Page 7 of An Inevitable Marriage

Anthony was half bent over the bed. There was a woman on the mattress in front of him, her bright-red lips wrapped tightly around his length. And then there was another woman behind him doing…somethingto his ass.

The scene shocked me so much, it took five full seconds for me to find my voice.

“What the hell?”

Three sets of eyes shot to me simultaneously, and to my horror, neither one of the women stopped what they were doing.

In fact, the blonde behind Anthony worked him faster as she purred, “Greedy, Tony. You didn’t tell me there’d be one more girl. That’s going to cost you extra.”

Cost you extra…

My stomach churned violently.

I slapped a hand over my mouth and barely reached the bathroom before my breakfast came out.

When I went to the sink to wash my face, my blotchy reflection stared back at me. And every insecurity I thought I’d buried slammed into me at once.

I wasn’t blind. Those two women on the bed—my bed—had smooth skin, flat stomachs, small boobs, and no hips.

They were my exact opposite.

Everything I wasn’t and never could be. Sure, I could pay someone an obscene amount of money to bleach my inky hair to that steely platinum that seemed to be all the rage. I could watch endless tutorials on smokey makeup that made my appearance sensual and alluring.

But the one thing I couldn’t do was change how my body looked.

My breasts were big, my hips full.

I had curves.

My mom had them, and so did her mother.

And as much as I loved both those women, I’d spent my entire childhood wishing I looked different. Even more so when I had a sister and best friend who looked like they could walk a runway in Paris.

“Evie, baby, I can explain.”

Just hearing his voice from behind the door made me want to throw up all over again. Doing my best to keep my tears away, I brushed my teeth and pulled on the first set of clean clothes I could find. Black tights and an oversized white T-shirt.

I’d just tugged the cotton over my hips when the bathroom door creaked open.

“Go—” I immediately spat.

“Baby, listen—”

“No!” I yelled. “I won’t listen. There’s nothing you can say to explain what the hell I just saw.” Licking my lips, I took a deep, steadying breath. “You need to leave. Pack your shit and go.”

I waited for my heart to break, for that heavy sadness to wash over me, but it never came. Fury was all I felt.

Anger that I didn’t see this coming.

Rage that he’d dared to do whatever he’d done in the same damn bed I slept in every night.

And shame.

“I swear,” he whined. “It means nothing.”

He reached for me, but I slapped his hand away before he could touch me. His hands on me were the last thing I wanted. I didn’t know where they’d been or if he’d even washed them.

My stomach rolled again, and I pressed my palm to it. How many times had he done this? And with how many women?