Todos os capítulos de The Plus-Sized Bride No One Wanted: Too Fat to Love : Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

~ Chloe Bennett~I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned in my big, expensive bed, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw that painting sitting in Julian's office.It was driving me crazy.I sat up, kicked off my silk sheets, and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment. Out there, the lights of the Meridian Financial District glowed like little cold stars. I wrapped my arms around myself. I had everything I had ever wanted. I had the designer clothes, the luxury apartment, and most importantly, I had Julian Vance.So why was I so scared?Because of a stupid painting.It was a picture of a woman standing in a sunny garden. She was so fat, with long wavy hair, and she was smiling like she owned the whole world. The painter had signed it with the name I.M. Gray. Julian had bought it, saying it was just a smart business purchase to show off to investors. But I wasn't stupid. I saw the way he looked at it. His eyes had lingered on that woman’s face for far too long.The a

~ Ivy ~ The key turned in the brass lock with a heavy, satisfying click. I pushed the door open, the faint smell of old sawdust, lemon wax, and dried lavender drifting out to meet me. "Watch your step on the threshold," Maya called out behind me, carrying two wooden folding chairs under her arms. "The floorboard on the left sticks a little." I stepped into the room, my boots tapping softly against the worn oak floorboards. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched window at the far end, cutting through the quiet dust motes in the air. The room was tiny—barely big enough for a long work table, an easel, and a couple of stools—but it was whole. The walls were painted a fresh, clean cream, masking the old cracks. My chest felt tight, not with fear or panic, but with something so big and full I couldn't quite name it. I reached into my coat pocket and felt the cool, hard metal of the key. My key. My lease. Paid for with five thousand eight hundred dollars earned from my own hands, my

~ Ivy ~The studio smelled of drying oil paint and wet clay, but the air inside my lungs felt thin.Outside the window, the sun was setting over the Riverside Arts Quarter, painting the brick buildings in warm shades of orange and red. On my worktable sat three official letters, two invitation cards printed on heavy cardstock, and a check from last night’s gallery sales.Fifty thousand dollars.I picked up the paper, my fingers trembling around the smooth edges. A year ago, I had sat on a cold dirt road in a torn jacket, clutching a wet cardboard box with nothing inside except divorce papers and dirty clothes. Now, people were paying thousands of dollars just to own something I made. The numbers on the check were clear, black ink. They belonged to me. My real name wasn't on the front—to the art world, I was still "I.M. Gray"—but the money was real.A sudden knock on the wooden door made me jump. My chest tightened, and the check slipped out of my hand, fluttering down to the floor lik

~ Ivy ~ The phone in my hand vibrated, buzzing hard against my palm. I stared down at the screen. The caller ID showed a number I had deleted months ago, but I still knew every digit by heart. It was my mother, Victoria Monroe. My fingers felt cold. Yesterday, my father had called me to beg for money because the family business was falling apart. I had told him no. Now, the screen kept glowing with my mother's name. I slid my thumb across the glass and lifted the phone to my ear. I did not say hello. I just listened to the heavy, uneven breathing on the other end. "Ivy?" Her voice sounded thin and sharp, completely different from the smooth, polished tone she used when talking to her high-society friends. "Ivy, is that you? Please don't hang up." "I am here, Mother," I said. My voice was steady and quiet. I did not sound like the scared girl who used to hide in her bedroom whenever she heard footsteps in the hallway. "Your father told me what you said to him yesterday," Victoria

~ Ivy ~I stood in front of the tall mirror in the corner of my guest house bedroom.Sunlight poured through the clean glass window, warm and bright against my face. I looked at my body. My stomach was still soft and rounded. My hips were wide, stretching out the navy-blue fabric of my cotton dress. I was still fat and curvy.For the first time in my life, I did not turn away. The self hatred I've always had for myself is gone. My hands stayed resting lightly at my sides. My breath came easy and slow.I leaned closer to the mirror. The small dark circles under my hazel eyes were almost completely gone. My hair fell over my shoulders in clean, glossy waves. The pale, frightened woman who had crawled out of a hospital gown and collapsed onto a freezing road months ago was gone."You survived," I whispered to the empty room. "You are still here."I walked out of the bedroom and into the small art studio space Ethan had helped me set up in the back room. The air smelled rich and sharp—li