Curvy Perfection

By Christa Wick

"Marry me."

 

Two words I'd never imagined would ever come out of his mouth, and he's saying them to me.

 

One problem. He isn't proposing so much as proposing a solution to a problem. A big one I never knew existed that'll take both of us to fix.

 

Pragmatically proposed or not, imagining a life with him is as easy as breathing. We were lifelong friends, after all—until we weren't. He went away without explanation. Now he's back.

 

The thing is, it takes more than a slowly rekindling friendship to sustain a marriage.

 

And with each passing day he wears me down, I'm starting to think he's known that all along.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christa Wick
• Release date: Nov 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223124016

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I sat with my left hand delicately placed on top of the restaurant table, my spine straight but my body slightly leaning toward Howard Fowler, my dinner companion, as if I were hanging on his every word. While the position exposed an artfully arranged view of cleavage, it was actually the hand that I was trying to sell him on. At the end of each long sentence he completed, my ring finger would lift ever so slightly, the gesture faint enough that I was pretty sure I was the only one aware of its movement.

Rogers didn’t know it, Howard droned on. But that was the exact moment I convinced the tool to add on the quarter mil annuity.

I made my eyes go big and uttered a breathless murmur of appreciation. Then, as gauche as it sounded to my ears, I followed up with what I hoped was my own deal clincher.

Your commission on that must have been amazing!

Howard loved to talk about money—especially his money. How much he had, how he earned it from the suckers who thought they knew about investing, what he bought with the money and so on.

He rewarded me with a big grin and a wink as his hand reached into his pocket.

His hand, my hand…I could only hope.

I was going to die if Howard was searching for his phone or a Tic Tac to chase away the aftertaste from the massive plate of seafood he had slurped down.

Let’s just say, it was amazing enough for this, baby.

Howard held up a black velvet box. He thumbed the lid open to expose a diamond solitaire that looked about one and a quarter carats in size. Grabbing my wrist, he removed the ring from its box and slid it onto my finger—the one that had been twitching all through dinner.

I stared, stunned for multiple reasons. Chief among them was the unceremonious manner in which he was proposing after seven months of dating.

I figure we fly down to the Islands this Memorial Day weekend. His self-congratulatory grin revealed a bit of shrimp skin plastered against one tooth. He threw me another wink that turned my stomach oily. Do the ceremony there, get in some time on the beach and in the bedroom.

He finished with a dirty laugh and a patronizing pat of the hand he had just slipped the ring onto.

Howard meant the U.S. Virgin Islands. He had a timeshare there that he had long been promising to show me. I had read about the rich using the jurisdiction to get quick divorces. I figured the same must be true for weddings.

Drawing a slow breath, I looked at the ring on my finger. It was definitely an engagement ring. It just didn’t feel like it.

I rolled my lips as I tried to put a pin on what was wrong.

Cat got your tongue, baby? Howard asked without a trace of worry. I figured you’d be squealing like a stuck pig now that you finally caught me.

I blinked, but the image of the poor pig and any resemblance my full curves might bear to the animal couldn’t be banished so easily.

It’s just sudden, I started, carefully picking my way through what promised to descend into a public minefield.

It wasn’t as if I expected a huge wedding or reception or anything. I was the only child of only children. Both of my parents were dead. I had little life outside of work after my father had died a year ago. So I didn’t have girlfriends lining up to mud wrestle for the honor of being my bridesmaids.

But, still, a girl grows up dreaming about her special day. By the time she takes her trip down the aisle, the average woman has probably spent several weeks out of her life agonizing over the song she will select for the first dance, the flowers for her bouquet, and, most of all, her dress. With my body, I couldn’t exactly get something off the rack that would make me feel like a princess on my special day.

You know me, baby, he said, snapping his fingers. Always on the ball, moving fast, getting things done.

I just expected more time to plan and to have something local. Certainly your parents…

I trailed off at the look that flashed in Howard’s eyes. Despite the ten years he had on me, his mother and father were still alive and still married to one another. He spoke of them occasionally, but I had never met them.

They weren’t local. But, at two hours away, they were close enough that, after seven months of dating, it was starting to bug me that I hadn’t received an invitation for so much as brunch.

I looked at the ring again.

It was definitely an engagement ring, I repeated inside my head. And we were at Sarchi’s. Everybody who was anybody in Austin knew that all the single, middle-aged rich guys went to Sarchi's to get laid or woo their future brides. And Howard had been getting laid for close to three months.

I see what the problem is, he said in that tone I’d heard him use on the phone when he was trying to seal the deal with a future sucker.

I had always marveled that he could talk to people like they were idiots and they would sign for big dollar policies that he took a ten percent commission on. Even if he never said here, let me spoon feed it to ya, that was exactly the tone he used as he started talking slower and used smaller words—words that carried a lot of emotional weight.

Secure your family’s future.

Guard your children’s well being.

It was like those stupid Facebook posts where you were supposed to Like or Share or else you hated kittens and Christmas and the Baby Jesus.

What’s the problem? I asked, slipping inside the hard shell I’d developed over the years of always being the biggest girl in the room.

You think I’m asking you to marry me.

He punctuated his statement with a small chuckle and a smile. My mouth flatlined, my entire face tensing to fight back the tears I felt building.

So what are you asking me?

For your commitment to our relationship, that you’re mine and you won’t be fucking around with other guys.

It didn’t fail to register that he was only concerned with one of us being monogamous.

You’re the only one I’ve been with, Howard.

My own tone was starting to change. It got colder, as cold as my bed had been for so much of the last five years.

It wasn’t like I was a virgin the first time Howard and I had sex, but I wasn’t that far off.

Giving me another one of his damnable winks, Howard patted my hand. So think of it as a reward for being a good girl all along.

No sooner were the words delivered than he looked away.

What about you, Howard? Have you been a good boy?

His gaze slid back from the waitress’s ass to glare at me. What do you mean?

Have you been monogamous?

He laughed, his smile incredulous.

Are you going to wear a ring, too? I pressed.

My own incredulous smile made my lips tremble. His answer, when it came, was glib, its pitch aggressive.

Baby, I already do.

I stared blankly at him for a few seconds, my brain refusing to put the puzzle pieces together.

You’re married? I whispered.

It's not like I'm delusional, just a little naïve, I guess. I worked as an accountant at a firm that underwrote policies like the ones Howard sold. He would hook a fish then re-sell the policy to my firm. We weren’t co-workers, didn’t even have the same employer since he was an independent agent. But he went golfing with the head of my department and had similar connections with at least a dozen people I worked around. How was it that not one of them knew he was married—or, if they did, how come they didn’t tell me?

For a while now, he answered, shrugging.

So this commitment ceremony would make me your…

Mistress, he finished and gave me another pat on the hand right before his fingers possessively circled my wrist. If you want to put an official label on it.

That word—mistress—was three letters too long for what he really had in mind.

I tried to ease my wrist from the hold he had on it. His grip tightened. I gave a hard jerk. He let go.

I’m not doing that to another woman, let alone to myself.

I kept my tone conversational even though I wanted to scream every damn word. I should have slapped Howard and walked out, but I was embarrassed as hell to discover I had slept with a married man. I wanted to quietly slip away and nurse my wounded pride.

Turning in my seat, I reached for where the strap to my purse hung on the back of the chair. Howard grabbed my arm again as our waiter arrived with the expensive magnum of Bollinger Brut Rose he had ordered a few minutes before pulling out the ring.

Yeah, that’s the stuff, he said to the waiter as the man showed him the label. He nodded at the champagne flutes. Fill ‘em up.

Maintaining an iron grip on me, he lifted his flute with his free hand, gave me a little salute with it then quickly drained the glass. Seeing that I hadn’t touched mine, he snatched the second flute up and repeated the gesture.

What's the big deal, baby? He asked as he refilled the glasses.

Leaning in close, he roughly squeezed my breast, treating me like the whore he clearly thought I was.

All your expenses will be covered. Pausing, he gave my plump arm a little pinch and jiggle. And you couldn't really believe I would take you to the country club with all this.

A few of the tears I'd been fighting to hold back since his so-called proposal finally slid down my cheek.

Didn't peg you for a prude.

He tried sliding a hand over my leg until he ran into the pointy end of the fork I had strategically placed.

Come on, Ashley. It's not like we haven't fucked already—

Those words were almost his last. He was seconds away from having a near death experience.

But not at my hands.

CHAPTER 2

Out of nowhere, an arm shot in front of me. Thick, muscular fingers grabbed Howard by his collar and lifted. I didn’t need to look at who owned the arm. I recognized the tan, freckled skin with the bulging biceps and the