Fat Girl (42 page)

“Not my whole body. Some parts aren’t terrible. My thighs and butt are the worst.” Suddenly very self-conscious of where my lumpy behind is situated, I attempt to slide off his lap, but he holds my waist firmly.

“I’ve seen you
naked
, Dee.”

“When I was eighteen.”

“I got an up-close-and-personal look at you last night, and you’re sexy as hell.”

“You saw me in the dark, where I’m—passable. In the light, you would see that I have lumps and worse, stretch marks on my stomach, big ugly marks,” I blurt out.

“Stop this!” His voice hardens. “I’m not going to listen to you shred your self-esteem.” He catches my chin and forces my eyes to his. “Do I act as though I’m not turned on by every gorgeous inch of you? I can’t stop thinking about you in my bed, all soft and warm beneath me. The way it felt to be deep inside you.”

“Don’t.” I lower my gaze. “Emotions were running high. That doesn’t count.”

“It counts. Everything with you counts. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” I retort, jumping off his lap. “Look at you.” I gesture at him. “You’re perfect.”

“What? You mean my looks,” he scoffs. “Is that all you think I have to offer?”

“No, of course not. You are much more than the way you look. But the fact of the matter is that you’re gorgeous. You were named the Sexiest Man Alive.”

“To sell magazines, Dee. If I were Joe Blow, who would care?”

“But you’re not Joe Blow. You’re Micah Peters. You date supermodels. Why would you settle for me?”

“Settle?” He blows out a breath and rises to stand in front of me. “No other woman has ever come close to making me feel the way you do, in or out of bed. I’m not
settling
.”

“If you plan a future with me, you will be. You’ll settle for not having babies,” I say with a sick despair and all the fight goes out of me.

“Dee.” He cradles my face between his palms. “You couldn’t be more wrong. Look at how I grew up. Cayo and Rita are my parents. Not by blood, but they’re my parents just the same. Look at Dwayde. Think about his case. You’re arguing that he’s better off with a family that he wasn’t born into. Biology doesn’t mean shit, remember? If we can’t make a baby together, we’ll adopt. Even if we can, we may still. There are so many kids out there without a home. I don’t care how we make a family or about any of the other things you think will matter to me.” His thumbs catch the fall of my tears. “I’m here because I love you. Because I’ve always loved you. More than anything.”

He’s offering me everything my heart has ever wanted. But do I follow its desires? Or should I choose the more prudent course and tread with caution?

Caution wins out. “Okay, Mick. But no promises or commitments,” I say. “Let’s take it one day at a time and see how it goes.”

“That’s not an option.” His tone is adamant. “I expect promises. I expect a commitment.”

“That’s crazy. You’re being stubborn when I’m trying to give you an out.”

His hands move around my waist. “Yeah, well, I don’t need an out. I need
you
to trust me with your heart again. Trust that I’ll be there through the good and the bad this time. Trust that you are perfect for me. Trust that I’ll love you no matter what. I’m asking you to trust in me, Dee. To trust in us.”

The want that surges through me overrules everything else. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at a relationship, Mick. I’ve been on my own for a long time. I have a lot of baggage and insecurities. The thought of being in the media spotlight—”

He opens his mouth to argue, and I place my finger over his lips. “But you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make it hard to breathe and hard to think. And you make it impossible to say no.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and lift my mouth to his. “So I’m saying yes.”

“You won’t regret it, baby,” he murmurs against my lips.

“It won’t be easy,” I sigh in warning.

“Not much worth having is.” He slides his hands down to pull me against his hardness. “I want you, Dee. But you’ve had two emotional days in a row. So I’m going to let you get some sleep and get used to the idea of us.”

He’s right. Last night was spectacular. But the next time I make love with Mick, I want to come to him from a place of strength and confidence—without the past or my insecurities driving a wedge between us.

Slipping his palm over mine, we walk hand-in-hand to the door. Before he opens it, he pulls me to him again. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

“I can’t. It’s Lexie’s birthday.”

“A girls’ thing?” He looks disappointed.

“Um…no, she’s hosting a party at the Lemon Lounge, but…”
I pause.

“But what?”

“I’m not ready to make our relationship public; it’s barely gotten off the ground.”

“It’s not a press conference, Dee. It’s your friend’s party. What time should I pick you up?”

“Cocktails start at eight, but—”

“I’ll be here at seven thirty. Black tie or semiformal?”

“Semiformal, but Mick—”

“No more buts, Dee.”

He bends down to
take my mouth, stealing a moan from me as he licks across my parted lips, both pleasing and tormenting me in equal measure.

He pulls back and presses his forehead against mine. “Tomorrow,” he murmurs. “After the party, I’m going to spend the rest of the night loving your sweet, sexy body until you have no doubts as to what you do to me. Until you don’t have even a whisper of a doubt about what I feel for you.”

“GOOD MORNING.” I GREET LENA with a wide smile and a Pumpkin Spiced Latte. “Thanks for holding down the fort yesterday.”

“No problem.” She’s dyed h
er Mohawk a vibrant pink.
“You’re in a great mood,” she says, looking me over curiously.

What a difference a day makes.
I feel happy. Giddy, sappy happy. I have my family back…and Mick.

Unbelievable. This incredible man who’s protective and strong, loving and kind, who could have any woman he wanted.

Wants me.

Still.

“Earth to Dee…” Lena says, waving her hand.

“Sorry.” I give my head a shake. “Fill me in on what I missed.”

Turning to business, Lena goes through my rescheduled meetings, noting my first conference call is in less than half an hour.

“Any messages from Jackson?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“The weekend’s coming up. I was certain we’d hear from the Franklins by now about visitation.”

“Maybe they’re letting it go and waiting for trial.”

“I doubt that. Anything to report from your research?”

“Some interesting stuff. But so far nothing that helps the case.”

Sometimes it’s the nonobvious things that end up shedding the most light. “Just give me an overview for now,” I ask, resting a hip on the corner of her desk and taking a sip of my skinny latte.

“Sure.” Lena opens a folder that contains her typed notes, along with several old newspaper articles and photos of Joyce Franklin. I begin flipping through the pictures of a young Joyce. In many of them, she’s holding a trophy or a ribbon. She’s cute, with the huge Franklin eyes, and has a shy, hesitant quality to her smile. It’s hard to envision that this same girl would later turn to drugs and hurt her child.

“Seems Joyce Franklin was often featured in the local news for her horseback riding,” Lena says, explaining the photos. “She was apparently very good and won or at least placed in the top three for many notable competitions until she dropped out at age fifteen.”

That catches my attention and I look up. “Why did she drop out?”

“Get this…” she whispers theatrically, even though it’s only the two of us. “Her horse was killed…poisoned.”

“No kidding!”

“Yep. Franklin Farms is high security, so the police investigated the staff and a former disgruntled employee, assuming it was someone who knew the system and had access to the place. But they hit a dead end. From what I read, the horse’s death left Joyce in a bad way. She never competed again.”

My mind racing, I voice my thoughts out loud. “And then she has a baby a year later.”

“Eleven months to be exact,” Lena confirms, referring to her notes. “The poisoning happened in May, and Dwayde was born the following April. And look at this.” She pulls out two pictures from the sheets I’m holding. “These are six months apart—one before the death of her horse, one after.”

I stare, shocked at the difference. In the first, Joyce has her hair pulled back in a neat braid past her shoulders, and her eyes are bright with excitement as she stands at the podium collecting a ribbon. The other looks to be a high school yearbook photo. Her hair is short and appears as if it’s been chopped by a weed whacker. Her cheekbones are sharply pronounced. Her face gaunt. And most haunting is the sunken blankness of her eyes.

A sudden chill goes through me.

“What?” Lena asks.

I know all about grief—what it looks like and feels like. What it can do to you. And I feel that I’m staring into the face of a girl who’s suffered a loss far greater than that of her beloved horse. “It doesn’t connect,” I say and pick up a pad of sticky notes to jot down all the disjointed pieces. “Avid horseback riding competitor until fifteen,” I write. “Horse poisoned. No culprit found. Falls apart and quits the sport. Loses a great deal of weight. Appearance deteriorates drastically. Eleven months later, has a baby. No father ever identified. Then, according to the Franklins, Joyce neglects her child and begins using drugs. They also claim she tried to extort money from them in exchange for custody.” I continue writing. “When that failed, she disappeared with the son she supposedly didn’t want.”

“You don’t believe that’s the way it went down?” Lena asks, scanning the sticky notes, which form a yellow patchwork on her desk.