much that would mean to her."
"Anything for the people you love." I lifted us both upright in one swift motion, swinging my legs off the bed. "Now we need to get moving. Oliver needs to be dropped at school, and you have your first day to be embarrassingly on time for."
"That's right—" She slipped off the bed and headed toward the door, but then she paused.
Turning back, her gaze fell somewhere below my waist, and she quickly covered her eyes with both hands.
"Put some clothes on, Mr. Moretti. You can't walk around like that. That is—" she gestured in my direction without looking, "—it's inappropriate. It's early."
I glanced down and then back up at her.
"You weren't complaining last night."
She smacked me lightly on the chest with no hesitation before turning to stride briskly toward the door.
"Come downstairs for a moment," she called over her shoulder. "Before you get dressed. Just come down first."
"Cinnamon—"
She hurried out, her footsteps quick and light down the hallway.
I pulled on a pair of joggers and followed her.