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The First Monday in May

MAY 02, 2022

The morning sunlight streams through the expansive windows of Venetia and Tom's hotel room, casting a warm glow on the lavish surroundings. The Met Gala, the most prestigious event in the fashion industry, loomed on the horizon, filling the air with an electric sense of excitement and anticipation. But for Venetia and Tom, it also brings about a clash of emotions that threatened to overshadow the glamorous affair.

Seated at the elegant dining table, Venetia gently swirls her spoon in a bowl of fresh fruit and cream, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the evening ahead. Her flawless porcelain complexion seems to radiate an ethereal glow, a testament to her early pregnancy. She wears a flowing silk robe, casually draped over her shoulders, exuding a sense of effortless elegance.

Tom watches Venetia with a mixture of concern and affection. His tousled hair and unshaven face speak of a restless night, his mind troubled by the events to come. He leans forward, placing his hands on the table, and breaks the pathetic silence.

"I really think you should reconsider going to the Met Gala tonight," Tom begins, his voice filled with earnest worry. "It just seems like an unnecessarily stressful day, especially considering..."

His eyes cast towards Venetia's fruit bowl - in which covers her belly from the position he's sitting in.

Venetia raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering across her face. She takes a sip of her freshly squeezed orange juice before setting the glass down, her gaze fixed on Tom.

"And I appreciate your concern, I really do," she replies, her voice filled with warmth. "Nobody will notice if I'm not drinking, if that's what you're worried about? Nobody will notice that my corset is slightly loose."

Tom sighs, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

"It's not just about abstinence and appearances, Vee. I worry about the stress and the chaos. You've been working so hard..."

Venetia's eyes soften as she reaches across the table, taking Tom's hand in hers.

"Tommy," she whispers, her voice filled with genuine affection. "I understand your concerns, and I truly appreciate them, but I'm going to the Met Gala. Remember what I said," she runs her fingers up his arm and lifts his chin upwards slightly, making his eyes lock onto hers.

Her partner nods his head and remembers.

Yesterday Venetia asked him to not treat her any differently until the first scan. Although pregnancy will always be filled with a dreaded sense of uncertainty from the millisecond the birth person falls pregnant, to the second they give birth, Venetia figures that when she sees her child for the first time it'll feel more real. It's only then that she'll only start letting Tom fuss over her and whatnot. Until the first scan, she doesn't allow herself to get too excited. It's bad enough they already have a potential name, let alone four of them.

Tom's expression softens. He picks her hand back up, squeezing it gently.

"I know how important this is to you. And your invite is well-deserved, because, let's face it, you turned up to Good Morning America in the world's longest wedding dress at five in the morning," they both laugh, reminiscing over her past award season looks. However, Tom's smile fades from his face. "It's just... I can't help but worry. You mean the world to me, and I want nothing more than to protect you both."

Venetia's smile is radiant as she leans across the table, planting a tender kiss on Tom's lips.

"That's the cutest thing that's ever came out of your gob" she laughs, her voice filled with love. "I'll take extra precautions tonight. I won't overexert myself, and I'll be surrounded by friends and colleagues who will look out for me. Besides, you know I can handle a little bit of stress."