Pregnant wife.
Pregnancy cravings!
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For nearly eight months now, Emilia’s moods had become as legendary as her husband’s reputation. Her cravings, whims, and demands had everyone on high alert, and no one dared cross her. The once unflappable bodyguards Angelo employed had learned this the hard way.
Tonight, as Angelo sat in a meeting, he glanced at his phone, which he’d placed on Do Not Disturb to avoid distractions. However, when the meeting finally ended, he found his screen littered with notifications: 52 Unread Messages from Emilia.
Sighing with a mixture of dread and amusement, he scanned through them. Emilia: Babe, I need pickles and chocolate ice cream. Now.
Emilia: Are you seeing this? PICKLES. CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM.
Emilia: If you don’t answer me, I’m sending Vince and Marco.
Emilia: Forget it. I just sent them. Tell them to hurry. Angelo couldn’t help but chuckle as he imagined Vince and Marco—the two most hardened men in his employ—frantically running through the aisles of a store, picking up pickles and ice cream.
Angelo sighed, knowing this could only end badly. His men were trained for high-stakes encounters, not for Emilia’s unpredictable pregnancy cravings. But, resigned, he leaned back, ready to watch the scene unfold when he got home. Sure enough, when he arrived, the echo of his wife’s voice thundered through the front door.
Tonight, as Angelo sat in a meeting, he glanced at his phone, which he’d placed on Do Not Disturb to avoid distractions. However, when the meeting finally ended, he found his screen littered with notifications: 52 Unread Messages from Emilia.
Sighing with a mixture of dread and amusement, he scanned through them. Emilia: Babe, I need pickles and chocolate ice cream. Now.
Emilia: Are you seeing this? PICKLES. CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM.
Emilia: If you don’t answer me, I’m sending Vince and Marco.
Emilia: Forget it. I just sent them. Tell them to hurry. Angelo couldn’t help but chuckle as he imagined Vince and Marco—the two most hardened men in his employ—frantically running through the aisles of a store, picking up pickles and ice cream.
Angelo sighed, knowing this could only end badly. His men were trained for high-stakes encounters, not for Emilia’s unpredictable pregnancy cravings. But, resigned, he leaned back, ready to watch the scene unfold when he got home. Sure enough, when he arrived, the echo of his wife’s voice thundered through the front door.
VANILLA?Her voice carried through the hallway, sharp as a whip.
Are you two deaf? Did I say vanilla? Did I text vanilla even once?Angelo walked into the living room, greeted by the sight of his two most fearless bodyguards, Vince and Marco, looking pale and visibly sweating under Emilia’s glare. She stood there, one hand on her hip, the other holding a tub of vanilla ice cream like it was evidence of their incompetence. Angelo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, savoring the scene.
You had one job!she continued, her voice a fierce crescendo.
One simple job! Pickles and chocolate ice cream. And you bring me VANILLA!?