At last it's the weekend and my husband is home. I wake in a good mood seeing his gorgeous face so relaxed in a deep slumber. I press my lips delicately on his, and gently he stirs in his sleep, seemingly tired and spent.

How can he not? He hasn't rested for a good while now and I'm fully responsible for most of his fatigue. I think I need to spoil him today. My subconscious acquiesces and a devious grin crosses my face as I gather several things to do for him.

"Good morning, Lisa." My voice is full of positive energy as I barrel down the stairs while tying my curls into a messy bun.

"Morning, ma'am. You're up early," Lisa replies with a beaming smile, her hair in pigtails, holding a pink feather duster. She's been cleaning the large abstract painting on the wall and only paused upon my appearance.

I take a soft breath, inhaling the cool lemon scent and freshness of the house. "Is Mrs. Prescott here?" I inquire, my eyes taking in the details of my enormous house.

Gosh, I haven't even made a proper tour around. Well, aside from the living room, the kitchen, my bedroom, and of course the library—that as expected it was full of interesting books and journals—and yet there are more places to see within the house.

"No, not yet. She said she'll be a little late today," Lisa replies. "But I'm going to prepare breakfast right away! I'm not as sharp as she is, but I promise to be very quick."

"Well . . . " I clear my throat, smiling. "About breakfast, I'll do it myself."

"Pardon?" Lisa blinks, her bright eyes wide in surprise.

I giggle.

"Call Mrs. Prescott and tell her to take the weekend off. And you, too, Lisa. When you're done cleaning, you're free to go home. I'll see you on Monday, I guess." Saying this, I turn my sleepers towards the kitchen.

"What? Hold on, ma'am." Lisa stalks me. I keep walking, a knowing smile on my face. "You mean, I can just go home even though my shift is not over?" she asks, the speed of her speech a perfect resemblance to her overflowing energy.

"Yes," I reply.

"You'll be cooking yourself this whole weekend?"

"Yes."

"Wow." She sounds surprised and I don't understand why.

"And also"—I stop walking and turn around to face her, just a few steps near the kitchen door—"I'd like some fresh flowers before you leave. Is there a way I can find them this morning?"

"Yes. I know someone who can bring them quite fast! What kind of flowers?"

"I think . . . I'd like a bouquet of red roses, white lilies, and one of yellow tulips?" I mutter thoughtfully, thinking of the places I want to put them. "Yes, those will do. I want them separately, please."

One for the console table in the foyer, another for the kitchen, and the last one for my bedroom.

"Okay. I'll go make a call right away," Lisa replies jovially. "Anything else?" Her sharp eyes give me a hopeful look.

"Well . . . The Vase, maybe? "Do we have the flower vase?" I ask.

"I think so. Ma'am Eleanor bought them when she came here last time. She also loves flowers." Lisa hardly stays still while talking, her whole body moves here and there.

"Okay. Then that's all," I conclude dismissively and Lisa jogs away. "What a character!" I mutter delightfully as I walk through the door.

The kitchen is contemporary. It has wooden floors, light grey walls, and dark grey European cabinets made of something glossy—marble-like. Smiling, I take a small inspection, standing near the granite breakfast bar, above which the vintage crystal pendants are beautifully hanging.

I always wished to have a large kitchen, for my love for cooking is ever passionate. Thinking of my little house in L.A, my heart withers a bit from nostalgia. However, this is much better than that one, so I've got every reason to enjoy preparing breakfast for my husband.

"Well, let's see what we have here." I saunter toward the silver French door refrigerator and shuffle its doors apart.

Thankfully the slots are full, and I can't easily decide what to cook in a single glance. But maybe pancakes will do. Or the Spanish omelet I once cooked for him? Damn, I can't decide.

I've got potatoes, eggs, and cheese . . . What else? Mindfully, I hold the door open for a while until I start gathering my ingredients. Spanish omelet and cheese, I finally decide.

'I like it' by Cardi B starts playing when I place my mobile on the kitchen countertop, and I sing along at the top of my lungs while swaying my body.

"Well, isn't that such a lovely sight to behold?" I don't realize I have an audience until I hear this some moments later.

I throw my gaze toward the door, and it's none other than Liam. I grin, wondering how long he's been standing there, leaning against the doorframe with arms folded across his wide chest. He walks in.

"It smells good here," he says, eyes on the huge omelet I'm flipping, a golden-yellow crust arousing my taste buds.

"Hey." I stare at him, contemplating his just-woke-up features. He's wearing navy blue cotton joggers and white polo shirt, his hair messy, and still sexy.

"Hey." Moving closer to me, he wraps his big arms around my stomach. My smile widens, appreciative of his warm embrace. "You look beautiful in the kitchen." He kisses my shoulder.

"I thought you'd sleep more since it's Saturday," I remark, trying to ignore the effect of his arms on my poor body.

I need to cook, damnit!

"I can sleep later, but now I'm starving. What are you making?" Liam peers over my shoulder, smiling profusely.

"Pancakes. And I'm almost done if you let me finish." I respond placidly.

"Hmm. That is fancy, Mrs. Darcy." Liam inhales soundly, and I'm surprised he can be comic when he wants to.

"Is it?" I giggle softly and he frees me at last.

"Very. My day is starting to get better now." He leans against the cabinet, right next to where I'm standing so that he can clearly see what I'm doing.

"Was it not?" I adjust the gas to reduce the heat.

"I do not believe it's fancy waking up in an empty bed, dear wife. But this sight makes up for any of my previous distaste."

I smile sheepishly. "Would you like some coffee?"

"By all means."

"Good. And some mimosa? I've been craving for it since yesterday." I glance at him.

"Mimosa?" Liam gives me a questioning look, his eyes amused.

"Yeah? Never heard of it?" I chuckle.

"Hardly. I'm not quite sure," Liam replies.

"Well, it's just a drink, Liam. Sparkling wine or champagne, and orange juice, mostly. We won't get drunk so you can stop giving me that patronizing look." The skillet chimes as I lay back the flipped omelet so the other side can get that crunchiness and color I desire.

"Oh, is it? How do I know that stuff?" Liam smiles fondly as he tentatively looks at me. "I think I love watching you in the kitchen, Mrs. Darcy," he suddenly says.

I burst into laughter. "You do? Why?"

"I don't know." Liam sighs softly, a somewhat libidinous glow in his eyes. Oh boy! Something unfurls inside. "There's something sexy about it."

"Sexy?" My breath hitches.

"Yes. It makes me want to grab you and bend you over the breakfast table. Ah, the things you make me desire to do, Kira. What kind of spell have you cast on me, woman?"

"Jesus!" I can't hide how touched I am to know that he's attracted to me insanely. It's mutual. "I'd love to satisfy your kinky mind, Mr. Darcy, but I'm afraid this kitchen is off limit. I can't let anyone see us here." As tempting as his implied proposal feels at the thought of it.

Truly I'd love to fuck my husband right here.

"I've gathered as much. What a shame! However, there's always a means when there's a will," Liam remarks and all of a sudden he scoops me against his chest.

"Oh. I'm all ears, Sir," I breathe, my eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Well, I can just buy an apartment special for just the two of us. That way I can fuck you in the kitchen, on the stairs, and many other places," Liam blurts, his voice quite flirtatious as he sneaks his hands inside my sweater, gently running toward my bra- cupped breasts.

"Liam." I tip my head onto his shoulder, bumping into his hard muscles as I laugh loudly. "You are not serious, are you? Buying an apartment just so you can . . . No, you're doing no such thing, hubby. I won't let you." I cock my head to glance over my shoulder.

"But why? We're adding one more asset to our investments." His eyes beam fervently.

What a smartass!

"Yeah, right. You can pretend it's an investment and I won't argue. But under what grounds?" I ask.

"Happiness, Mrs. Darcy. Nothing else but happiness."

"Seriously?" I chuckle, buried into bliss at this sweet exchange.

In nanoseconds my mood shifted from sweetness to . . . hotness? I have no idea but Liam's sneaky hand is now inside my leggings. My pupils dilated when he touches the summit of my thighs, rubbing that most sensitive spot.

"Even if I can't take you right here, I still have every right to play with you," Liam whispers in my ear, a very salacious gesture.

Shit! I can't hold my legs together.

"Then let's play the whole day long," I whisper back, my pulse accelerating in response to his gentle tease. "Let's stay at home today. I don't wanna go anywhere."

"Okay. Is that all?" he asks softly, his wet lips on my neck.

"Yeah," I reply and his lips find mine. I easily yield, kissing him back with pleasure, tongue to tongue, and his foul play between my legs makes me forget the omelet.

"The flowers—" A very sharp voice starts but stops halfway.

We stop kissing but Liam refuses to move an inch from me, and so does his hand that's still inside me—shit!

"We're busted." I still in my stance, trying hard to mask my laughter.

"That it seems," Liam answers.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know you're here, Sir Liam," Lisa says remorsefully.

Slowly Liam ejects his hand from my precious reserve. Damn! I fix my composure as he turns around, and after a second or two I also do the same.

"It's okay, Lisa." I smile at her. Smiling, Liam marches toward the kitchen bar and pulls the stool for a seat.

"The flowers. Here they are," Lisa says, her eyes barely facing Liam who's looking poised as though nothing has happened.

This man!

"Thank you. Put them over there; I'll start arranging them as soon as I'm done with this," I reply and Lisa leaves without looking back.

Staring at Liam, we both burst out laughing. God, this is too funny.

Mimosas are my specialty, so it doesn't take forever until I add some ice cubes in our flutes and the orange-yellow liquid that smells awesome. Liam's eyes flash jubilantly when I serve him a piece of omelet. He puts his cup of coffee aside and I take a seat across from him.

As I hoped, my husband praises everything I made for him. Not that I'm bragging, but I trust my cooking abilities. Yeah, I'm totally bragging! My subconscious rolls her eyes at me, but deeply she is happy that we're both happy.

"Oh, I think this is what you made when I first spent the night with you," Liam says, gobbling a big bite.

"Smart memory you have." I flush.

We talk while eating, and laughing at every minute. But suddenly we stay silent as my thoughts go back to the tricky situation I'm in. I need to do the pregnancy test immediately. And tell Liam about it later? I don't know.

"When are you going to tell me?" Liam asks.

"Tell you what?" I raise my gaze up at him, oblivious that I've been absentminded for a good while, running my finger on the glass of mimosa, following its round shape.

"What's troubling you, huh? You're hiding something and I'm beginning to feel defrauded," Liam replies dryly.

"Defrauded?" I smile elusively.

"I'm serious, Kira." Despondently, Liam puts down the fork and knife so that he focuses on my face.

"I think I'm pregnant," I concede, my heart jumping miles per seconds. "It's already a week and I still haven't seen my period yet."

Silence reigns for a good while, our eyes locked up tight.

"I thought you were on a pill, though. It's what you told me and I even saw you taking them sometimes," Liam remarks at last, his face unreadable.

"Exactly. I didn't take them properly, I'm afraid," I explain, my breath getting heavier as I stare apologetically at him.

"I see," Liam mutters, his jaw slightly tight.

I can't decide what to make out of it. It may be shock, surprise, confusion, or perhaps . . . anger? No, I pray it's not anger. I don't want him to be mad.

"How long were you planning to keep it to yourself?" he suddenly asks, clutching his fork and knife once again.

"Um . . . today. I was going to tell you today, Liam. I've only learned about it two days ago."

Liam sighs. "Okay. It's only a suspicion, right? You haven't taken the test yet, have you?"

"Not yet," I answer.

But I bought the UPT yesterday.

"Okay, finish your breakfast and get ready. We're going to the hospital." Liam's voice is hardly delineated, his face barren of emotions.

Is he angry? Disappointed? I can't tell.

"Okay," I breathe, accepting her fate.

A short and inner silence, only the low sound of 'Hello' by Lionel Richie is something I can hear now.

Liam gazes up at me and at least he looks normal now—the dark cloud on his face washed away somehow.

"Why did it seem so hard for you to tell me about it?" he inquires gently.

"Huh?" My eyes widen with surprise.

"Are you afraid of being pregnant?" Liam slides the empty plate to the side.

Am? I press my lips together in a hard line, solicited.

"No?" I answer hesitantly, Liam's eyes fixed intently at me. "What about you?" My voice becomes softer.

"You do know the answer to that, don't you?" Liam answers pettishly. "Even if you find it selfish, I will be extremely happy."

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