Page 25 of Accidental Orc Daddy

Our passionate encounter plays over and over in my mind. I was so sure it was the start of something meaningful. Now she can’t even participate in her friend’s wedding plans for fear of running into me?

In idle moments, I find myself wondering if she thinks of me, too. If the memory of our night together still lingers for her as it does for me. Or if she has banished it from her mind completely. I yearn for answers to bridge this widening chasm.

At night, my dreams betray me. Visions of her lips, her skin, the sounds of her pleasure. I wake up reaching for her, only to grasp cold sheets instead. Then comes the dull ache as reality settles back in.

The days creep by in this fashion until finally, the wedding is upon us. I steel myself as I don my suit, preparing for the bittersweet torture of being so close to her yet still shut out. My only solace is the chance to unravel this puzzle that consumes my waking thoughts.

The moment I enter the flower-adorned banquet hall, I spot her. Meiko stands out among the guests, a focal point my gaze is helplessly drawn back to again and again. From my vantage, I note subtle but significant changes from the laughing, passionate woman I remember.

Her elegant lavender dress and upswept hairstyle project an air of understated grace. Yet she holds herself contained, shoulders tense as if bracing against some unnamed weight. Her aura lacks the bright vitality that once pulled me like a magnet. In its place, a guarded wariness shadows her smile.

I watch her laugh lightly across the room, surrounded by friends. But the smile doesn't reach her eyes, lacking the radiant joy I remember. She moves through the crowd with flawless social grace, chatting vivaciously with the other guests.

I spend the ceremony studying Meiko from my own position beside the groom as my frustration simmers. Her facade is flawless, yet I sense her tension, the subtle strain in the set of her shoulders belying her composure.

More than just wounded pride, my desire to understand her runs deeper, transcending ego or logic. I crave the Meiko I glimpsed that night - vibrant, unguarded, alive. This guarded stranger both inflames and confuses me.

I know I should brush it off, dismiss this pull between us as fleeting chemistry, nothing more. However much I try to rationalize it away, her spell on me persists.

At the reception, I remain fixed in place, desire and bitterness churning within. Across the room, her gaze meets mine for a heartbeat and in her eyes, I glimpse echoes of my own longing and turmoil.

But before I can approach her, she disappears into the crowd. I stand alone, more lost than ever. But at least now I'm certain. Whatever her reasons, I do still matter to her, just as she haunts me.

I’ve denied myself what I’ve needed for far too long. I won’t ruin the wedding, but by the end of the night, I will find Meiko and put an end to this longing for her.

I continue to watch her from a distance, wondering what is going through her head. Several odd things stick out to me, like the way her drink is a different color than the rest of the wedding party’s. Whatever is in that glass, it’s not champagne, and she sips it slowly.

The expression on her face is often strange, like she’s maybe tired or sick. I know her friend said she had the flu a few weeks ago, but she can’t still be under the weather, can she? If so, that’s a bit alarming.

It isn’t until I notice her feet that something clicks inside of me. When we met in the Maldives, she seemed to love her ridiculously high heels. Here, at a fancy wedding, she’s wearing flats.

And that’s the moment it all sinks in.

CHAPTER 15

Meiko

On the day of the wedding, I’m so nervous to face Mustaf that I think I might be sick.

And at first, I wonder if I’m just freaking out because of all of the stress that has been put on my body and my mind. I can handle this, I try to reassure myself over and over. But every time I think about seeking him out, my courage fails.

Then the thought that I’d be upstaging the bride sinks in, and my stomach turns with more nausea and nerves than before.

It doesn’t get any better when I actually see him. If possible, he looks even more attractive than I remember. Especially dressed up in a suit that molds torturously to every curve of his body.

As if he can feel my stare, his eyes find mine.

Gone suddenly are the thoughts that I was ready to tell him about his child inside me. My confidence wilts at his stare, my body retracting into the throng of people. Now is not the time.

I navigate through the crowd at the reception, dodging and weaving to avoid any chance of Mustaf catching up to me. My heart races as I hear his name being called out by other guests, but I refuse to turn back. I can't face him, not now. Not when my mind is in such turmoil.

I make my way to the bar, hoping that a glass of ginger ale will help settle my stomach. As I wait for the bartender to pour my drink, I glance around nervously, making sure Mustaf hasn't somehow managed to track me down.

To my relief, he's nowhere to be seen. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself, sipping my drink slowly. But the questions continue to swirl in my mind. Should I suck it up and tell him? How will he react? What am I supposed to do?

I feel a hand on my shoulder and nearly jump out of my skin. But it's just Sandra, smiling warmly at me.

"Hey, there you are!" she says. "I've been looking all over for you. You okay?"

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