Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(85)

Marcus’s support and affection had never faltered before, and she’d counted on both as a bolster today. More than that, she’d relied on them as proof, to her parents and herself, that everything they believed, everything she’d been told for eighteen years, was wrong.

Marcus’s fingers intertwined with hers, the way he beamed at her, would announce her triumph more clearly and loudly than words.

I’m fat, and he wants me.

I’m fat, and he doesn’t need me to change.

I’m fat, and he’s proud of me.

Now she was just another big girl the hot dude didn’t want near him, at least not in public. Which was precisely what her parents expected, and what her mother had warned her to expect too, in all those concerned phone calls April had stopped answering.

Honestly, she didn’t give much of a fuck about what her father thought or believed, not anymore. But when she’d pictured this conversation with her mother, she’d imagined Marcus nearby, his proximity a silent reminder that she was desired and appreciated, that her happiness was worth painful conversations and setting hard boundaries.

Instead, she was doing it alone, because of course she was.

Of course.

As the two women had set the table, her mother had already whispered of her unease, brows puckered over warm brown eyes. “Are you certain this isn’t a publicity stunt, sweetheart? It just seems so . . . unlikely.”

That anxiety was real. So was the love in that familiar gaze.

They only made her words sting more. When April had defended the genuineness of her relationship with Marcus, her mother’s unstated but clear disbelief stung too.

Now, as they put the final touches on their celebratory gourmet spa lunch, as her mother called it, the two of them were treading yet more of that same contaminated ground.

“I saw a few pictures in the tabloids.” JoAnn checked the doneness of the pan-roasted salmon, then transferred the fillets to a platter. “I’ll send you some links for foundation garments. They’ll smooth things out a bit, so you’ll feel more comfortable when the paparazzi take candid shots.”

“Foundation garments have literally never made me feel more comfortable,” April replied, trying to keep her tone wry rather than bitter. “Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.”

Her mother laughed. “You know what I mean.”

Oh, April did know. Physical comfort meant nothing, if discomfort would help deter the censure of loved ones and strangers alike. JoAnn had learned that the hard way.

During her first year of marriage, she’d gained fifty pounds. Then promptly lost it again, once she realized that above a certain weight, her husband wouldn’t invite her to socialize with his colleagues, wouldn’t dance with her in public, wouldn’t touch her in private.

It was a one-time mistake, never repeated. Brent still bragged about how his wife lost all her baby weight within a month of giving birth. And since JoAnn hadn’t wanted to risk failure a second time, April had remained an only child.

She’d been born small and remained slim—until puberty. Then the number on the scale started creeping upward, week by week. Until, finally, her mother pulled her aside to share the story of that first wedded year and the lessons to be drawn from it.

“Boys care about these things more than we girls think, and I don’t want you to be blindsided like I was.” JoAnn’s hand was soft and cool and tender against April’s flushed, wet cheek. “Sweetheart, I’m only saying this because I love you, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

That was the common refrain, always.

I love you, and I don’t want you to get hurt.

It was far, far too late to avoid hurt. But at least that story had confirmed what April already suspected. Already feared.

Her father had stopped bringing her to the firm’s family events. The only photos of her around the house dated from before puberty. At her older cousin’s wedding, when her maternal grandmother urged him to dance with his daughter, he’d simply pretended not to hear.

He was ashamed to be seen with her.

Yes, it hurt. Badly. Yes, she’d eventually seen a therapist about it.

But honestly, the man was a dick in so many ways, it was relatively easy to cut ties with him. They didn’t talk. They barely saw one another outside afternoons like this, and even then, her mother remained a constant buffer and mediator. Spending time in his disapproving presence still made her nervous, but it didn’t devastate her.

Her mom, though, was sweetness inextricably swirled with a toxin JoAnn didn’t and would never recognize as harmful.

In ridding herself of the taint, April would most likely lose the sweetness too.

Still, she’d told Marcus he had the right to set parental boundaries for the sake of his happiness, and she needed to follow her own advice. JoAnn’s love for April didn’t justify the harm she’d done, and April’s love for JoAnn couldn’t save their relationship.

Not unless things changed. Not unless April spoke and her mother actually listened.

Today, she was speaking. The rest was up to her mother.

Spoonful by spoonful, JoAnn was dolloping low-fat yogurt-dill sauce onto the plates. Still talking. Still worried and loving and hurtful.

“Have you considered surgery, for your . . . problem?” Her mother always stumbled over the word, as if fatness were an obscenity. “It might make things easier, especially with a man like Marcus. And you know how concerned I am for your health.”