It started with a jar of pickles at two in the morning. Aria hadn't even realized she was hungry until she woke up with a strange ache in her stomach and a vivid dream of biting into something crunchy and sour. She sat up in bed, groggy but restless, staring at the ceiling for a good minute before whispering into the dark, "Pickles."
Beside her, Luca stirred, his voice rough from sleep. "What?"
"Pickles," she repeated more firmly, as though it were a matter of national emergency. "I need pickles. With ice cream. Vanilla."
Luca groaned, covering his face with a pillow. "You're insane."
"Pregnant," she correctedily corrected, nudging his shoulder. "And growing your heir, might I add. The least you could do is help me feed your tiny royal."
That did it. Luca threw the covers back, grumbling in Italian under his breath but smiling despite himself. "Fine. But you're coming with me. I don't trust you not to eat the whole kitchen while I'm gone."
