Todos os capítulos de The Plus-Sized Bride No One Wanted: Too Fat to Love : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

~ Ivy Monroe ~I held the cool glass of water in my hand, but my fingers shook so hard the water sloshed over the rim, wetting my knuckles. I set the glass down on the small wooden side table before I dropped it.Across the room, the morning sun hit the white screen of my laptop. The little black arrow hovered over the refresh button on my email inbox."Ivy, you are going to stare a hole right through that screen," Ethan said, his voice quiet as he walked into the kitchen of the guest house. He carried two white porcelain mugs, the steam rising in thin, gray swirls. He set one down in front of me and pulled out a chair. He wore a simple navy sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows."I can't look, Ethan," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I tucked my dark brown hair behind my ears, clutching the edges of my oversized gray cardigan around my waist. "If it's a rejection, I don't think I can handle it today. I really don't.""It won't be a rejection," Ethan said gently. He reach

~ Ivy ~I sat on the edge of my bed, watching the dark shadows stretch across the white rug. The guest house was quiet, so quiet I could hear the wind brushing against the glass, but inside my head, everything was loud.My hand rested on my stomach. It was flat now, completely empty.I picked up my pencil, trying to draw the outline of a leaf, but my fingers trembled so much that the tip snapped against the paper. The tiny click sounded like a gun going off in the silent room.I sucked in a sharp breath. My heart started beating fast, hitting my ribs like a trapped bird.Get a grip, Ivy, I told myself, squeezing my eyes shut. You are fine. You are safe in Ethan's guest house. You had a good day at the art show. People actually bought your paintings.I tried to focus on that. I tried to remember the woman at the gallery who held my hand and told me my work was beautiful. I tried to remember the check sitting on my desk, proof that I was finally making my own money.But the good thought

~ Ivy ~Ethan knocked on the guest house door just as the orange sun began to drop below the trees. He carried a heavy brown paper folder under his arm. His face was pale, his strong jaw clamped shut, and his usual warm blue-gray eyes looked dark and tired.I opened the door and took a step back, wiping my hands on my paint-stained apron."Ethan? What happened?" I asked, my voice barely louder than a whisper. "You look like you've seen a ghost.""Ivy, we need to talk," he said quietly.He walked inside, his tall frame filling the small living room. He sat down heavily on the soft green sofa, setting the thick folder on the wooden coffee table between us. I closed the door, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet cottage. My heart beat fast against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hands began to shake, so I squeezed them together in front of my apron."What is that?" I asked, pointing a trembling finger at the table.Ethan looked at me with a painful mix of anger and gentleness. "I’

~ Ivy ~I clutched my black sketchbook against my chest so hard my knuckles turned white. My heart pounded inside my ribs like a trapped bird. Every step down the long hallway of the Ashbourne Art Institute felt heavy, as if my shoes were made of lead.I paused right at the threshold of the advanced painting studio.Inside, the room was bright and noisy. Tall wooden easels stood in long rows across the hardwood floor. Dried paint splattered the walls, and the sharp, bitter smell of turpentine and oil paint filled the air. A dozen students were already moving around, laughing and unpacking expensive brushes from neat plastic cases.They were all young, thin, and stylish. A girl with sleek black hair wore a fitted designer sweater that showed off her small waist. A guy beside her flipped his hair back, chatting easily about a gallery show he had visited over the weekend. They looked like they had been born in an art studio. They looked like they belonged.Then there was me.I looked dow

~ Ivy ~The small table inside my guest house cottage was covered in paint tubes. Maya sat on the edge of the cheap wooden chair, waving her hands around like she always did when she had a big idea."You have to put them online, Ivy," Maya said. Her pink hair caught the morning light coming through the window. "Your work is too good to hide in this room. People will pay real money for it. I know they will."I looked down at the wooden table. My fingers were stained with dark blue paint. "Who would buy my art, Maya? I am nobody."Maya tapped her fingers on the wood. "Stop saying that. Your art is beautiful. You just need to put it out there."She pulled out her phone and set it between us. The screen showed a bright website where artists from all over the world sold their paintings."Setting up an account takes five minutes," Maya said. "Just pick a name."My chest felt tight. The thought of putting my real name on the internet made my hands shake. What if my parents saw it? What if Ju