Page 176 of Savage Empire

I shake my head, laughing a little at the glimmer of joy in her eyes while she clutches the butcher knife.Who the hell bakes with a meat cleaver?

“I hope you can see why I thought there was an intruder in your apartment now.” I nod to the chaos surrounding her. “You bake like you’re in a rampage room.”

She’s unperturbed by the comment, shrugging playfully. “I don’t always go this hard. It’s cathartic, though.”

“Feeling pent up?” I ask, arching a brow. “I thought I gave you plenty of release last night. And this morning.”

Her cheeks tint but she shakes her head. “I’m just frustrated, but notthatkind of frustrated.”

When she doesn’t go on to explain herself, I prompt her to do so. “And what kind of frustrated are you, love?”

My wife groans, an unmistakable pout pursing her lips. “It’s dumb.”

“I doubt it.”

“It is,” she insists, setting her knife down. Pouring the chocolate chunks into her mixing bowl, she folds them into the dough and sighs. “I keep getting these annoying foodcravings and they’re pissing me off. I’ve been pregnant formonthswithout knowing, and now that I do,I can’t stop thinking about all the food I want to eat. And I want it the second I think about it.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s quite normal?—”

“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head hard. “Why now? Why didn’t they start before I knew? These are placebo cravings. They aren’t real, this is my brain being greedy and wanting an excuse to eat whatever I want, when I want it. It’s ridiculous.”

I can’t help the laugh that rises up in my throat. “You’re so fucking cute.”

She gapes, lips popping open into anO. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Baby, youcaneat whatever you want, when you want it. Even if you weren’t pregnant. You’re allowed to have cravings. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you. You don’t need to brutally bake to ignore the desire for whatever food you want.”

She looks down with a frown. “You think so? It doesn’t seem greedy or ridiculous?”

“I swear, the things you worry about sometimes.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Tell me what food craving has you so worked up that you had to furiously make macarons in the middle of the day.”

Rayna sighs, looking down at her cookie dough. “I want thin and soft french fries. Not soft like the shitty oven-baked ones, but soft like the ones you get in your basket of fast food fries that are wiggly, salty, and fucking delicious. And I want them with a bucket of sweet and sour chicken. Not fried chicken wings or drums or breasts, the crispy little golden nuggets of joy you get at a Chinese takeout place. The kind that comes with that bowl of neon red sauce that’s too sweet and sticky to be healthy.”

I have to smother a smile, listening to the detailed way she explains her craving. I could practically hear her drooling as she spoke. “It seems like you’ve been thinking about this more than just today.”

“I’ve beendreamingabout it, Apollo,” she groans. “Don’t make fun of me. I can’t make it go away.”

“I would never.” I hold up my hands. “I’ll get you your food, love. Finish up here, get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

“I love you.” She sighs, sniffing back emotion. “You’re so good to me.”

My heart gives a loud beat, still becoming familiar with her lips forming those words. “I love you too,micina.”

When I come back from picking up my wife’s food, the kitchen is spotless. I was only gone for twenty minutes, but she cleaned up all of her mayhem, and even finished filling her macaron. They’re all stacked in the middle of the island counter, towering on two decorative plates.

I find Rayna in the living room, changed into an oversized T-shirt, tiny cotton shorts, and fuzzy socks. She has a thriller cued up on the TV and a shiny look of excitement in her eyes.

“I can smell it from here.” She holds her stomach, watching me as I carry over two bags to her. “Did you get yourself something so you can eat with me?”

“I did,” I confirm, passing her a tray to set her food on so she can eat where she sits. I’ve come to learn that Rayna doesn’t like eating alone, especially if it’s take out. She hates to feel like she’s the only reason food is being bought. I don’t know why, but I don’t mind accommodating it either.

“Here, love.” I put her items down and press a kiss to her forehead. “Eat up while it’s still hot.”

She claps her hands together, doing an excited little dance into the couch. “It looks so good, oh my gosh.” As gasp leaves her as she gets a closer look. “Did you separate the fries? So many of them are soft!”

“I did my best,” I confirm, grabbing my own container and sitting a cushion away from her to give her space. “I got you a coke, did you want something else?”

“Coke is perfect.” She takes the soda and inhales a large gulp, sighing happily after she swallows. I watch in awe as she moves onto her food. My wife devours a handful of fries and groans. “So good. What did you get?”