Page 26 of Accidental Orc Daddy

I force a smile, trying to hide the inner turmoil I'm feeling. "Yeah, just a little overwhelmed, you know?"

Sandra nods sympathetically. “How are you feeling?”

Thankfully, someone calls out to her, sparing me from having to make up some lame answer and lie to my best friend any more than I already have.

She leaves me to my contemplation, and I hide by the bar until they announce dinner is ready to be served.

Seated at the dinner table, the rich aromas that once would have been appetizing now send a new wave of nausea crashing through me. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as the sickness passes. I glance around the table, hoping no one has noticed my discomfort. To my relief, everyone seems to be focused on the couple of the evening.

Dragan stands up, a glass of champagne in his hand. The room quiets down as he begins his toast.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for being here today to celebrate the love between my beautiful wife, Lalaine, and myself. We are truly grateful for your presence and your support,” he begins, smiling broadly.

I try to pay attention, but the words all seem to blur together. My mind is still racing with thoughts of Mustaf and the tiny life growing inside of me.

“I can honestly say that she is the most amazing woman I have ever met,” he continues proudly. “She is kind, caring, and incredibly intelligent. She has a heart of gold, and I feel so lucky to have her by my side.”

I glance around the table, trying to distract myself. That's when I see him. Mustaf. He's seated across the room, but his eyes are locked on me. I feel a flutter of panic in my chest. He's going to come over here. He's going to try to talk to me. I can't let that happen.

As the toast comes to an end, the servers begin to bring out the first course. I force myself to take a few bites, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

But as I take a bite of the delicious-smelling chicken, I feel a sudden and undeniable wave of nausea wash over me. I jump abruptly to my feet, slapping my hand over my mouth to make sure I don’t do anything mortifying right in front of everybody.

"Excuse me," I mutter, hurrying away from the table. I can feel the eyes of the other guests on me as I make my way towards the bathroom.

But as I rush past Mustaf's seat at the table, I see him instinctively get up from his chair and start following after me. My heart begins to race as I quicken my pace, but it’s no use. He’s relentless and determined. Before I know it, he’s right by my side.

I push open the door to the women's bathroom and rush inside, relieved to finally be away from Mustaf's prying eyes. But my relief is short-lived as I hear the door creak open behind me.

"You can't be in here!" I say, turning around to find Mustaf’s feet striding through the doorway.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice low and intense.

I hesitate for a moment, then slowly raise my eyes to meet his. His expression is serious and concerned, and I can feel my heart begin to race.

"What's going on with you?" he asks, taking a step towards me. "You've been avoiding me and acting strange all night."

"I'm just not feeling well," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Is it morning sickness?" he demands, his voice barely above a whisper.

I feel my breath catch in my throat. How could he possibly know? The bridesmaid’s dress I’m wearing is empire-waisted, tight at my ribs but flowing from there down, successfully covering the small bump that has begun to form. Surely he can’t see it?

"What are you talking about?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

"My cousin went through the same thing," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. "She was always feeling sick, no matter the time of day.”

I swallow hard, trying to find the words to deny it. But I can't. I can't lie to him. So, instead, I don’t say anything.

“Meiko,” he addresses me in a way that leaves me nowhere to run. “Are you pregnant?”

He knows! He knows about the baby, my mind screams at me.

“It’s not yours,” I blurt out suddenly.

Mustaf's hands tighten around me for a moment before loosening as I pull away. His eyes are filled with confusion and hurt. "What do you mean it's not mine?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I fumble for words, trying to come up with a reason to keep him at arm's length. "That it isn’t yours," I say lamely. "Which means that it’s also none of your concern."

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