He couldn't help but run his hands over her body again as she sat in his lap. He started at the hips, the skin underneath his fingers as soft as silk, before moving up to her stomach, which was just beginning to swell with child. He would rest his hands there, touching and feeling as if the baby was going to kick sometime soon, but they were hardly into their second trimester. He runs his thumbs slowly over her stomach, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck as he smiles. He's going to be a parent, and the baby is going to have the best mother ever.
Her skin is white, but not unpleasantly so. Not in the way that men who live in their mothers' basements and play videogames would be, but a beautiful pale he remembers comparing to Snow White. It's soft beneath his fingers as he flattens out one hand on her stomach, and she chuckles breathlessly.
His fingers move on their own accord to just under her breasts, rubbing along the rib cage and feeling the bones just beneath that beautiful skin. She's beautiful, a goddess, something that only happens in fairy tales. He feels her turn her head to kiss his cheek and smile as his hands move back to her stomach. She places her hands over his.
And he can't help but feel a twinge of nausea, and perhaps a twinge of disappointment, because there's not to say that she doesn't love him because he reminds her of someone else. There's guilt in the fact that she actually belongs to someone else, someone he's felt the despair for. He's stolen her, right from under him, completely on accident, with no way to ever know for certain that he'll ever know that she's safe now. So he stays silent about his fears, about his guilt, and about his disappointment, but she always seems to know, and the soft kisses she gives him over whatever open patch of skin is closest to her reassure him slightly that neither her nor the man he stole her from are upset.
He exhales softly against her skin.
"It's all real, Desmond," she murmurs.
"I know, baby."
"Then why do you act so upset? You're thinking about him again, aren't you?"
"How can I not?"
"Relax. I'm sure that he would rather I be in your hands, over anyone else's."
"But he loved you."
"I was not for him."
"How can you be certain?"
"Because there was someone better for him down the line to push him more than I ever would."
She adjusts slightly so that her hand is on his chest and there's enough space for her to give him that "You're-a-dork" smile.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive. There's no one better for me than you, Desmond."
He smiles softly, meeting her halfway for a kiss. When she pulls back, she laughs quietly.
"There's no one more able to indulge me in all my romantic fantasies while still taking me out for adventures quite than you."
"You flatter me," he murmurs, matching her smirk as she leans in to brush her lips over his while she speaks.
"I speak the truth."
He hums quietly, stealing a series of slow, sweet kisses that any other man would die for. He's got the perfect wife, and he's sure that even if his child turns out to have Down's, it'll still be the perfect child. He's got the perfect family, and perhaps it's true that karma rewards good deeds and hard work, a positive attitude and strong faith in a better tomorrow. And even though his wife will remind him again tomorrow that he's the best match for her, and the day after, and probably every day until he dies, he drinks in those words like men would drink from the chalice that Jesus drank from to gain immortal life. They soothe him, for however brief it may be, and he knows that he's got a better ending than he ever could have hoped for.
"I believe you, Adha. I believe you."
And he can't help but think how much he does love the Apple's shenanigans.