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I sniff. She stills. "Zara, you okay?"
"Of course." I step back and tip up my chin. "Let me see you." I scan her features. Glowing eyes, glowing skin; in short, glowing everything. She’s the picture of contentment.
"Marriage suits you."
"I know, right." Her smile widens. "Liam is the absolute bestest husband ever. He waits on me hand and foot, takes care of me, refuses to let me out of his sight, and the sex—" Her gaze turns dreamy.
A stab of something… Jealousy? No, more like a want, a need to feel what she’s feeling, to be in that slightly blissful state where it feels like you have someone in your corner, your partner, someone who has your back, no matter what… Someone like Hunter. The hell? Just because I have his cum running down my thigh doesn’t mean I’ve developed 'feelings' for him. Especially not now, when he’s my defacto boss. Who I fucked on the way over in his limo. Jesus, what a mess.
I must make a noise for Isla, once more, peers into my face. "You sure you’re okay Zara?"
"Just hungry." On cue, my stomach growls. I reach for the plate of food, then glance around for a place to put it down.
"Over here." Isla guides me to one of those high-top tables which are at a perfect height to lean on, specifically, one that was pushed to the side behind a large potted plant.
I place the plate of food down on it, then reach for the knife and fork she placed on it, and tuck in. I shovel in the fried mozzarella sticks, then the goat cheese crostini—yum—followed by the glazed pecans, and the turkey avocado pinwheels.
I hail a passing waiter and grab a glass of apple juice from him.
"You’re not having champagne?" she asks, surprised.
"My stomach’s been a little funny with alcohol, of late. With coffee, too, come to think of it. I might have overdone it over Christmas."
"Christmas was nearly three weeks ago," she points out.
"Guess it’s taking a while for my system to stabilize." I raise a shoulder.
"And how long have you had this upset stomach?"
I bite the inside of my cheek. "About a week?"
Silence.
I glance up to find Isla staring at me.
I swallow down the morsel in my mouth and frown. "What?"
"Your stomach seems to tolerate the food okay, though."
"Huh." I glance down at the almost empty plate in front of me. "You should have seen me after I tried to eat breakfast this morning. I couldn’t keep anything down. Actually," —I place the now empty glass down on the table— "it’s been that way this entire week."
"You’ve been sick in the mornings?"
I nod.
"And you haven’t been able to tolerate coffee or alcohol?"
I shake my head slowly.
"Hmm."
I grip the edge of the table with clammy fingers. "Oh, no, no, no. It’s not what you think it is."
"I never said anything," she murmurs.
My heart seems to stop beating for a second, before starting up again. "It can’t be. It can’t be." I glance about the quickly filling room, then back at her. "Can it?"
"You tell me, honey. I assume you’ve been careful with all the horizontal action you’ve indulged in with—"
