13. Violet
Violet
From the moment the pilot landed on the private island, I was pissed. I’d figured we were going somewhere nice, but this was too much. Mainly because I knew everyone would be in bathing suits all weekend, and I was well aware of what I did and didn’t have in my closet for a trip like this.
I hadn’t been in my bikini since the previous summer.
Admittedly, I’d lost a few pounds since then, but too much remained for me to want to be walking around in little else for two days.
At our pool at home, maybe I could have built up the courage.
In front of my husband, our best friends, and—from the second jet that was already being refueled—my brother-in-law and his in-laws?
No way.
Had anyone thought to ask me if I wanted to come here, I would have told them to fuck off.
But I hadn’t been asked, and I could already feel the heat of embarrassment climbing my neck before we even disembarked the plane.
Two golf carts were waiting on us a safe distance away, each with drivers in khaki shorts and polo shirts. One rushed over to take our bags, while the other informed us that Mr. Fontana and his family were already at the house.
Perfect.
Shooting Luca a glare cold enough that he shrank back a little, I stomped over to one of the carts and slid across the back seat. “Shaw!” I snarled, letting them all know I was only receptive to her sitting with me.
The guys could go in the second one. I didn’t care as long as I didn’t have to look at either of them. I heard both of them sigh as Shaw gave them a finger wave before taking a seat beside me.
As the man drove us toward a huge mansion in the distance, my bestie slid an arm around my shoulders. “Okay, spill.”
“Did you know about this?” I seethed, taking in our tropical surroundings. Coconut palms. Exotic plants. Crystal-clear water. Pink sandy beaches. In the distance, I thought I saw fins sticking out of the water. Sharks? Good, maybe I would feed my husband to them.
“I suspected it was somewhere warm,” Shaw said with a shrug. “But why are you pissed? You’ve been so cold lately that I thought you would love a few days baking in the sun.”
“Cold?” I repeated, tearing my gaze off the ocean to frown at her. “Why do people keep thinking that I’m cold?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said sarcastically, eyeing my outfit dispassionately. “Maybe because you’ve been living in sweats and giant hoodies for weeks now. You dress like you’re freezing. Can’t a girl get her best friend to flash her a little peek at the goods from time to time?”
I tucked my hands around my waist and felt my stomach jiggle as the cart bounced over a few rocks. “That isn’t because I’m cold,” I admitted after a moment, tucking my chin to my chest.
“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” she demanded, thankfully keeping her voice low so the driver couldn’t hear us over the hum of the electric engine.
“Because,” I mumbled.
“I’m going to need you to use your big-girl words so I can figure out how to help you here, babe.” When I pressed my lips into a hard line to keep my chin from trembling, she grabbed my face, turning my head so I was looking at her.
Blue eyes scanned over mine for a moment before her breath hitched out. “Talk to me, babe. You know how scared I get when you go quiet. Please. I need you to be okay. Just tell me what I can do to make whatever is going on better, and I’ll do it.”
A sob got trapped in my throat, and I forced it down, but I couldn’t stop the burn of tears that blurred my vision. “I-I’m a blob. A fat, ugly blob. How could anyone possibly find me attractive, let alone the football god that is my husband?”
Shaw’s brows scrunched together as she listened to my outburst. For a long moment, she just sat there staring down at me, as if my words didn’t make sense to her.
At first, I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me, but then fire lit her eyes and she exploded.
“Those pricks got in your head, didn’t they?
Those goddamn motherfucking dickwads who can’t keep their cocks hard enough to satisfy a gnat, all their bullshit got to you. Didn’t they, Violet?”
Unable to speak, I nodded. A few tears spilled down my cheek.
“You know better, Vi,” she scolded. “You, of all people, know they are just talking out of their asses because it sells. Not a single one of those bastards knows the truth, and they have to resort to disrespecting you just to keep the story going.”
“Y-yeah,” I croaked. I did know that. But I also had eyes, and I could see for myself how terrible I looked.
Reading my mind, she tightened her fingers on my cheeks. “Are you fucking blind? You’re the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever set eyes on. You’re beautiful. Sexy. And the only one Luca has ever wanted. Ever.”
“I know that,” I cried. “I do, really. He can’t keep his hands off me. It’s me, Shaw.”
There. I’d said it aloud. Finally admitted it. And it didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, I felt worse.
Hourly, every unflattering picture that had been posted of me on social media over the past several weeks would play on a reel through my mind, further reminding me how terrible I looked.
Someone even said I should be the next spokesperson for Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers.
Each time it was mentioned, they would follow up with how long they thought my marriage would last if I didn’t start taking better care of myself.
Because how could I possibly hold on to Luca Thornton if I resembled a beached whale?
Assholes.
Luca hadn’t heard any of their barbs. He didn’t watch sports-talk television, and he didn’t use any social media platforms. Otherwise, he would have already killed the men who had talked in such a blasé manner about me and my body.
Apparently none of my friends and family had heard them either.
Proof being that had it gotten back to Aunt Emmie, no one who had said those terrible things would still have a job.
Shaw released my face and clasped my hand. “It’s okay, Vi. We’re going to make everything better.” She kissed my cheek, and I shifted closer. Wanting her touch. Her comfort. All that she would willingly give me. I loved her so much. “I promise.”