Chapter 1
Why does chocolate have to make you fat? Why can’t celery make you fat?
-Desi’s secret thoughts
Desidara
Divorces sucked.
What sucked even more was seeing your ex-husband out with the woman that he cheated on you with, but there it was. Or, more accurately, there he was.
Though he hadn’t seen me, thank God.
I looked down at my lap, hoping beyond hope that by not maintaining eye-contact, it would mean he wouldn’t stop… but I should’ve known better.
Mal Stevens and Marjorie Christmas were assholes.
If they could find a way to make my life harder than it needed to be, they’d do it.
Even worse, they’d embarrass the crap out of me if they could.
Meaning, when they walked up, they tortured me relentlessly.
“Well, hello there, Desi-Dough,” I heard my recently divorced from me ex-husband practically jeer.
Desi-Dough.
God, if there was a way to delete a word from the human language, it would be the word ‘dough.’
About a year and a half into our marriage, when I started putting on weight, Mal had started using creative and inventive words to remind me that I was no longer a size six.
Even worse, he shared those words with his now-girlfriend, who also became delighted each time she got to use the word and I’d flinch.
I slowly looked up, knowing what I’d find when I did.
Mal’s cruel gaze centered solely on me.
“Hi, Mal,” I said softly. “What can I help you with?”
His lips tipped up in a sneer. “You can help me by telling my father that you no longer need money.”
My brows rose.
“I can’t,” I said. “If I don’t have money from you, I can’t make the house payment, and you know that.”
A house payment that he’d forced me to acquire.
A house payment that, if I could, I’d give up in a heartbeat.
The only problem was that nobody in their right goddamn mind wanted to buy two thousand acres and a ten-thousand-square-foot house.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure why the hell I’d agreed to buy it, yet there I sat, in debt up to my eyeballs, with a snowball’s chance in hell to unload a house that I didn’t want nor need.
“Yeah,” he sneered. “You just keep telling yourself that. And I’ll just keep writing you checks every single month for your ridiculous reasons.” He paused. “I hope you like next month’s check.”
I frowned, unsure what to say to that.
“You want to know why?” Marjorie practically cackled.
No, I didn’t.
I had a feeling that they were going to share the information with me, whether I agreed or not.
So, I continued to sit there, waiting patiently for them to ruin my day even more.
“Oh, she doesn’t look happy, Mal.” Marjorie giggled.
I wanted to punch her in the throat—with the hand that still bore the tan from my wedding ring. Too bad I still didn’t have said wedding ring, otherwise I would’ve made sure to rub it in her face.
At this point, I was well and truly over Mal.
The only problem was that Mal thought I was still hung up over him.
Honestly, I wasn’t.
I was pissed.
Pissed that I’d wasted a year of my life dating him, and two years of my life married to him.
Even more, I wished that I hadn’t thought he’d make a good father when I’d first seen him with his nephew.
If I were being honest, it was Mal’s nephew who had first caught my eye.
He’d been two and wearing boots, a cowboy hat, and spurs. He’d been riding a horse and he’d fallen. Me, being a nurturing person by nature, had gone to help the little cowboy up.
And that little cowboy had stolen my heart, right along with his uncle about ten seconds later.
Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t realized that his uncle was the player that he was.
I also hadn’t realized what kind of spoiled little brat he was, either.
I baked cakes.
I was sheltered.
And even more, was socially awkward and shy.
When I was growing up, I’d always been overweight. All through my childhood and teenage years, I’d looked like a fat blob. However, when I’d turned eighteen, I’d tried hard to get the body that I’d always wanted. And in doing so, I’d created an unfair image of myself.
I’d starved myself, worked out hard, and been an utterly unhappy person.
Then I’d met Mal, and I’d had to continue to force myself to eat well, or not eat at all, to please my husband.
Then I’d gotten an injury, and I’d been forced to take it easy, and I’d gained weight.
Not able to work out, I’d ballooned, and my husband had lost interest in me since I was no longer his perfect little wife anymore.
It’d taken me six weeks to get healthy enough to work out again, and two weeks after that to realize that my husband was cheating on me.
Within a week, I’d filed for divorce, and if it wasn’t for Mal’s father, Malloy, I would’ve drowned.