The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 352

Chapter 173-2

Locke slides into the booth first and immediately pulls me down beside him rather than letting me sit across from him.

The waitress brings over coffee for Locke and a steaming cup of herbal tea for me, alongside a plate of buttered toast, eggs, and fruit.

“You feeling okay?” Locke asks, his hand immediately coming to rest on my thigh under the table, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against the denim of my jeans. “Not tired or dizzy?”

“I feel great,” I assure him, taking a sip of the warm tea. “Honestly. The fresh air on the way in helped.”

“Good.” He relaxed a fraction, reaching for his coffee. “Evelyn’s excited. She’s been baking since yesterday.”

“She didn’t have to go to any trouble,” I say softly, feeling a flutter of heat in my chest. “I’m just really looking forward to seeing her. And spending Christmas with you… away from the noise.”

“Me too, baby,” he says. He sets his cup down and turns to face me. “Just you, me, and the east coast. No club business. No phone calls.”

“Sounds like heaven, Mister Reginald Rex Tanner.”

“Keep using that name and I’ll have to find a quiet corner of this airport to show you exactly what Reginald Rex can do,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening with that familiar, wicked spark.

I laugh, a low, flirty sound, and reach for a piece of toast. “Is that a threat or a -”

I stop mid-sentence.

Without warning, my stomach violently turns. The smell of the fried eggs on the table hits me like a physical punch. The warmth in my chest vanishes, replaced instantly by a cold, greasy wave of sheer nausea that makes the room spin.

My breath hitches. The color completely drains from my face, I know that it does.

“Zara?” Locke’s voice drops all teasing instantly. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

I drop the toast onto the plate, swallowing hard as a sour heat rises in my throat. I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.

“Bathroom,” I manage to choke out, scrambling out of the vinyl booth so fast my knees knock against the

table.

“Zara -”

I don’t wait for him. I put a hand over my mouth, clutching my small purse to my ribs, and speed-walk straight toward the neon light of the restrooms across the terminal concourse, praying I make it in time.

I barely manage to push through the heavy swinging door of the ladies’ room before I drop to my knees inside the first open stall, slamming the latch shut just as my stomach completely turns itself inside out.

It hits in heavy, relentless waves. I grip the cold metal sides of the stall, trembling as the morning sickness

Chapter 113-

takes over, tears stinging the corners of my eyes from the sheer force of it.

• 25 Pointe

Breathe, Zara… just breathe,” I whisper to myself during a brief second of relief; pressing the back of my hand against my forehead. “You got this.”

It takes a good five minutes for the retching to finally stop. When my stomach finally settles into a dull, exhausted ache, I let out a long, shaky exhale… pull a tissue from my bag, wipe my mouth, and slowly push myself up using the grab bar, feeling weak at the knees.

I unlock the stall door and step out toward the sinks. I rinse my mouth over and over, wish hard for my toothbrush that’s packed away in my weekend bag.

When I push the bathroom door open to step back out into the concourse, I instantly stop.

Locke is standing right outside the door. He isn’t sitting down, and he isn’t waiting patiently off to the side; he’s pacing back and forth like a caged predator, completely ignoring the looks from passing travelers.

In his massive hands, he’s clutching a bottle of ice-cold water and a small can of ginger ale he must have sprinted to buy from a nearby kiosk.

The moment he hears the door swing open, his head snaps toward me.

His eyes sweep over my face, taking in my pale skin and damp hair, and the look of sheer, agony-laced guilt on his face breaks my heart.

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