[Jay's POV]
By the middle of the fourth month, the "Powerhouse" inside me wasn't just growing; it was conducting a full-scale hostile takeover of my sensory system. My "Glow" was shimmering, my bump was a beautiful, firm "Peach," and my appetite had officially entered a dimension that defied all laws of logic, culinary arts, and common sense.
It was a Sunday afternoon—the one day the whole family gathered in the grand conservatory for a "relaxed" lunch. Little did they know, the system was about to experience a Critical Flavor Error.
The Setup
The table was spread with Mamma Serina's finest: roasted lamb, organic micro-greens, poached salmon, and artisanal sourdough. The air smelled like wealth and rosemary.
I sat there, looking at the 1,000 spread, and felt... nothing. My stomach sent a notification to my brain that was loud and clear: Incompatible hardware.
"Jay, dear, you haven't touched your salmon," Mamma Serina said, her eyes full of concern. "Is the nausea back?"
"No, Mamma," I whispered, my eyes darting toward the center of the table. "I just... I need something else. Something specific."
The "Shock" Request
Keifer, who was busy cutting my meat into perfect, bite-sized pieces (his usual Hubby-protocol), paused. "Name the variable, Wiefy. I'll have the chef prepare it immediately."
I cleared my throat. The whole table went silent—Pappa Keizer, Keigan, and Keiran all leaned in.
"I need... vanilla bean ice cream," I started.
"That's normal," Keiran chirped, relieved.
"Mixed with sriracha hot sauce," I continued.
The room went quiet. Pappa Keizer's fork hovered in mid-air.
"And," I added, my voice growing stronger, "I need to dip salt-and-vinegar potato chips into it. And... I want a side of cold pickles wrapped in fruit leather."
The System Crash
The silence that followed was absolute.
Keigan actually dropped his tablet. "The chemical composition of that meal is... biologically confusing, Jay. The acidity levels alone—"
Keiran made a face like he'd just swallowed a lemon. "Ate Jay... are you sure the baby isn't a space alien?"
Mamma Serina blinked, her "Nutrition Architect" brain short-circuiting. "Pickles... in fruit leather? With spicy ice cream?"
But it was Keifer's reaction that was the most "Hubby." He didn't look disgusted. He didn't look shocked. He looked like a man who had just been given a mission of national security.
The Execution
"You heard the Empress," Keifer said, his voice dropping into that terrifying CEO rumble as he looked at the hovering waitstaff. "I want the premium vanilla, the hottest sriracha in the pantry, and find the fruit leather. Now. If it takes more than three minutes, I'm firing the kitchen staff."
"Keifer, you can't be serious!" Pappa Keizer laughed, shaking his head. "You're actually going to let her eat that?"
"She's 100% serious, Pappa," Keifer said, his hand sliding under the table to grip my thigh protectively. "If the Powerhouse wants spicy ice cream, the Powerhouse gets spicy ice cream."
The Tasting
Two minutes later, a silver bowl was placed in front of me. I took a salt-and-vinegar chip, scooped up a massive glob of vanilla ice cream dripping with red sriracha, and took a bite.
The "Glow" inside me practically hummed with joy. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my life.
"Analysis?" Keifer asked, watching me with an intensity that suggested he might actually try it if I said it was good.
"1,000%," I moaned, reaching for a pickle to wrap in strawberry fruit leather. "It's perfect, Hubby."
The rest of the family watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as I polished off the entire bowl. Pappa Keizer eventually just raised his wine glass in a toast. "To the Watson Heir. Clearly, they're going to be a negotiator. They've managed to combine things that should never be in the same room together."
The Aftermath
As the lunch ended, Keifer led me back to our suite. He didn't say a word about the weirdness. He just helped me onto the bed and started his nightly massage of my ankles.
"Hubby?" I asked, watching him. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
Keifer looked up, his blue eyes softening into that rare, beautiful warmth. "I think you're carrying a legacy that is already breaking all the rules, Wiefy. If you want to eat charcoal and stardust, I'll find a way to make it gourmet. You just keep the light burning. I'll handle the logistics."