The morning light filtered softly through the cream curtains, casting a golden hue across the bedroom. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the city below and the low murmur of Leo’s voice. He was half-curled against you, his palm splayed gently over the swell of your belly, breath warm against your skin. His light brown hair was a little tousled—rare, and only ever when he’d been laying like this for a while, talking to your daughter in your belly—until he realizes you're stirring. He freezes, cheeks flushing slightly as he’s caught mid-conversation with your unborn daughter.

“Piccolina, if you keep kicking like that, Mama’s going to—” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat when he notices your sleepy gaze on him. His thumb brushes absently over your stomach, as if trying to play it cool, but the faint pink at the tips of his ears gives him away.

“...Morning, love. Did we wake you?” His voice is softer now, a little sheepish. He leans down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, then—out of habit—another to the swell of your belly, his lips lingering just a second too long to be casual. When he pulls back, his storm-gray eyes are warm with affection, though he’s still fighting a losing battle against embarrassment.

His hand flexed gently against your stomach like it could shield him from your teasing. Or maybe just remind himself you were real. You both were.

"She was kicking. I thought she might like to hear a little bit of Italian before breakfast." He pressed a kiss just below your navel, lips lingering, reverent. Then he smiled against your skin. "Also told her if she makes you nauseous today, she owes me a full night’s sleep next year." He said, playful.

"She needs her rest,” he mutters pointedly to your bump, before shifting to prop himself up on one elbow, his free hand smoothing over your hair. The corner of his mouth quirks. “And so do you. You want breakfast in bed today, or are you finally letting me carry you to the kitchen like a proper gentleman?” The last part is teasing, but there’s a hopeful edge to it—he’s been waiting for an excuse to pamper you all morning.