Chapter 71

71

Mira

My heart feels like a sledgehammer. My ribcage trembles with each beat. Am I nervous about meeting my stepmother? What do you think? And I shouldn’t be, really. They can’t hurt me. No, strike that. They can hurt me, but it’s time I learn how to deal with it. Besides, they don’t know anything about me. So what, if I grew up under the same roof as my half-sisters? They’ve spent their lives pretending I don’t exist. That's when they weren't making fun of me. As for my stepmother… Does she hate me? Boy, does she.

She sees me as a threat for my father’s affections, and I don’t know why, considering my father has found it difficult to look at my face since my mother’s death. I know, I remind him of her. He’s said so on a few occasions, in the days he’d make an occasional appearance in my life. But it must have been too distressing for him, given how he blocked me out of his life.

So why do I feel so duty-bound toward him? Why is it, I felt as if I were the one responsible for doing what was needed to help his business? It's what my mother would have wanted. Given she died when I was little, it’s not a conversation I’ve ever had with her, but if she’d been alive, I know she’d have wanted me to fulfill my obligations of a daughter.

She’d have also wanted me to be happy.

Perhaps, she’d have stood up for me and convinced my father not to go through with the tradition of an arranged marriage for me. Or maybe not, considering she and my father had an arranged marriage, too, and they were very happy, by all accounts. And seeing my stepmother and half-sisters has only brought home all the insecurities I grew up with.

But I'm stronger than that now. I have to be. And it’s best to face them now and get it over with. I begin to wipe my damp hands down my dress, then stop. The last thing I want to do is stain the fabric. When I chose it earlier, I thought—no, I knew— it looks good on me. I like how the silk clings to my curves, how it outlines my hips and stretches across my thick thighs. How it bares my neck. I knew it would capture his gaze and focus it on my figure.

I wore it because a part of me wanted to bask in his admiration. I wanted to flaunt my size sixteen figure knowing he loves it. He’s told me so often enough that, for the first time in my life, I'm secure about how I look. I no longer watch what I eat. I don’t berate myself for not working out every day at the gym. For the first time since I can remember, I like what I see in the mirror. And it's because of him.

The way Eddie touched me and kissed me and worshipped my body. The way he hasn't wanted to allow me out of his sight since the first day he saw me… Yes, it's obsessive, but it's also flattering. So, flattering. So, gratifying… So, pleasing that he loves me for what I am. He doesn't want me to change. He hasn't demanded anything I can’t give him…

He's the first man to adore my lush figure. The first to relish my size sixteen curves. He tied me up before he fucked me. He loves how my flesh embraces the knots. He was aroused by the marks left on my hips and my thighs by the cords. He was fixated on me, but then, I’d rather he be infatuated by me and consumed by me than by anyone else. I’d rather he dominate me than any other woman.

He loves me. And I don’t want any other woman to occupy this space in his life. I’d rather he focus all of his considerable attentiveness on me. That his scrutiny stops and ends with my face, my body, my soul. He's mine. I'm his. And I love him. I don’t want anyone in my life, except him. He loves me. He wants me. He finds me beautiful… More than that, he thinks I am the most alluring woman in the world.

And that gives me the courage to walk up to the women who’ve been responsible for so much of the sadness in my life. They fall quiet as I approach. And when I reach them, all three of them stare at me. They take in my dress, Chanel, and my heels, Balenciaga. Eddie filled my closet with only the best brands, all in my size. And while I could have been churlish and not accepted any of it, they looked so appealing, and they looked so good on me. I may be stubborn at times, but I'm not stupid.

Maybe, he's doing it to win me over, but I'm confident it's also because he loves how I look in them. His adoring gaze when he saw me was everything. His possessive touch as he helped me with the coat, and later, helped me remove it, gives me the wherewithal to hold out my hand to my stepmother. "Matilda."

Her eyebrows rise, and she seems taken aback by my confidence. She ignores my hand and continues to study me. I place my left palm on my hip, and her gaze widens. She sees my engagement and wedding rings—good. It’s the first time I’m meeting her without a trace of nervousness—because, you know what? Somewhere on the walk over, as my mind went over how much my husband cherishes me, my uncertainty faded away, leaving in its place, a quiet belief in myself.

That’s what Edward has done for me. He helped me find myself. All it took was my husband showing me how much he values me, how much he wants me, how he sees me as everything he needs, for me to find my trust in myself. Seeing myself through his eyes gives me the self-assurance I thought I’d never find. He's helped me find my faith. He’s changed my life. He’s shown me I'm not less than anyone else. He’s taught me to love myself, and as a result, I've learned how to accept love. And for that, I'm willing to give him a second chance.

“Mirabelle.” My stepmother looks past me, in the direction of my husband, before turning her gaze on my features. “I suppose congratulations are in order on your nuptials?”

I lock my fingers together. I will not be nervous. I will not allow the memories of all the way she’s insulted me over the years to get to me.

When I was a kid, and I found out she was my new stepmother, I was so excited. I threw myself into her arms when my father introduced her, and she played along. She pretended to care for me, long enough to win my father over. Enough to worm herself into his affections, enough to make him trust her to look after me while he was away on work.

It was only later, I realized, she found ways to isolate me from him. She’d worked herself into a place where most of my father’s communication to me came through her, where he never had the opportunity to see me or hear from me directly. I felt so lonely. Even more so, once my half-sisters came along. I'd thought it would be wonderful to have sisters, but she shut me out.

She turned all her attention to them, and while she put me in the care of a string of nannies, she made sure none of them stuck around long enough for me to form a bond with them. In a way, it turned out to be a blessing, of sorts, for the women she chose to care for me were not exactly affectionate.

I ended up missing my mother so much, I turned to food to make up for the lack of love in my life. I was trying to fill the mom-shaped hole in my life with the rush of endorphins that came from filling my stomach. It’s also when I decided I wanted a family of my own. Children I could love and make up for the lack I had in my own life.

“Uh, is that your engagement ring?” Eleanor, my older half-sister, grabs my hand. I try to pull away, but she tightens her hold on me. She peers at my finger and sniffs. “Nice stone, but why isn’t it a diamond?”

“I like it.” I yank at my hand again, and this time, she releases it.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Of course, it was an arranged marriage, so love wasn’t part of the equation.” Her voice is disdainful.

Heat flushes my cheeks. My stomach twists. My husband loves me. He does. She doesn’t know what goes on in my marriage. I open my mouth to tell her off, when a server comes by with a tray of hors-oeuvres. I reach for it, and Kate, my younger half-sister, exclaims, “Oh, honey, are you sure you want to eat that?”

Eleanor takes one of the fried mozzarella sticks from the server’s tray and bites into it. “It’s soo good.” She smacks her lips. “But you shouldn’t eat it; it has too many calories.”

My guts churn. My pulse rate spikes. A crawling sensation pricks my skin, and I retract my hand. Eddie’s appreciation of my curves made me so comfortable in my own skin that I forgot I hate eating in front of others.

When I hit puberty and my unhealthy eating habits meant my weight had ballooned, Matilda insisted on rationing my food. She’d serve treats to my half-sisters but tell me I couldn’t have any because I was too heavy, and she was looking out for my health. She’d also serve me too-small portions, explaining she was trying to help me control my weight. All of this meant I often went to bed hungry.

Once, I’d been unable to sleep because I was starving. I sneaked down to the kitchen after everyone was asleep and stole food. She caught me in the act, and Kate teased me mercilessly about it. The result? I stopped eating with them. For years, I preferred to have my food delivered to my room and eat on my own.

Then there was the time Matilda took the three of us shopping for clothes. I was suspicious when she invited me to come along. After all, she never treated me as part of the family. But she was so sweet, and when I hesitated, Eleanor and Kate insisted I join them. I was so happy they were including me in their activities that I agreed.

We’d reached the boutique, and Matilda insisted I try on clothes that were a size too small for me. Then she looked at me with disappointment and commented that if I lost a little weight, they’d fit me better.

Eleanor and Kate tried on the prettiest dresses in the shop. They modelled them, and Matilda oohed and aahed over them. She bought them all the clothes they’d tried on, then turned to me and proclaimed, once I slimmed down, she’d buy a new wardrobe for me too. Meanwhile, she was "more than happy" to buy me my plus-size clothing, but really, wouldn’t it be best if I waited? It would be an incentive for me to lose weight. With sweaty palms and a piercing pain in my heart, I agreed.

She proceeded to take us to a fast-food joint as a ‘treat,’ then looked at me disapprovingly when I ordered a burger. I settled for not eating, while the three of them tucked into burgers and shakes. I reached for one of the fries from Kate’s plate, and she burst into tears and complained to Matilda that I was stealing her food.

Of course, she and Eleanor had looked at me with judgement. I was a fat girl; I couldn’t restrain myself when it came to food. It was one of the worst days of my life—one to which I directly attribute many of my insecurities with food and my weight. Suffice it to say, I never went out with them anywhere after that.

The waitstaff moves on to serve someone else, and I heave a sigh of relief, only to stiffen when Matilda gestures to my dress. “What a lovely color, my dear.” She turns to Eleanor. “Doesn’t it give the illusion of taking inches off her hips?”

“It does.” Eleanor beams. “In fact, it almost flattens her stomach.”

“It definitely makes her look a size smaller.” Kate taps her chin with a talon-like fingernail. Too bad she hasn’t stabbed herself in the eye with it.

How many times have I heard the three of them hold a conversation about me like I wasn’t there? Only I was there. And I was hurt. And I still carry the emotional scars from their torment. That confidence I thought I'd shored up oozes out of me.

I take a step back, only to connect with something solid. Something warm. And hard and ungiving. Something that supports my weakening knees that threaten to give out from under me. I draw in a sharp breath, and his woodsmoke scent surrounds me. That tingle of electricity, which I’ve always felt in his presence, loops about my shoulders. My muscles relax, and when he places his big hands on my hips, the comfort from his touch knocks away the moment of self-doubt which had crawled into my chest.

"Belle’s lush figure is what I love about her. No, that’s wrong." He tucks me closer. "Her big heart is what I adore about her. And her giving nature. And how she wants to take care of those around her. She is the most authentic, most unselfish, most beautiful soul I have ever met. As for her curves? They're what make her even more special. My wife is worth a hundred, no, a million of you.” He turns to my stepmother. “You insulted my wife and made her unhappy today. For that and for all the times you’ve upset her during her growing years, I’m going to cut the salary paid to your husband by eighty percent.”

Matilda laughs. "Who are you to have any say over my husband’s income?"

"He’s the man who owns my company," my father’s voice cuts in.

Matilda looks from my husband to my father, who’s walked over to join us. "What do you mean?" She scowls.

"My business needed an infusion of cash to stop it from going under. Mira’s husband stepped in. As of today, he owns a majority interest in the shares. In effect, he has control over my paycheck, and hence, over our future.”

Matilda’s gaze widens. "You never told me."

"You didn’t need to know.” My father raises a shoulder.

"This doesn’t change anything." She waves her hand in the air.

“Actually, it does.” My father widens his stance. “Since my salary is going to be cut to a fraction of what I used to earn, we’ll have to trim our monthly outgoings. No more vacations?—”

“What?” Eleanor slaps her hands on her hips. “I promised my friends I’d take a trip to Barbados with them. I can’t let them down,”

Our father ignores her. “No more buying new dresses,” he proclaims.

“I can’t do without one for my debutante ball!” Kate bursts into tears.

Matilda pulls her close then glowers at my father. “Now, look what you’ve done.”

“As for you”—he looks my stepmother up and down— “I’m going to cut your allowance by eighty percent.”

Matilda stiffens. “You’re joking.”

My father shakes his head. “I should have done this much earlier for how you mis-treated Mirabelle all these years. I’m seriously thinking of divorcing you.”

Matilda gapes, then a sly look comes into her eyes. “We’ve been married long enough, that if you did, I’d be entitled to a good portion of your money.”

My father smirks, and it’s a look I’ve never seen on his features before. “Remember the pre-nup you signed?”

Matilda draws in a sharp breath.

“That’s right. You don’t get a penny if we divorce,” my father says in satisfaction.

Matilda narrows her gaze on my father. “I am your wife; you can’t treat me like this.”

“And Mira is my daughter. When I married you, I told you she was the most important thing in my life. I told you I wanted you to be a mother to her. Yet you mistreated her all these years.”

“I did my best,” Matilda snaps.

“And it wasn’t enough.”

“Don’t blame me for your shortcomings,” Matilda says in a low voice.

“You’re right, it’s my fault. I was too caught up in my grief. I was so self-absorbed I didn't intervene, even though I sensed my daughter was unhappy. But thanks to Edward, I realize I can make amends.” My father looks between Eleanor and Kate, “I take responsibility for how the two of you turned out. I was an absent parent. I should have intervened in how your mother brought the two of you up. For that reason, I won’t disinherit the both of you from my will. But consider yourselves warned. I expect to see changes in your attitude and your behavior toward your older sister. You'd do well to remember, she is your sister. And I love all of my girls. You, on the other hand”—he turns to Matilda—“I’m contemplating changing my will, so you don’t see a penny of my fortune.”

“You can’t do this.” Matilda purses her lips.

“Oh, I can, and I will. Unless?—”

“Unless?” Matilda frowns.

“Unless Mirabelle tells me not to.”

Matilda stiffens. She curls her fingers at her sides, then slowly straightens them out, before she turns to face me. “I am your stepmother. I did the best I could with you, but you were a difficult child. Always sad, always overeating. What was I supposed to do?”

I look away. All of my life, I wanted a chance for things to change between me and my father’s wife and their children. I hoped, one day, they’d accept me as part of the family. I hoped… I’d be accepted by them, get their love. Maybe that’s why I decided to go home after graduation, while I was looking for a job. It was a last-ditch effort to get their approval. A final bid to find the belonging I’d always yearned for. But it’s not the reason I turn to my father and say, "You don’t need to cut her out completely.”