ISN'T SHE LOVELY | hs

24 | TELL ME THE TRUTH

| MICKAYLA |
Sunday 2 April, 2023

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

"Alright, alright." I'm quick to grumble, smoothing my hand over the spot Little Sun attacks, "I'm awake. Cut it out, babe. I hear ya."

Peeling my sleepy eyes open, I find that the room is pitch black. Baby Riot has once again woken me up in the middle of the goddamn night; the clock on the bedside table reading 2:47am.

I sit up slowly, huffing as I do while glaring down at bump, "I give you all of the weird food you want, 'n I even prank Daddy on the daily, too. This is how you repay me?" Another kick, the answer an obvious yes, "Right, that does it. You're grounded from now until you're thirty. Mama needs-"

My mouth flies shut fast, and my head whips up even faster. My heart rate beats both things easily, though, because the sound of a piano being played drifting through the bedroom door open slightly ajar steals my attention completely. The keys that are lightly being tinkered with are live; not recorded.

Looking to my right, the space of bed Harry usually hogs is empty, and my hand touching his side of the sheets finds them cold. I look up toward the open door with a furrowed brow and a dropped jaw, because there's no fucking way that he's the one playing the piano right now.

It's a beautiful instrument, one that he hasn't touched or looked at in the two and a bit months that I've lived here. The last time he paid it any mind, at least when I've been around, was back in August; my first visit to a house I would come to know as home.

The black classical piano caught my eye and stole my heart during the tour he gave me, and I was quick to ask Harry if he could play. He told me yes but it had been a while, and then he said he'd play my favourite instrument for me sometime after I requested it.

I've yet to ask again, because truth be told I forgot. Baby brain comes and goes, and working on the nursery has taken up a good chunk of my mind. Plus, when Harry's around, it's hard to think of anything else but him.

I know that he has messed around with it, though. I just have to think about the stunning vinyl that he made me for Christmas filled with instrumental pieces that he recorded himself playing; a gift that left me speechless and smiling like a maniac, much like I am right now.

I'm up and out of bed as quickly as possible, which isn't quick at all these days. Being thirty-three weeks and a couple of days pregnant is taking its toll on my ability to move, the reasons for that being a mixture of a growing and dropped bump, shortness of breath, heartburn, general discomfort and upper abdominal pain. I could manage to put my socks on last week or get up without groaning, but neither thing is possible anymore.

After tugging on a baggy t-shirt, I pad out of the bedroom and into the hallway quietly. The sight of Baby Riot's nursery on show through the open door I pass by makes me grin.

Her room is completely set up and ready to go now, with the last of the furniture built by Harry's capable hands, and all of the extra decorations and details put up by my own. He collected the crazy amounts of baby clothes that Anne has been non-stop buying for months, and the crazy amounts of baby toys from Gemma. LS is one spoiled little girl already.

Harry and I shared another teary moment once I put the final item in the room; the little sun plush toy I found on one of our shopping trips last week. It sits nicely in the corner of her crib, ready to meet the inspiration behind the purchase.

The sight of my inspiration for everything has me halting at the living room archway with a hitched breath. Harry sits shirtless on the leather kickstool angled mostly away from my view and me away from his; his muscles illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through the large window beside him in such a stunning way that in any other circumstance, I'd grab my paint supplies and get to work making some art of art.