I woke up to the sharp pang of nausea hitting me like a freight train. My stomach was a swirl of discomfort, making the mere thought of breakfast unbearable. Enzo, lying beside me, seemed to sense my discomfort before I even articulated it, his eyes clouded with residual tension from our argument last night.

"Morning," he said, his voice cautious. "How are you feeling?"

*Not great," I admitted, clutching my belly. "Morning sickness is a nightmare."

He looked concerned, sitting up. "Let's get you something to eat, then. Something to settle your stomach."

"I guess," I muttered, my heart sinking at the thought. I could almost smell the hotel breakfast from here-syrupy French toast, eggs, bacon-all of which made my stomach churn.

He noticed my hesitation and furrowed his brow. "What's wrong?"

"It's just..." I began, nearly choking on the words, "the smell alone will make me sick, I'm afraid."

Enzo sighed, getting out of bed and beginning to dig through his bag for some clothes. "Alright, how about this? We'll ditch the hotel breakfast and get you something you could actually stomach.. I think there's a cafe down the street; maybe they will have something that won't make you queasy."

"No, don't worry about me. I can just make some dry toast here," I offered, not wanting to trouble him, especially after our argument last night.

Enzo looked at me like I had grown two heads. "I'm not just going to let my pregnant wife lay alone in a hotel room eating dry toast. No way."

Before I could argue, he was slipping his hoodie over his head, brushing his teeth, and holding out his hand for me to take it. "Come on, let's go."

As we walked hand-in-hand down the street, I felt my moming fog lifting, replaced by a newfound appetite triggered by the inviting aroma emanating from the cafe. The scent of herbal tea and freshly baked bread filled the air, instantly comforting my roiling stomach and the clenching sensation in my throat.

was just as much of a comfort as the scent of chocolate croissants in the air. "Why don't you

in, watching him approach the counter, I was hit with a wave of guilt. Despite our argument last night, here he was, doing everything he could to make me comfortable. He was a good man, a wonderful husband, and it pained me to think of how unfair I had

tea, fresh fruit, cream cheese bagels, and, to my absolute delight,

looks amazing," I

setting the tray down. "I figured you'd

velvety chocolate and flaky pastry. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," I said, my

softly.

you," I said quietly. "You're the

his eyes meeting mine in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. "It's nothing. Nina. Absolutely nothing to do something like

waking up. But as I savored the last bite of my chocolate croissant, I could feel Enzo's gaze fixed on me. I looked

night,

we talk?" Enzo

although I already knew

bothers me that you felt embarrassed to share

sighed, placing my cup of tea on the table. "Look, Enzo, I'm not

had just cheated on me that

who don't know us. Hell, it is messy no matter how

Every love story is messy in its own way. Ours is no different. And

I don't like the way that Mila was probing. Something tells me that she would have gotten it out of me sooner or later and she would have made

words. "Nina, I already told you that you don't need to worry about Mila. And besides, if you're so concerned about how it sounds, why not just

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