Curves Envy - Alphas Love Curves: BBW Billionaire Romance (2 page)

“Baby, it’s already nine forty-five and I’m going to hit the shower,” he says, lifting his head to peek at the clock on my night table. “I’m having a late breakfast with my brother Dean and I have to get going or else I’ll be late.” He kisses my forehead before flinging the sheets off his lean body and jumping to his feet like a prize boxer before a match.

“Oh, no, you’re leaving so soon? You’ve only been here a few hours and last week you promised me you’d be able to stay longer,” I lament as he makes his way to my bathroom.

“Why don’t you come and join me under the water? We can have some fun and spend more time together.”

“I love how you think. Why don’t you start without me? I want to feed Leonardo DiCaprio before he starves,” I shout before pulling the sheets over my head, annoyed he’s leaving so soon.

For once, I’d love to spend an entire day and even a whole weekend with him. I hate how he rushes out so quickly after I’ve made him come. It kind of makes me feel like I’m a convenient fuck, but not someone he’d want to spend quality time with. It’s not as if Vince is a god of sex, but he’s far more attentive than a lot of other guys I’ve been with in the past. So many ex-boyfriends didn’t give a damn about making me come, but Vince tries his best and I appreciate that about him.

I’m grateful we spend these precious few hours together and he’s a caring lover, but I want more.

Leonardo meows as if to console me and I pull him close to my naked body for comfort. “I know, Leo, it’s not fair. Do you want me to feed you now?”

Loud music blares and I roll my eyes.

Oh, God, he’s singing again.

I should hide the MP3 dock and speakers I have in the bathroom to prevent him from playing music while pretending to be a rock star. I love having music playing in the background while I take a soothing bath at the end of a grueling day, but for the past four weeks I’ve come to regret my decision. I’m sure Jon Bon Jovi must be shaking his head right now at the way Vince is butchering his smash hit song.

Don’t quit your day job, buddy.

Vince has many talents—singing is not one of them. Every Saturday morning before leaving my home, he runs to my bathroom, selects the song of the day, turns on the water and sings his head off like he’s standing in a Los Angeles recording studio. The only problem is Vince tends to sound pitchy when he channels one of his idols and it scares the hell out of my cat. It’s not as if I’m Katy Perry or Taylor Swift, but at least I can carry a tune well enough not to frighten domestic animals.

I should go join him under the shower to prolong the moment.

I reluctantly sit on my bed and the white cotton sheet slides off my breasts and lands on my soft stomach. I look down at my body, still unable to believe how he loves every part of me—even the imperfect ones. Although I’ve lost a lot of weight in the past eighteen months, I’m still quite self-conscious when it comes to my body. I swerve on my bed and shimmy my ass to the edge before jumping off of my deep mattress set when I hear a knock at the door.

Funny, I’m not expecting anyone. I try to block out Vince’s singing to focus, but the second knock is much more forceful. Someone is definitely at the door.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I shout, getting to my feet and reaching out for my robe. Once I’ve covered myself, I run to the door. I get on the tips of my toes and peep through the glass hole to see who’s disturbing my lazy Saturday morning with my lover.

I’ve never seen her in my life.

I’m staring at a stranger’s face and it takes me a few seconds to realize the woman banging down my door is angry as hell.

“Open the door. I see your eye through the peep hole.” The stranger has one hand on her hip and she’s waving the other in front of her.

Who is this psycho bitch?

“How can I help you?” I say, unwilling to open the door.

“You know exactly how you can help me.”

“I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong door. I’ve never met you in my life,” I say, hiding behind my closed door.

“You might not know me, but you surely know my husband, Vinny. I’ve been sitting in my sister’s car for the past hour to find out how long it would take the scumbag to come back out. I guess he’s not done fooling around yet,” she snarls.

What? Is she drunk?
“Did you say your husband?” There’s no way. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“Open this door, bitch. You’ve been fucking my husband and I want you to see the pain you’ve caused me.”

Holy fuck. Vince is married? He assured me he was single.

I’m in utter shock. I turn around to the bathroom where Vince still thinks he’s on the stage of
America’s Got Talent
and bring my hand to my mouth, unable to think straight as I replay past conversations in my head where I confirmed his marital status before allowing him to fuck me.

Jesus, did he ever give me a straight answer or did I desperately want him to be this sexy single pilot who randomly picks me up because he thinks I’m hot?

“Open this door or I’ll bust it open.” The stranger bangs with such determination, I fear she’ll wake up the entire floor.

“Okay, hold your horses. Calm down and I’ll open the door.” My heart is pounding and my throat is so dry it hurts to swallow. I unlatch the security chain with shaky hands, trying my best to believe this is all a big misunderstanding and the angry person on the other side got off on the wrong floor.
I’m sure she’s just having a bad day.
When I finally manage to open the door, my jaw drops.

A short, slender, dark-haired fiery woman in her early thirties stands in front of me in four-inch heels, mad as hell. She’s wearing full makeup and a bright look-at me dress. I have to glance at her twice before I notice her protruding stomach.

Please God, don’t let it be true. She cannot be pregnant.

“Who the fuck are you?” The stranger throws the question at me before I can peel my eyes off of her round belly.

“Huh?” I fumble, having missed her question, too consumed by the growing fear that my world as I know it is about to come crumbling down like a house of cards.

“Listen, you’re too young to have a hearing problem, but let me repeat myself again slowly this time so you catch it all.” The stranger flashes me a sarcastic smile before repeating her question. “Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”

Damn, she has a lot of attitude so early on a Saturday morning.

Maybe if I tell her my name and she realizes she’s at the wrong door, she might leave me alone. “My name is Candice Westerman. May I remind you you’re the one knocking down my door for no good reason? Who the hell are you?”

“Well, Candice Westerman, my name is Teresa Guardino and Vincent Guardino, who must be somewhere inside your apartment, is my husband.”

As if to accentuate her point, Vincent screeches even louder under the shower as he hits a high note. We both look towards the direction of the bathroom. I roll my eyes, unable to believe this soap-opera drama.

“Who the fuck do you think you are sleeping with a married man?”

The bitch is condemning me before even having the facts.
“I swear I didn’t know Vince was married. He told me he was single,” I add, realizing I didn’t quiz him too much to confirm he was telling me the truth. I was relishing the attention so much, it never crossed my mind he could be cheating on another woman.

“He’s very married, Candice. In fact, he’s so married, we’re having our third child together,” she says, turning sideways to give me a full view of her belly. The disgusted look on her face gives me chills.

I can’t believe I’ve been unknowingly having an affair with a married man. I’m not the cheating kind.

“How long has he been coming around your fuck shack to get laid?”

“I met him four weeks ago,” I answer, still unsure what’s really going on here. “I only see him on Saturdays when he flies back from Dubai.”

“Dubai? What are you talking about?” Teresa yells, forcing Leonardo DiCaprio to meow before running for cover.

“Yes, Dubai. Vince is a pilot,” I say hesitantly.

Teresa tilts her head back as she cups the base of her baby bump and laughs her head off.

What’s so funny?

She laughs to the point of tears and for a second I allow myself to believe this is all a bad joke and she’s now seen how wrong she’s been about knocking at my door.

“Yeah, if Vince is a pilot, I must be the next female President of the United States. Vince is no pilot, he’s taken over his father’s garage in Queens. He’s a simple mechanic with big dreams he’ll never reach,” she spits out. “You poor little fat girl, you got conned by a man looking for a quick fuck.”

No, she didn’t go there.
Even though I’m infuriated, her words sting. “Who are you calling fat?” I ask, putting one hand on my hip and waving my index finger at her. I might only be five-four, but I’d still tower over her by a solid four inches if she were to kick off her trashy heels. I know for a fact I could crush her petite body. “Honey, I’m not fat, I’m so freaking sexy it overflows,” I declare defiantly. I wish I believed this half the time, but it’s a great line to throw in her face. “Not to mention Vince so happens to love meat on a woman… and since he’s not getting it at home, I guess he had to look elsewhere,” I add smugly, looking her up and down.

Teresa’s eyes widen in shock.
Two can play this game, bitch.
She opens her month to chew me out, but we both turn around when the bathroom door swings open.

Vince glances my way with such guilt in his eyes, I instantly know this isn’t a nightmare. Teresa is not a demented stranger who has a mistaken vendetta against me. She’s his pregnant wife. He turns to the woman carrying his third child and addresses her as if I wasn’t even standing in the room. “Teresa, what the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re asking me? You have the balls to stand here butt naked in this bitch’s apartment and ask me what I’m doing here?” she yells. “I’m dying to find out how you’ll worm your way out of this one.”

“Did you follow me?”

“Yes and no, Vincent. I became more and more suspicious of your claims of community service on a Saturday morning when you can barely get up on time during the week to take Bryanna to her swimming practice at eight o’clock. I was doing laundry last week and as I was emptying your pockets, I found an address. When you announced you were off this morning, I called my sister and asked her to drive me here. I didn’t want to get behind the wheel of a car because I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to drive myself home once I discovered what you were doing behind my back.”

“Teresa, it’s not what you think it is.”

Is he seriously going to pull this sort of bullshit? He’s been caught red-handed for God’s sake.

“Vince, you’ve cheated on me every single time I’ve gotten pregnant with our kids. It’s as if by the sixth month your cock starts craving a new flavor of the moment. I’ve taken you back each time because I’ve never wanted our kids to grown up without a father, but you’ve gone too far this time. I want a divorce. If you want to stay here with her, be my guest,” she says, shooting me a sidelong look filled with contempt. “I’m out. I’ve had my fill of your lies and deception.”

“Teresa, wait.” Vince bridges the gap separating him from his wife and grabs her arm. “Listen, this meant nothing to me. In fact, it’s all Candy’s fault. She’s the one who pursued me. I guess she was feeling down after her ex-boyfriend left her for another and she latched on to me like a desperate woman. You know me, I’m a softie. There’s only so much I can take and she was throwing herself at me and she broke my resolve.”

“Excuse me?” I scream. “You pursued me, you asshole. You lied to me, you lied to your wife and now you’re doing it again. Get out of my apartment and take your deranged wife with you.” I turn on my heel and run to my bedroom and grab Vince’s stuff. I’m so blinded by anger I could spit fire and burn both idiots standing at my door down to the bone.

I walk back to where Vince is standing and I throw the pile of clothing over his head and through the door Teresa left open. Vince looks at me in shock before cupping his cock and running out after his clothing. He’s squatting naked in my hallway desperately trying to collect his discarded belongings and I can’t help but smirk at the sight of him.

“Candy, calm down. I’m still naked. You can’t ask me to step out of your home like this. Let me explain,” he pleads.

“Oh, no. I’ve heard enough.”

“But I’m not decent,” he shouts as he desperately tries to cover his naked body from neighbors’ eyes.

Suddenly, doors start opening and my neighbors exit their homes to stand in the hallway, curious at all the commotion. With each shout, they pivot from the two idiots pleading their cases to my enraged face as if they’re sitting front row watching a gripping tennis match at the US Open. As if this weren’t enough of a spectacle, I now have to endure the humiliation of a new label—the adulteress who has been confronted by the scorned wife.

“Yeah, you’re right. You aren’t decent. Now get the hell out of my sight or I’ll call the police on you and on your wife for threatening me.”

Teresa opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

“I might have made the mistake of sleeping with your husband thinking he was single, but you’re a fool for sticking with a man who cheats on you every time you’re about to put one of his babies into this world.” I push her out before my words hit her. I slam the door shut in their faces, flip around and close the door with my behind before resting my back against it, trying to regain my composure.

“What just happened?” I cover my eyes with my hand. “The bastard. I knew this was too good to be true,” I lament to Leonardo DiCaprio when he approaches me.

Did Vince ever enjoy being with me or did he think I was easy prey?

There’s a part of me yearning to break down and cry, but I’m so infuriated with myself for falling so easily for a guy I met at the supermarket, I can’t bring myself to shed a tear. I look around me and there are signs of him everywhere. In a moment of rage, I rip my robe off and run to my bedroom. I strip the bed bare of the white sheets that had witnessed our sexual interlude earlier and I run to the bathroom to dump them in the washing machine. Leonardo DiCaprio meows behind me and I’m sure I must look like a mad woman, but I need to cleanse this home right now.