Post by FRANCESCA EMERSON on Jul 13, 2019 8:55:16 GMT -5
Cheska had always enjoyed the Algarve. The food, the culture, the history. The long stretches of golden beaches surrounded by crystal clear turquoise seas. The winding streets of charming red sandstone towns. Typically, she also enjoyed the weather. Whenever the grey skies of home became a little too much, it was easy to nip across the channel to mainland Europe to the sun-soaked peninsula where warmth abounded all year round. Sunshine, Cheska believed, was essential nourishment for the soul. At present, it was also getting on her last nerve. Growing up, she’d heard a lot about pregnancy. About the glowing mother and her VIP treatment. She’d heard about morning sickness and swollen ankles and the constant need to pee, and had been prepared for all those things. But no one had told her about nightly leg cramps, the kind that woke her up if she’d managed to get to sleep at all. No one had mentioned she would always be hungry, nor that she’d have the worst heartburn as soon as she ate. Feeling breathless as her baby crushed her lungs, peeing every time she sneezed, and sobbing over the silliest things had all taken her by surprise and all been awful. But there was none that Cheska hated more than the hot flushes. Tugging a small handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed at her brow and the back of her neck. As if being almost eight months pregnant wasn’t tough enough, southern Portugal was enduring a late season heatwave, and it was making Cheska miserable. Sucking on ice chips, the air conditioning practically set to freezing, taking cold showers – no matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to cool down enough to be comfortable. She was no longer sure that comfortable was in the realm of possibility. She had been trying to distract herself by helping her brother with his latest venture – the hotel he planned to open in the coming year. As she looked over the large board resting against the wall, dotted with photographs of inside the hotel, pictures of sleek furniture, and swatches of various fabrics in elegant colours, Cheska sighed. She had an eye for interior design but wasn’t happy with her progress, or lack thereof. She couldn’t help but feel that something was missing. Wrong. Or maybe her body felt too in mutiny against her for her to focus on anything else. Turning away, she moved to tuck her handkerchief back into her pocket and felt a flutter of frustration as it fell to the floor. For a moment, Cheska simply stared at it. Long gone were the days when picking something up was an easy task, and she was tempted to not bother trying. But she could already feel perspiration beading at her nape again and so she pulled out her wand. Flourishing her wrist, she cast a simple levitation charm and sighed as she watched the handkerchief shoot across the room. ”Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” she muttered under her breath. She had been losing control of her magic a lot lately. It was why she’d resorted to doing most things the Muggle way. She was never sure, when she cast her spell, what the result was going to be. Cheska placed a hand on her stomach as she waddled across the room, rubbing in gentle circles. ”We have to work together, little one,” she murmured and smiled when she felt a kick as if in response to her plea. She knew better than to trust it though, and so holding onto a dresser for support, Cheska began to slowly, carefully, lower herself, her free hand grasping for the handkerchief. She was in this position when she heard the lock on the door click and felt a blast of warm air when it opened. ”Parker. I need a hand,” she called out, realising that she was stuck. Her cheeks flushed with heat or embarrassment or perhaps some terrible mix of the two as she looked defeatedly into her brother’s face. ”Don’t laugh,” she warned him, though her pursed lips showed she found a little amusement in the situation. ”Don’t you dare bloody laugh.” |