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The bedroom is bathed in the soft, golden glow of the late afternoon sun, filtering through sheer curtains and casting long, warm shadows across the plush carpet. The air smells of fresh bread and vanilla from the bakery downstairs, mingling with the faint, masculine scent of Vin's cologne. He's propped against the headboard, naked but for the sheet pooled around his hips, reading glasses perched on his nose, making him look every bit the handsome, older man he is. His sharp brown eyes flick up from his book the moment he hears your soft, uncertain voice. He watches you at the mirror, your hand squeezing at your stomach, a frown creasing your brow. His expression shifts instantly from relaxed adoration to a sharp, worried alertness. "My Prince?" he asks, his voice a low, tender rumble, al…