Christy strode up to her and glanced to the buffet table. It was supposed to be a frugal luncheon with some finger food and several fruit baskets, not the decadent dessert party she had in front of her. A diabetic could enter sugar shock just by staring at it.

"What did you actually think? That I'd see all these goodies and throw myself at them before I even saw the wonderful wall of fame you have organized for me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but if the shoe fits..."

Annie stepped forward and began saying something, but Christy halted her. The support was great, but she had to do this alone.

Christy slowly shook her head, her gaze intent on Rose. If she glanced somewhere else or that orange color caught her eyes again, she was liable to lose it. She drew a calming breath in. "You're a b.i.t.c.h, Rose. A venomous b.i.t.c.h that can't even blame age for her bitterness."

Rose brushed it off. "And you're a liar. Making everyone think you're normal when in reality you're...that!" She gestured at a picture near her. "A fat, disgusting pig that does nothing but stuff her face. Did you actually think you could hide this from us?"

"I haven't hidden anything from anyone. Yes, this was me," she said to the room. Then she turned to Rose. "Satisfied, Rose? I pity you. I really do. Outsides are fairly easy to change, no big secret there. You just need some money and some sound fashion advice and you're set, but changing your insides is another matter altogether. You may be skinny and young, pretty even, but on the inside you're rotten. Jealousy is eating you up. And guess what...it'll catch up with you. The rotting will spread; you can't keep such ugliness hidden forever."

Rose opened her mouth as if to say something, but Christy pushed on.

"You think you're gorgeous, but how long is that going to last? How long will your skin keep from wrinkling? Your a.s.s from falling? Your b.o.o.bs from sagging? Time's ticking. And there will always be someone younger around, and skinnier. Where will that leave you, Rose?"

Rose puckered. "This isn't about me. It's about you."

"Sure it's about me. That was me almost six years ago. I had some problems, and I dealt with them in the wrong manner, by eating. I took it out on myself. Not that you could wrap this concept around your tiny pea brain. You have a h.e.l.l of a problem too, but you take it out on others. You're mean and spiteful, but you're nothing special; not even your physical appearance is, because nowadays perky t.i.ts grow on trees. Believe me, I know-I'm from LA. You're just another nasty b.i.t.c.h out to get others because not even you can stand yourself."

Christy thought she heard Annie laughing. Someone cheered. Rose was saying something, but Christy wasn't listening. Cole was moving toward her, but she darted out of the building. Someone called out to her. No way was she stopping. She needed to get out of there.

He found her pretty easily. He knew she didn't like being home alone when she felt out of sorts, and she avoided being on the street, so, taking into consideration that her car was in the repair shop and all her friends were still in the library, there was really only one place she could be, and that was the park. She didn't acknowledge him in any way, didn't even turn to look at him when he sat next to her.

"You left before the best part," he began after some time in silence. She didn't lift her gaze to his. "Your friends said some nasty things to Rose. My aunt too. You should have stayed. I don't exactly know what Max told her, but she went as red as a tomato."

He himself would have chewed her head off, but he'd been busy going after Christy, more interested in reaching her than wasting a second speaking to Rose. All that he'd wanted was to hug his woman and rea.s.sure her everything was okay.

He would have caught Christy right away outside the library, but his aunt had stopped him.

"Give her two seconds, Cole," she'd said. "She's upset, and she needs some s.p.a.ce."

He'd managed to give her s.p.a.ce, a full ten seconds of it, and then he'd gone after her.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" he asked, tired of her silence. She'd seen him coming her way, but she hadn't waited for him or signaled in any way that she wanted his comfort, which, although he'd drop dead before admitting it, rode his a.s.s badly. Even now she kept him at a distance.

She didn't answer.

"And why the f.u.c.k are you freezing me out?"

She turned to him and gave him a "duh" look. "Isn't it self-explanatory? You saw the pictures. You don't have to pretend anything. You're off the hook. You can go. We'll pretend this"-she waved her hand between the both of them-"never happened."

"Don't f.u.c.k with me, Christy. What kind of shallow b.a.s.t.a.r.d do you take me for?"

She kept her mouth stubbornly shut for a long while, and he breathed in deep, praying for calm. He wasn't going to get anywhere by screaming. "Why would I go? And why would I pretend us never happened? You told me about the weight. I knew."

"It's one thing to know I was two hundred pounds. It's much different to see it."

He rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, she sneered at him dismissively. "Don't dare give me that condescending look. You haven't been fat a single day in your life, Cole. You have no clue how it was."

"So tell me how it was," he shot back at her.

"It was insane, okay? I was insane. Do you understand?" Her voice was now rising, and she jumped off the bench and began pacing in front of him. "Insane. I'd finish work and go to three or four different grocery stores because I didn't dare to buy all my fixes from one-what would the people there think of me? Even then I'd lie to the cashier about a party I was hosting to justify all the c.r.a.p I had in my shopping cart. Or I'd hit several drive-throughs on the way home after work, pretending I was on an errand for my office and my colleagues had given me a list of what they wanted. You know, one double cheeseburger without ketchup, and ah, yeah, for Paul a big bacon burger, extra mayo. Marge wanted the double milkshake. Like the people behind the counter couldn't see from my size that all that junk was for me. When later on I heard other people like me talking about how they'd pick food from the garbage they themselves had thrown away, I was horrified. I thought, well, I'm not so bad. But guess what? I was worse than they were, because they at least had a moment of clarity and threw the food away. I never had that moment of clarity. Never mind how stuffed I was, I never threw food in the garbage. I was the garbage. You with your beautiful body and your stable mind don't know what it's like to have to stuff your face in order to be able to breathe. You don't know squat about the fear of realizing you can't stop eating and are outgrowing every single piece of clothing you have in your wardrobe, and soon the ones in the store for fatties. You don't know what it's like to live like that, Cole. The shame, the loathing."

She looked at him defiantly as if daring him to contradict her. No, he didn't know what it was like to live with that kind of anxiety choking you. His fingers were itching to reach for her and bring her to him, to make her stop pacing, to wrap her in his arms and tell her that all that was in her past, but in her current mood she wouldn't go for it, so he kept still. She was on a rant. She was bound to run out of steam sooner or later. He'd just wait.

"There is no worse h.e.l.l on earth than being a fat kid, Cole. No worse mind job. And a fat teenager? Ha! Don't get me started on that. There are only two instances when being fat is socially acceptable: you need to be either a rapper or a sumo wrestler. I obviously was neither.

"Rose is right. I'm a cheater. This now is not me. The person in the picture is me. Rose-"

"Bulls.h.i.t. Rose is a b.i.t.c.h, she's wrong, and she can go f.u.c.k herself," Cole all but roared.

They stared at each other in silence for a while. "Do you want me to tell you when that picture was taken?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Do you remember I told you about my friend Lisa from high school, the one whose mother neglected her? That picture was taken at her wedding. I spent all day giving the photographer the slip, but I was ambushed several times. This was one of those."

Christy dragged out a breath and sat down. "I'd been isolating myself systematically for so long, I'd managed to alienate most of my friends. Not Lisa. She wouldn't give up on me, and she even made me one of the bridesmaids. When I was asked about the size for the bridesmaids dress, I lied. I was going to lose weight, right?" She snorted. The self-deprecating look on her face was full of pain and scorn, and sliced right through Cole's heart.

"I never wanted to look at reality, so I dodged all the fittings, my attempts to lose weight more radical by the day and as unsuccessful. As the time was approaching for the final fitting, I tried to talk my way out of going to the wedding, but Lisa wouldn't hear of it and I couldn't figure out a dignified way out of it. At the end I had to capitulate and endure the humiliation of recognizing the dress didn't fit. It couldn't even be modified, and it had to be redone entirely. It was so horrible; the pitying looks, the condemning silences. To this day I can't go into a bridal shop without getting sick to my stomach. A week before the event, the dress was ready, a huge orange sign in my closet, showing me how inadequate I was. Mocking me. Guess what? By the day of the wedding, I'd gained eight pounds. It was a miracle I could take half a breath after zipping the dress, which on the other bridesmaids, who by the way all looked like they came from the land of the fairies, was gorgeous. On me it looked like a big joke."

"Baby, you were overweight, and the dress looked tight on you, but you were beautiful nevertheless."

"I was f.u.c.king miserable," she retorted.

"I know, babe. It was in your eyes." She was smiling in the picture, but that smile hadn't reached her eyes. In fact, she'd looked so sad and defeated it broke his heart.

"I was so mortified," she continued. "So ashamed I'd have given anything to disappear into tiny, little pieces. I spent much of the reception in hiding. I can't even tell you who attended. I don't even remember who I spoke to; I just remember I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. And the buffet. I always remember the food, because that's where I went for hiding and comfort. And that two-hundred-pound body embodies all that, all that shame, all that anger. I hated my body. I still do."

How could she hate her body? "Why, Christy?"

"Because I'm embarra.s.sed about it. I always have been, and I always will be. There are a lot of addicts, a lot of people out of control, but unless you see them actively engaging in their addiction, you wouldn't know. For overeaters it's different. My body was like a neon sign, betraying me, telling everyone I had a problem. That I was defective, that I couldn't control my baser instincts. My lack of manageability was on my body for everyone to see and judge. It still is, Cole. All the marks, all the ways I deformed my body are still there, less visible but still there. It's demeaning. I just wanted to be like everyone else, but I wasn't.

"Being fat is not only a vice, but something to be ashamed of, a huge character defect. A moral weakness. h.e.l.l, gluttony is a cardinal sin. According to the Divine Comedy, there's a specific place in h.e.l.l for us, in the third circle. Talk about stigma, huh? It's so f.u.c.king insulting and degrading, with that three-headed dog warding us, because G.o.d forbid we'd escape punishment. My inability to cope with a normal life is embedded in my body. I should get it operated on."

"What do you mean, operated on? Operate on what?"

"This," she said, grabbing her upper arms and pulling at them. "Get rid of all these marks, of all these signals that I'm deficient."

"Enough. You're coming with me," he said as he took her by the hand and headed to his home. He'd had enough. This body image issue had to be addressed. Now. Because when it came to how she saw herself, she was blind to the reality. After several spankings she'd begun to, albeit grudgingly, thank him when he complimented her, so he thought they had made some progress, but obviously she'd just been humoring him.

Once in his place, he took her to his bedroom, closed the drapes, turned on all the lights, and dragged her in front of the full-body mirror. He'd been adding mirrors to his home, hoping Christy would begin seeing herself as she was. No chance. It seemed like she needed the shock therapy.

"Strip."

She looked bewildered. "What?"

"Take your clothes off. I want you to look at yourself."

She was already shaking her head and stepping away from the mirror. "I know how I look."

Cole stopped her retreat. "No, you don't, not even close."

"But-"

"No buts." He crossed his arms over his chest. He was not going to budge on the issue.

She pressed her lips into a tight line but after a long second began fumbling with her clothes.

"You know, this would go much easier if you take your clothes off too."

He shook his head. Getting into flirtatious mode wouldn't get her anywhere this time. If she was aroused, she had no problems with nudity. But that was because she was turned on and her need outweighed her hang-ups, or her common sense, as she'd put it several times. That was not acceptable anymore. She was going to do this without s.e.x fogging her mind.

She must have realized he wouldn't give up, for she didn't insist and resumed undressing.

"Look at yourself," he ordered as she finally stood naked.

"I know how I look," she said, her downcast eyes filled with shame.

"No, you don't," he countered, lifting her chin and forcing her to look at the mirror. He knew stripping in front of him was hard on her. Putting herself under his scrutiny and risking rejection was painful. What she didn't seem to understand was that he would never reject her. Ever. "Look at yourself. You are beautiful." She opened her mouth, but he stopped her. "Yes, you don't have the body of a twenty-two-year-old girl. But you don't need to. You're thirty-four, babe, and you're gorgeous. h.e.l.l, I'm hard all the time when you're around."

She reached for him, palming him through the jeans. No way. He wasn't going to let her distract him. "Not yet, sweetheart. We have to clear up some things first. Keep looking at yourself. You are not fat."

"I'm not particularly skinny either."

He sighed and came closer to her, stopping right behind her and placing his hands on her hips. "Listen to me, baby. Men like to have somewhere to grab. We don't enjoy making love to a bag of bones; we need curves and hollows to grab on to. Women's beauty ideal is not only skewed, but has nothing to do with ours. You may think we want some catwalk skeleton, but men are very partial to curves and t.i.ts and a.s.ses and soft, welcoming thighs." She let out a shaky smile. "Marilyn Monroe was a size 12, sweetheart, not a size 4."

Her eyebrows furrowed in surprise. "How do you know Marilyn Monroe's size?"

He shrugged. "Aunt Maggie forces us to play Trivial Pursuit every Sunday, remember? I have lots of useless factoids in my head I don't seem to be able to get rid of." Although now he was d.a.m.n glad for it.

"Here's a factoid for you: Angelina Jolie is considered the s.e.xiest woman alive. I doubt she's a size 12."

"If you think I consider Jolie the s.e.xiest woman alive, you're talking to the wrong man, babe."

Cole caressed her arms, then moved to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her stomach. Light brushes, enjoying how she got goose b.u.mps and her nipples hardened and a faint blush spread over her face and chest.

"My body is covered in marks, Cole."

Big deal. "Mine too, sweetheart."

She snorted. "Yours are war scars."

"Yours too, Christy. I waged war with others while you waged war with yourself. It's the same. It's just life; there's nothing to be ashamed of. We both survived. This body tells its own story, and it's an amazing story. You are amazing."

Christy looked at herself in the mirror and placed her hands over his. Her eyes were welling. She cleared her throat. "Are you sure you aren't ashamed of me?"

Him? Ashamed of her? Was she joking?

The insecurity in her voice sliced through his soul. "Of course not." He all but snarled. "Don't you ever dare to ask me that again. Ever." He stepped in front of her and sank to his knees.

She eyed him warily. "What...what are you doing?"

He pressed his face against her belly and kissed the small swell, filling his lungs with the smell of her, with the smell of home. "You keep watching in the mirror. I'm going to kiss every one of those scars that you seem to think are so shameful."

Christy was shaking in his arms, her big brown eyes swimming with unshed tears. He reached to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and worked those gorgeous mounds with his tongue and teeth, after which he nuzzled and kissed his way down, mapping her body with his mouth and fingers, sweeping his tongue over every stretch mark. Every dip and every swell too. He caressed her hips, her thighs, her a.s.s cheeks. Rubbed his face on her stomach. For a second he imagined her growing round with his child, and got dizzy.

He touched her with all the tenderness he didn't know how to convey in words, trying to show her what she meant to him, how precious she was to him, how precious her body was too.

As he paid homage to her, she broke into tears and covered her face, but he pried her hands off. "No, baby. Watch me loving your body."

She did until it proved to be too much for her, and she crumpled into him, her whole body jerking with her wrenching sobs.

"Shh, babe. I'm here. I've got you. Everything is okay," he murmured as he cradled her in his arms and stroked her back.

He wanted so f.u.c.king badly to make her hurt go away, but he could do nothing but comfort her.

It took a while before all the pent-up grief worked itself through her and she calmed down. He didn't stop petting and murmuring rea.s.suring words to her, not even after she'd stopped crying.

Christy mopped her tear-drenched eyes with the back of her hand and smiled shakily. "Sorry."

He wiped the last of the tears and then kissed her slowly, letting his tongue explore the recesses of her mouth. She responded right away, pressing herself against him, giving him her tongue.

"Cole, please, get naked."

He was dying to be inside her, but he beat the urge down. They weren't done yet. "I want to hear you aren't ashamed of yourself first. I want you to recognize that your body is worthy of my attentions. That you're beautiful."

She looked at herself. Stared at herself for a while. He held his breath. "I'm not ashamed of myself. I'm worthy." He frowned at her, and she capitulated. "And I'm beautiful. Now, Cole," she whispered, "get naked. I need you."

After laying her in the bed, he undressed without taking his eyes off her. G.o.d, he wanted her. Her inner thighs were glistening with desire, which was good because he was past foreplay. He slid in to the hilt, her sheath yielding to him, and they came together in a wet kiss full of longing and pa.s.sion.

"I want all of you," she whispered as she lifted her hips to him.

"Are you sure, baby?" He pinned her with his gaze as he kept his strokes deep and steady. "Because I want all of you too. What you haven't given to anyone else. I want your a.s.s, Christy. I don't want even an inch of you unclaimed by me."

She faltered only for a second. "Then claim me."

Her words shot straight into his c.o.c.k. He thrust into her again and again, finishing each plunge with a grind the way she liked it, until her sweet p.u.s.s.y clenched convulsively around him and she came with a strangled cry.

He rode her o.r.g.a.s.m, fighting not to come himself. Then he flipped her to her stomach and lifted her hips, keeping her chest down.

"Like that, babe. Perfect."

He parted those sweet a.s.s cheeks and swirled his tongue around the puckered rosette, dipping inside before trailing down and licking her p.u.s.s.y, reveling in the quivers still racing through her c.l.i.t. He would have loved to eat her until she peaked again, but he couldn't wait. He reached for the tube of K-Y from the drawer in the nightstand, poured a dollop in her, and then lubed his c.o.c.k up. f.u.c.k, his hands were shaking.