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“I pull on his fingers softly, tired of this talk. “I have something to tell you…” He tightens his grip on my fingers in excitement as I whisper that I’m carrying his child. Tutankhamun gives a cry of proud joy. He lifts me in his arms and spins me until I shriek and demand that he stops. “Think of the baby!” I admonish, laughing. “The baby,” he repeats, trying the words out on his lips. “Our baby.” “If the gods will it,” I say soberly, resting my face against his. “They will,” he breathes, “I swear it.” — Stephanie Liaci
I pull on his fingers softly, tired of this talk. “I have something to tell you…”
He tightens his grip on my fingers in excitement as I whisper that I’m carrying his child.
Tutankhamun gives a cry of proud joy. He lifts me in his arms and spins me until I shriek and demand that he stops.
“Think of the baby!” I admonish, laughing. “The baby,” he repeats, trying the words out on his lips. “Our baby.”
“If the gods will it,” I say soberly, resting my face against his.
“They will,” he breathes, “I swear it.