Accidentally Married

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

That was the most important facet about myself, I discovered, as I read the interviews. Some publications were kind about it, calling me plump, full figured, Rubenesque, plus sized, curvy and voluptuous. Many more were unkind though, calling me rotund, corpulent, butterball, chunky, hefty, dumpy, bovine, and most of all, fat.

The consensus seemed to be that I was far too whale­­like to deserve a man like Tom.

It hurt.

It's funny how you can have a healthy self ­esteem one day and the next, feel as though you are flailing around like a beached whale (literally, according to some publications) out of water.

I have never wanted for male attention, I'm not the most beautiful woman in any room but I have never gone too long without a boyfriend, and not the sad­loser type of guys who can't do any better than the fat chick, but nice, normal guys. I've dated older men and younger men, a former male model (although he only modelled while in university), skinny men, a muscle bound fitness fanatic and even a millionaire (which isn't saying much these days, most London homeowners were paper millionaires) but the point is, I have never felt less than any of the men I have dated, no matter their shape, size or worth.

It wasn't a nice sensation and I felt like curling up under a blanket and bawling my eyes out, then eating a tub of ice cream while watching crappy romantic comedies.

But I didn't. Somehow I kept it together and remained dry eyed as Tom and Luke dissected the articles.

"The good news is, no one seems to think this is fake," Luke said after they'd looked through a few. "Many seem dismayed, but Mac's unattractiveness seems to work in our favour. No one thinks you'd fake a marriage with someone so-"

"Luke!" Tom cut him off with one word.

He had the good grace to look a little shamefaced as he glanced at me, but he smiled. "This is good news," he tried to assure me. "This could actually work."

"I'm so glad that my being torn to shreds is good for your client," I glared at him. "If nobody minds, I'll leave you two to it."

I got up and went through to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me, although the hotel was so plush that the door didn't give the resounding thump that I had hoped for.

I could hear them start talking again and so that I wasn't tempted to try and eavesdrop, I went into the bathroom and took a shower. I still had a ton of hairspray and styling products in from last night, making my hair feel rather like straw.

I turned my face to the spray and as the water cascaded over me, I cried.

How on earth was I going to endure a year of this crap? A year of being slaughtered in the press, then having my too fat carcass picked over by bitchy gossip columnists?

I stayed under the water for longer than was necessary, until my fingertips had started to prune, but I needed the time to compose myself. By the time I had dried off and dressed in jeans and a thin sweater, Luke and his newspapers and websites, were gone.

"Hey," Tom smiled at me as I emerged. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm sorry about what Luke said­."

"He didn't say anything everyone else hadn't already said." I helped myself to a diet coke from the minibar.

"It was still insensitive."

I turned to him, hating that I not only had to bolster my own self-image, but somehow also prove to him that I wasn't affected.

"I'm not a child, Tom. I know I'm not the Hollywood definition of beautiful. I know I'll never grace a runway. I know I'm overweight. I also know that I'd much rather be fat than unkind, like all those vultures printing that stuff. I'm a good person, I'm kind and intelligent and well­read, I do charity runs for good causes a few times a year and I'd give my last tenner to someone if it would cheer them up. I couldn't give a crap if I don't fit someone's physical ideal because as far as I'm concerned, I'm a pretty fucking ideal person!"