Contracted to the Mafia: A Plus-Size Bride
He stopped at my stomach.
His hand pressed gently on the fat there. I wanted to pull away, wanted to step back, wanted to cover it with my hands, but he didn't let go.
"This needs to go."
I looked at him. "What?"
"This fat. The doctor said if you lose weight, your heart will have less strain. Blood pressure drops, cholesterol drops, blood sugar drops. Everything will get better."
I was silent. I knew that. The doctor had explained it many times. But hearing it from his mouth, from his hand still pressing on the fat on my stomach, felt different.