Fuuko raised an eyebrow when the Mikagami's favorite chauffeur appeared on her front door; a white, large, unassuming paper bag perched on his side and bowed his respect before straightening to meet his old, wisdom filled eyes with her expectant ones.
"I apologize for appearing the third time this week, Fuuko-san. But Mikagami-sama had made strict orders to deliver this to you." He motioned to the paper bag at his side, and Fuuko gave a weary sigh and let out a tired smile.
"It's no problem, Jesan." She reached over the paper bag and gathered it in her very capable arms, and before seeing off the chauffeur turn, she whispered, "The next time she sends something, you have my permission to deliver it straight to the guest house. Are we clear on that?"
Jesan stiffly turned towards her and gave a swift bow, a sign that he will be agreeing with her order, and left the porch and into the sleek black Mercedes parked on their driveway. She slightly adjusted the bag on her arms and let out an annoyed sigh before considering slamming the door with her foot.
"MI-CHAN!" she hastily placed the bag on the couch, the contents spilling when it landed a lonely heap to the floor, expensive looking stuffed animals and baby shoes littering the ground, and she closed her eyes in annoyance as she waited for her husband's calculated and measured steps coming down the stairs.
She could feel him getting near her and made a move to do his customary snuggling when she opened his eyes as if to warn him to step any closer.
"So Jesan drove by," she crossed her arms and surveyed for his reaction like a teacher looking at her student who did a bad, bad thing.
"Oh? You didn't tell me?" he frowned.
She raised her brow as if to challenge him to take whatever invisible right there is to be annoyed at this situation. "He dropped off those." She pointed to her side the littered toys and resumed to crossing her arms. She could feel the tension on his shoulders and the tight clenching of his jaw seeing the baby things on the ground like cursed traitors that gave away his masterplan.
He looked back at her to see the tension slowly ebbing away around her eyes, and exasperation taking over her beautiful face. He took careful steps forward and wrapped his arms around her to pull her in for a comforting hug.
"I thought we talked about not spoiling Sou-chan. This is the third time this week your mother has been sending gifts, and we don't already have enough room for it!" She slapped his chest, but her voice had gone softer as she went back to her position around his arms.
"She's just happy, that's all. Sou-chan's the first grandson, of course she's thrilled." He placed a comforting kiss on the top of her head and couldn't fight the grin that was threatening the sides of his mouth.
"Mi-chan, she has sent gifts since before I even gave birth four months ago. Right now we couldn't even fit those," she pointed the traitorous toys on the floor, "inside his room! He's not even a year old yet!"
"So, when he's one we could get him more toys?" He asked, slightly hopeful.
"No! What I'm saying now is that he has enough toys to last him his entire childhood!"
"You're overreacting," He waved her off. He just knew that his mother will be sending in more toys the coming months, his poor wife would not even be able to prevent it.
"Mi-chan, I just signed a package for you when you were away at the office. An electric baby car? Really?"
Crap. He forgot about that. He was looking through the internet when he stumbled upon the lime green baby car, and he couldn't resist clicking on the "Buy me!" button on the side. That was for 500 dollars. Quite an investment… Until of course Sou-chan grows up to be 2.
"Where'd you put it?" He asked, ignoring the way her eyes flashed dangerously. She pushed away from him and crossed her arms.
"I put it in the garage. Where it belongs."
"Hmm," from the look on his face, it seemed that he was thinking about going to the garage to check out his son's latest toy.
"You. Stay. Here." She motioned for him to sit on the couch as she paced around, putting her thoughts into a straight line.
"You have to lay off getting him too many things! Your mother too! And Domon!"
"You chose Domon to be the godfather,"
"I didn't know he made a lot of money wrestling! And how was I supposed to know that he'd be spoiling him? He didn't look like he was into kids. I chose him to spite him."
"Well our son is quite the charmer," there was a triumphant grin on his face when he started noticing the appraising and approving look on Fuuko's face until it flattened back to a serious look.
"That's not the point! Start telling your mother and Domon to stop sending stuffs until his birthday. That's your responsibility. You're the father." He had to control the way his heart swelled at the last sentence. Yes, he was going to tell his mother and Domon explicitly stop sending his son gifts. It was his job to tell them off. He's the father.
He wanted to grin idiotically with the thought.
"And you are not allowed to order anything on the internet," the grin slipped off his face.
He slightly paled at the thought that the latest order he made was getting a solar powered bubble machine, and he had to remind himself to tell his secretary to immediately cancel the order and have it delivered directly to his office. Sounding like a great plan on his mind, his face slipped back on a victorious grin at the thought that he would have something for his son to play with when he was at his office.
Turning his attention to his wife, he regarded her shapely form with an appreciative look and noticed how she seemed to slip back into her slim figure after being pregnant with their first child. He caught her wrist with his deft fingers and pulled her down to straddle his lap. He proceeded to trail kisses on her neck and nibbling on her collarbone, sucking and licking as the trailed lower to the exposed skin.
"I'm starting to feel that you think you're being neglected." He mumbled against the skin of her ear and lightly nipped at the lobe. He heard her give the most interesting sound, a cross between a sigh and a moan.
"Maybe," she trailed cold fingers under his shirt, "you may have to convince me."
Oh he was going to spoil her rotten.