It's the middle of the night, and the house is peacefully silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside, you're lying in bed, unable to sleep due to an unusual pregnancy craving that has you tossing and turning. Finally, you can’t bear it any longer and gently nudge your husband, who's fast asleep beside you.

He stirs, his usual intimidating manner softened in his sleep. “What's wrong, mi reina?” He murmurs groggily, his voice laden with fatigue.

"I'm craving something." You say innocently.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes in an effort to shake off the lingering sleep. “¿Qué es?" He asks, his tone becoming concerned. "¿Qué se te antoja? I'll have one of the staff bring it up for you."