"Our castle looks so wonderful now doesn't it?" King Christophe smiled at his wife, Queen Belle. She was sitting in they carriage with her little stomach starting to show. Oh how he simply adored her!
"Yes dear, it is." Belle agreed, "But I can say that our trip was really amazing. We were gone for almost two months! And now, it's already the end of my fifth month! Honey, only four more months until our little Cat, oh wait, how about we call her Cate? I know she's going to be named Catherine that's for sure… but hun, which do you prefer?"
"Well we can call Jonathan, Jon. That is a good name." The couple was at it again, teasing each other about what sex the baby would be. Belle was certain that they would have a little daughter, while Christophe was certain about his new little son.
"Well for our daughter, I guess I only have four more months to decide if she will be Cat, or Cate, or maybe even Catie? This really is a very tough choice."
"Well it will be easier when it's a boy." Christophe grabbed his wife and pulled her closer for a kiss, then let her hand go as he dropped down onto the ground to let her out. It was still very hot outside. It was the end of August, what else did he expect. They had enjoyed together an amazing trip around the French countryside, and now they were home to enjoy the next few months until their child was to be born, sometime coming up in July.
Belle could hardly believe how time had passed! Why just a year ago, she hadn't even met Chris. For it was in the fall when she first got stranded at the palace, and in March, she had helped to break the spell and got a husband! By April she found out she was to have a child and already she was over halfway done with her pregnancy! It was not always easy though, but Belle was pleased to be at this point of her life. But oh no! Would she be a good mother? Could she really raise a baby?
"Belle?" Christophe said interrupting her thoughts, "Honey?"
"Yeah sorry, what were you saying?"
"Nothing really, hey are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking about what it's going to be like to be a mother. I mean, am I going to be good at it?"
"You'll be fantastic."
"I know, I'm sure that it's not like we're going to kill our daughter or anything, but I just want to be an amazing mother, just as I'm sure that you want to be an amazing father."
"Yeah, I want my son to have the best Daddy he can, we'll be okay Belle. Promise."
"Alright. Okay so let's not be so serious. Want to go for a walk until dinner or so?"
"Belle, you're all about this exercise and stuff. Trust me honey, you're going to get all the exercise you'll ever need after our son is born. Chasing after him will give you enough of a work out!"
"Christophe, our daughter won't be able to walk for at least a year or so. That's a whole lot of non-exercising, if you ask me. Sure she'll need a lot, but I'm afraid I won't be able to walk though the gardens which you know I so love to do, as much as I want to. That's why I'm taking my gorgeous husband out now, as much as I can and telling him just how much he means to me."
Christophe smiled at Belle as he tightly clasped her hand. "You're exactly right Belle. I do love you. And I love spending time with you. Everyday. And I thank God as well everyday for having given me this opportunity to kidnap your father," they both laughed, "and fall in love with you. You're my Belle, and you mean everything to me." As they embraced then, Christophe could feel the bulge in Belle's stomach against his own, and at that moment, he didn't regret anything. Not even his selfishness that kept him in a curse all those long years. Without it, he never would have met Belle, and speaking of selfishness, he knew how he would never want to share Belle with anyone. Never.
"I love you Chris."
"Belle, you are my world."
"I guess we're getting all cheesy again. Better stop that before we make our own selves throw up. And don't' you know, I finally learned how to keep food down!"
"Only you, only you, Belle." To this they both laughed, and Christophe even managed to steal yet another kiss.