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I laugh through my tears.
“No, you enormous idiot.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because you’re perfect.”
His mouth curves.
“Naturally.”
I swat his chest.
He laughs, that deep, beautiful laugh I never imagined hearing from the terrifying god who first stepped out of the stone.
Then he brushes a tear from my cheek.
“Little flower, you have given me more happiness in three months than I experienced in three thousand years.”
My throat tightens.
“Well,” I whisper, “that’s good. Because I have something to tell you.”
His smile fades.
“What is it?”
I take his hands.
“First, I need you to promise not to summon a thunderstorm.”
He frowns.
“Why would I summon a thunderstorm?”
“Because you have a tendency to get a little emotional.”
“I am perfectly capable of controlling my emotions.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Last week you cracked the kitchen tiles because the toaster burned your breakfast.”
“The machine was defective.”
“Vidar.”
He sighs.
“Very well. No thunderstorm.”
I take a deep breath.
Then place his enormous hand against my stomach.
“Sweetheart…”
His eyes follow the movement.
