Page 1 of Big Girl Panties

Prologue

Anniversary Surprise

"I'm not attracted to you," Chris blurted out, then immediately winced. His shoulders sank with a heavy sigh, as if he'd been carrying this secret around like an overpacked suitcase.

Time seemed to stop. The air grew thick, not romantic thick, but more like someone had forgotten to turn on the fan thick. Each heartbeat pounded in my ears while my brain struggled to process what I'd just heard.

"What?" My voice emerged as barely a whisper. My hand flew to my chest, partly for dramatic effect and partly because I genuinely thought I might be having a heart attack. I searched his face for any sign this was an elaborate anniversary prank. Maybe he'd hired actors. Maybe there were hidden cameras. Maybe I was on some twisted reality show called Destroy Your Wife's Self-Esteem for Cash.

His dark eyes remained flat, unblinking, like a dead fish at the grocery store.

Oh my God. He was serious.

The bedroom light flickered once, even our electrical system was having a moment. Our wedding photo on the nightstand caught the light, and I swore those frozen smiles were now mocking me.

"Please don't make me say it again." The corners of his mouth pulled downward in what I could only describe as his constipated confession face. "I don't want to hurt you, but I can't keep lying."

I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling like I was wearing a spotlight instead of the lacy lingerie I'd splurged on for our one-year wedding anniversary.

"I don't understand." I gestured down at my body, the nightgown feeling like a costume rather than something seductive. "I look the same as the day we got married, maybe a few pounds different, but I'm still the same curvy girl you supposedly fell for. What changed?"

"Nothing." Chris avoided my eyes, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on the comforter. He shrugged, one shoulder barely lifting. "I've never really been physically attracted to you."

Heat crept up my neck.

"Then why did you marry me?" My words bounced off the cream-colored walls we'd painted together last spring, back when I thought we were building a life instead of an elaborate charade.

Chris shifted his weight, his gaze drifting to the window. For a moment, I thought he might spare me whatever terrible truth he was holding.

"Because your dad promised me partner if I sealed the deal."

I waited for more, an explanation, a softening, anything to dull the edge of what he'd said. But he just stood there, hands in his pockets, like he was explaining his preference for wheat bread over white.

The room felt smaller, the walls closing in. The hum of the air conditioner grew louder, an intrusive witness to my humiliation. Echoes of cruel laughter and whispered insults from my past crashed over me, a past I thought I was over.

I took one step backward, then another, until the edge of the bed caught the backs of my knees.

My lungs emptied as I sank onto it. "My own dad?" The question came out hollow. Images flashed through my mind: my father's approving smile at our engagement party, the champagne toast at our wedding, and the private conversations I wasn't privy to.

I shouldn't be surprised. This was the same man who'd given me a gym membership for my sixteenth birthday and had asked, "When are you going to use it?" every Christmas since. How many times had he told me, "If you want to find a husband, you're going to have to lose weight"?

And now this.

Chris watched me with an expression that somehow managed to combine guilt, pity, and the look someone gets when they realize they've stepped in something unpleasant. "And you are a good woman," he added, as if I were a golden retriever who'd learned to fold laundry. "You take care of me and our home. I knew someday you'd make a great mom."

A sound escaped my lips that was somewhere between a laugh and the noise a balloon makes when you let the air out slowly. "A great mom?" I gestured vaguely between us. "Chris, we haven't had sex since…" I honestly couldn't remember. He'd barely touched me since we'd gotten married. "How exactly was I supposed to get pregnant?"

He had the audacity to look confused, as if our non-existent sex life was some kind of mystery instead of the elephant in the room.

"I think we got married too soon." He completely sidestepped my question. "Too young."

"What are you trying to say, Chris?"

"I think we need… Space to explore other options." He glanced at his phone, because of course he did, then back at me. "You know, while we both focus on self-improvement." His eyes flickered to my body for a fraction of a second, like he was assessing a house he might renovate.

"Self-improvement," I repeated, testing the words like they might explode.

"Yeah." He nodded enthusiastically. "I've been hitting the gym five days a week. Maybe you should try it sometime."