Page 94 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
I spin around to see George, Grayson, and Mrs. Wolfe rounding the corner. George's eyes lock on Marina, and he bolts forward just as she tries to prop herself up, groaning.
"What happened?" he demands, then turns on me with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Did you push her?"
"What? No!" The accusation hits like a slap. Standing there with my hand out, I realize how bad it looks—but still, it's insane to think I'd push a pregnant woman.
"She just fell," I say quickly as Grayson steps up beside me, his parents hovering between us and Marina.
"How did she ‘just fall'?" George snaps.
"That's not important right now, George," Mrs. Wolfe interjects. "Help her up."
"Not important? She's pregnant, for crying out loud!"
"I already said I didn't push her," I repeat, irritation rising.
"You heard her," Grayson growls. "Don't be melodramatic."
George shoots his brother a hard look as Marina staggers to her feet, pale and unsteady. She shakes her head, as if trying to clear it.
"What happened, babe?" George asks, voice softer now.
"I'm not sure," she murmurs. "I had my back turned, and everything happened so fast."
I frown. That's not true. Her back wasn't turned—she was facing me right before she fell.
"I don't know." Marina puts a hand to her head like a fainting Victorian heroine. "I thought I felt something in my back—but if she says she didn't push me, then she didn't push me."
Huh? Something in her back? Why the hell would she phrase it like that? Like she's doing me a favor by not outright accusing me?
What is this bitch up to? She's lying—boldly, skillfully lying. The worst part is, she's good at it. Hell, if I didn't know for sure I hadn't pushed her, I might start doubting myself too. She looks pale, shaken, and convincingly fragile.
"I'm sorry you fell," I say. "But let me reiterate—I didn't push you."
"And I'll reiterate that it doesn't matter right now. The important thing is to make Marina comfortable and get her to a doctor to make sure everything's okay."
Grayson's mother snaps her fingers. "Martha? Can you come here, please?"
A pleasantly plump housekeeper appears almost instantly, eager to serve.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Please take Marina to my bedroom so she can lie down—and call Dr. Nostro."
"No, really, I'm fine," Marina protests, holding up a hand. "Don't worry about me. I don't want your dinner ruined on my account."
"Nonsense, dear. No dinner is worth the health of you and your baby."
"I agree," Grayson says, glancing at his watch. "We should be heading out anyway. It's late, and we've got a long day tomorrow."
Tomorrow is the day of the business convention. Everything's set up, but I'll need to hit the ground running early.
I'm glad to leave—but not like this. The whole situation feels wrong. There's an unspoken accusation hanging in the air, heavy and unresolved. George glares briefly as he helps Marina down the hall, his mother close behind.
Mr. Wolfe, on the other hand, studies me with a frown that suggests he wants to ask something—but one look from Grayson keeps him silent.
That's when Stephanie reappears from wherever she'd gone.
She looks around at the tense faces. "What did I miss?"
