Fat Girl (44 page)

GETTING READY FOR MY DATE with Mick is an exercise in anxiety management. I take deep, meditative breaths and avoid the kitchen, even though it’s intentionally bare of anything bingeworthy.

After Mick asked me this morning what I was wearing under my clothes, it occurred to me that I was completely unprepared to embark on a sexual relationship with him. So I called up Lexie and Jord for lunch and a trip to Lush Lingerie. It stood to reason that if I wore something sexy underneath it all, then I might feel sexy.

My friends, whom I told over sushi about my renewed relationship with Mick, were thrilled for me and only too willing to oblige. Lush Lingerie was a feast for the senses. I found racy sets of lace, satin, and silk in my size that put my functional cotton and spandex to shame. With Lexie and Jordyn leading the charge, I left there with the kind of undergarments that twenty-four hours earlier, I wouldn’t have considered. Underwear that required more than just tidying up my bikini line.

But now, standing in front of the closet, having traded in my long white terrycloth robe for a short white silk one, I have a bad case of butterflies. I try on the black dress with the bolero jacket. Concealing and
conservative
. It screams
boring
.

Next, I slip on the ruby-red halter dress. Revealing and risqué. It shouts
fearless
.
That’s the woman I long to be—confident and sure in my less-than-perfect skin. The woman who will let Mick take my body carte blanche tonight, without any hesitation, qualms, or insecurities, and take what I want in return.

Deciding that the red stays, I follow Lexie’s makeup advice and outline my lids with black liquid liner to create elongated cat eyes. Then I add a neutral shadow with a little shimmer, lightly dust my face with bronzer, and color my lips with a sheer peachy gloss.

For my hair, I gather the curls and twist them into a low, loose side bun. I decide to forgo jewelry when the chandelier earrings prove to be too much, as does the rhinestone choker.

At precisely 7:30 p.m., the doorbell rings. I have second thoughts and think to change back into the black dress. But that would take too long. Worse, it would make me a coward.
Okay.
Deep breaths.

With trembling fingers, I buckle up my nude-colored sandals and brave a quick look in the mirror. I stare at the woman I see there. I hardly recognize her, with her made-up eyes and her flesh on display. I roll my bottom lip, hoping like hell I can pull this off.

The clicks of my pencil-thin heels are tentative, but they get me to the foyer.
Whew.
I blow out a shaky breath and twist my damp palms before opening the door.

Mick’s intense eyes chart a slow path down the red dress to my strappy shoes. His gaze returns to my face. “You’re stunning.”

“You look pretty stunning, yourself,” I say. And he does. This is the first time I’ve seen Mick in anything other than jeans. His suit is slate gray, and he’s paired it with a crisp white shirt, silver tie, and white pocket square. His waves are arranged back from his forehead, and his jaw is freshly shaven, making my fingers itch with the urge to stroke his smooth skin.

He looks every bit the rich, powerful celebrity who’s graced the covers of
GQ
and
People
. His celebrity status should be intimidating. And yet it isn’t, because I know the real man wrapped inside the exquisite package.

He drops an overnight bag on the floor. Our eyes lock, anticipation swells between us.

“I have something for you,” Mick says, several beats later. From the bag, he pulls out a small parcel covered with matte gold wrapping paper and tied with an ivory ribbon.

“What is it?”

“Open it up and find out.”

The excitement in his tone is contagious.

I set the parcel on the hallway table beside my wrap and beaded purse. With Mick watching my every move, I slowly remove the ribbon and paper. Underneath is a square black box. I lift the hinged lid and my jaw drops.

It’s simple, beautiful, and expensive. The Piaget name alone tells me that. I take in the necklace. A single diamond stud sits in the center of a white gold chain. Suspended from the chain are two intertwined rings that fall in a cascade. The larger one on the bottom is encrusted with diamonds. The smaller one above is engraved. I run my fingers over the word
Possession
.

“See how the two circles are linked but are also suspended from the chain?”

I nod.

“It’s to give the illusion that they’re breaking free from each other, only to reunite and create a new and stronger bond. A bond of possession. Of eternal love. Do you like it?”

I gaze up at him with my heart wide open.

“I love it.”

“May I?”

“Please.” I turn to give him my back.

He draws the necklace around me. The linked chain and pendant feel cool against my skin in contrast with the sublime warmth of Mick’s hands brushing my collarbone and settling at my nape.

After he fastens the clasp, he eases me around and our gazes fall to where the intertwined circles sit in the center of my cleavage. “Diamonds have never had a more perfect frame.”

I bloom under his praise. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’d kiss you, but then I couldn’t promise to get you to the party.”

Giving into temptation, I stroke his smooth jaw. “Better save it for later then.”

Mick’s mouth curves up in a sexy grin. He drapes my wrap around my shoulders and hands me my clutch. “Ready?”

“Ready,” I answer. For anything and everything this man has to offer.

MINUTES AFTER WE ENTER THE Lemon Lounge, a posh restaurant/club that has a VIP room reserved for parties, I get a glimpse of another side of Dee. From across the floor, where I’m checking her wrap, I watch her interactions with Lexie and Jordyn. It’s all female shrieks, exuberant hugs, and animated chatter. I like seeing her this way. Hell, I just like seeing her.

Tonight, Dee reminds me of a 1950’s film star. Glamorous. Big, sultry eyes and a red halter dress that shows off all those mouth-watering curves.

Yesterday evening, she told me about her lumps and stretch marks. Unreal. This sexy, smart, accomplished woman was sure I was going to find her flawed. I knew about Dee’s insecurities in high school. But I didn’t realize that they still skewed the way she saw herself. I suppose I should have. I’ve heard Maria and Isabelle talk about the pressure for women to be thin. I’ve dated women whose livelihood depended on it.

But when I look at Dee, I don’t see just her body. I see her. Someone beautiful on the inside and out. Whether she wears an 8 or 18, it’s not her dress size that matters to me. It’s the woman.

“Holy shit!” I hear Jordyn exclaim, zeroing in on the necklace.

Dee’s fingers touch the pendant. “It’s from Mick.”

“Gorgeous,” Lexie remarks.

“I gotta give the sexy ex props.”

And then I’m at Dee’s side. “I’m not the ex anymore.” I wrap a proprietary arm around her waist.

Three pairs of eyes turn to me.

“It’s good to see you both again under better circumstances.” I reach into my breast pocket and hand Lexie an envelope with a gift certificate inside from the Villa Spa. “Happy Birthday. For the three of you to enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Lexie says, taking my hand between both of her palms for a two-handed shake.

“Yeah, thanks.” Jordyn punches my shoulder with a friendly jab. “No hard feelings, right?”

“None,” I say. “You were looking out for Dee. I respect that.”

Dee sends me her crooked smile, right before a tall, slim woman sweeps up to us and kills the moment. She’s wearing an icy-blue sequined dress. Diamonds drip from her ears and throat, and she has an air of superiority that immediately puts me off.

“Alexandra, darling, please be mindful of leaving Richard unattended. He’s a very eligible bachelor.”

Jordyn rolls her eyes and Dee remains tensely quiet.

“I’m sure Richard won’t run off with the first woman he meets if I’m away from him for ten minutes.”

“A beautiful, ambitious woman can nab a rich, successful man with merely the bat of her eyelashes. Never forget that. And for heaven’s sakes, don’t frown. You’ll get wrinkles.” Her attention turns to me next. It’s an appraising assessment. “You must be the former basketball player. I’m not familiar with sports, but I recognize that handsome face, naturally.”

“Mother, this is Micah Peters, Dee’s escort. Mick, this is my mother, Miranda Townsen.”

I see the resemblance now, but where Lexie is warm and down-to-earth, this woman is cold and superficial. Miranda Townsen’s chilly blue eyes shift to Dee for an uncomplimentary once-over.

“Hello, Mrs. Townsen,” Dee says politely and tugs at her neckline.

“Deeana.” Her lips purse. “I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted with someone so famous.”

“I knew Mick long before his fame.”

“Is that so? Well, it’s a pleasure to have you here, Micah.” She extends her hand. It’s cool and limp. “Your arrival has created quite a stir. I’d be honored to show you off.”

“It’s Lexie’s night.”

Her thin smile is indulgent. “Your celebrity will only add to it. People will talk about this for days, which is the true measure of any successful party.”

The last thing I want is to be paraded around. But Dee gives me a pleading look that I assume is for Lexie’s sake. “Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

For Dee, I allow Miranda Townsen to take my arm and lead me away. Aside from meeting Theodore Townsen, a male clone of his wife, I’m introduced to Dr. Richard Schnauss—a preppy socialite, from his side-parted brown hair to the points of his shiny black wing tips. After he nearly puts me to sleep with a lecture on bone fusing, Miranda presents me to her friends and their single daughters as if I were the catch of the day. When I spot my woman in red sipping a glass of champagne at the end of the bar, I offer my excuses to the former Miss Something or Other and make my way over to Dee.

“Dance with me,” I whisper against her ear and splay my palm wide across her bare back.

“I’d love to.” I guide Dee to a corner of the dance floor, where I draw her close.

“She’s still looking at you.”

“Who?” I ask.

“The woman you were just talking to.”

I drop Dee into a sudden dip. “That’s all she gets is a look,” I say, my eyes feasting on the arch of her neck and the sensuous fullness of her glossy lips. “I’m taken.”

When I pull Dee back against my chest, her lush breasts gentle against me and her alluring scent rises up to tickle my senses. “Happily taken,” I add.

“Very smooth.” She laughs. “Thank you for enduring Miranda and the rest of it.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

Dee sighs and slips her arms around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder. We sway together as Etta James sings, “Here we are in heaven, for you are mine…at last.”

Over a late night dinner, I get acquainted with Dee’s friends. Lexie is cultured and sophisticated, yet she has an easy, unassuming way about her. What she sees in the uptight doctor is beyond me.

Jordyn’s someone I could hang with. She can recite sports stats better than any guy I know and she’s a riot with her glib and uncensored tongue running commentary on Miranda and her guests. When I learn she’s an architect, I discuss my plans to expand Papa’s Kids on a piece of property I’ve purchased. Her initial ideas fit with my vision, and we exchange contact information.