Page 116 of The Don’s Omega

His sense of smell has become something of a superpower, but not in a good way. He can tell what Ornella is cooking from two floors away, and nine times out of ten, it turns his stomach. He can detect Ginevra’s perfume before she enters a room, and it makes him queasy. All the normal smells he barely noticed before turn him green. The one scent he still loves is my cologne. Thank goodness. I’ve worn it most of my adult life and would hate to switch now. Luckily, he says it calms him. At night he buries his nose in my neck and sighs with relief.

The scent thing is debilitating, but the fatigue is the hardest part for Elio to handle. Elio’s always been active, but now he falls asleep without warning. On the library sofa with a book on his chest or his phone in his hand. In the passenger seat when Dante drives him to visit Fabio. It even happened once at the dinner table. Noemi had to catch him before he drifted face-first into a bowl of minestrone.

His body is also changing. His chest is tender and he winces if I forget and touch him there. His belly is gently rounded, and there’s a faint darkening line appearing below his navel. He showed it to me last night with a mixture of fascination and unease. He ran his finger along it as if it was a seam that might pop open, and when I did the same he laughed because it tickled.

One wonderful part of his pregnancy is he’s extra horny. He wants sex all the time, and that suits me just fine. I wake up every morning to his hot mouth on my cock, and he lets me fuck him in the shower each night. He’s insatiable, and I kind of hope that pregnancy side effect never stops, even after the baby is here. We could fuck six times a day and I’d never tire of Elio.

The bad dreams he’s started having are the most disturbing part. I feel helpless when he has one. He thrashes in his sleep, caught in vivid, elaborate nightmares he can describe in startling detail when he wakes. Last night it was a house with hallways that kept ending up blocked. The night before, he was caught in the middle of an ocean that was ice cold and slowly rising. He tells me about them in the dark with his head on my chest, his voice groggy and uneasy. He’s afraid they’re some kind of premonition of bad things to come. All I can do is run my hand through his hair, listen, and reassure him that they mean nothing.

We still haven’t told my family about the baby. Elio wants to tell Fabio first, but his brother is still recovering from his heart surgery. As soon as he thinks Fabio is strong enough, he’ll tell him about our relationship and the baby. It’ll be a lot for Fabio to absorb, and I know Elio is worried Fabio might be upset. But once Fabio knows about the pregnancy, then I’ll be free to tell my family too.

Although, truth be told, I think Mama knows. She hasn’t said a word, but she watches Elio sometimes with a soft expression. She’s observant. She’s noticed that Elio declines wine at dinner. I’ve noticed her running her gaze over his stomach with a knowing smile. I’m not really surprised. There’s not much that can be hidden from Mama.

Elio has a doctor’s appointment this morning. We walk into the clinic, shivering against the October chill that’s crept into the mornings. The waiting room smells like fresh lilies and I notice a vase near reception. Elio winces at the sweet scent, but then sits beside me without comment. He grabs a magazine about prenatal nutrition, flipping through it with his knee bouncing.

“Nervous?” I ask softly, putting my hand on his knee.

He gives a weak smile. “How did you know? Just because my foot was about to drill through the flooring?”

“That was one hint, yes.”

He puts the magazine down. Picks it up. Puts it down again. “The baby is probably fine, right?”

“Of course.” I squeeze his knee.

He bites his lip. “You never know though.”

“Once you hear the heartbeat, I think you’ll feel better.”

He looks unconvinced, but he says, “I know you’re right.”

The nurse brings us back to an examination room. Elio changes into the gown, open in the front this time, and then climbs up on the table looking tense. He gnaws at one of his nails, his feet swinging gently back and forth.

Dr. Vasquez comes in, smiling at both of us. “Good morning.”

I incline my head. “Morning, Doctor.”

“How’s the nausea, Elio?”

He grimaces. “Less frequent. I think it may be fading away.”

“Good. That typically eases as we approach the second trimester.” She opens his file and reviews it briefly, then sets it down. “Shall we take a look at your baby?”

Elio nods. He lies back on the table, and Dr. Vasquez opens the gown over his stomach. He isn’t showing in any way another person would notice. But I notice because I know his body so well. There’s now a softness low on his belly, and just beneath his navel a slight firmness. The quiet evidence of something growing where, a month ago, there had only been skin and muscle.

“That dark, vertical line is called Linea nigra,” she says. “Completely normal. Hormonal. It’ll fade after the baby comes.”

Elio grimaces. “Yeah, I looked it up online because I was kind of freaked out when I first saw it.”

She smiles as she squeezes the gel onto his skin. He doesn’t flinch this time, though his stomach muscles tighten. “If anything ever worries you, you know you can call me with questions, right?”

“I know. It’s just that you’re busy and I didn’t want to wait.” He laughs sheepishly. “I Googled it and felt better. I’d be calling you fifty times a day if I didn’t have the internet.”

“So long as you aren’t worrying too much needlessly about stuff.” She presses the wand to his lower abdomen and the screen lights up, gray and white and shifting.

“When I see him spiraling, I try to intervene.” I lean forward, smiling at Elio. “Sometimes he even listens to me.”

“I listen more than you know.” Elio’s hand finds mine on the edge of the table and grips. “Marcello has to talk me off a ledge at least ten times a day.”