Page 59 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

“I love your curves; don’t you forget it,” Nico tells me, then kisses me softly on the lips.

Booker gets up as well and joins his older brother, planting a kiss of his own. “Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise, Anya.”

“Your womanhood isn’t about how slim you are,” Chance whispers in my ear, loudly enough for Breonna to hear him before he kisses my cheek.

“Thank you,” I mumble, overwhelmed by the show of support and by the genuine sincerity of their reassurances. I can feel them, deep within my core. They’re honest. Refreshingly honest.

And Breonna is ashamed and quiet.

“It’s a really good pie,” I laugh, eager to change the mood.

Suddenly, I once again feel like the most beautiful woman who ever lived—and free of society’s most stifling standards—as I help myself to another slice of pie. Breonna gives me a weak smile but barely finishes her morsel. Good. I’m done trying to shrink myself to make anyone feel better about themselves, and that is a feeling I seem to have carried over from my murky past.

“You should be thankful I settled for you.”A voice haunts me again.

Those cold blue eyes.

“I need to do better,” Breonna admits. “But my stupid mouth keeps getting the better of me. I’m sorry, Anya. Again.”

“As women, I think we’re taught to compete with one another,” I reply softly. “Maybe we should stop playing into these predetermined roles.”

“You’re right. Ever since the divorce, I’ve been up and down the emotional spectrum,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “I’m reactive. Bitter, sometimes.”

“And you shouldn’t be. You’re a stunning woman,” I say, meaning every word. “A powerhouse in your profession. Hell, I aspire to be as strong and as determined as you are someday.”

She softens in her seat. “You’re too sweet.”

“No, I’m honest. I remember something my dad used to say, though I’m not sure why he said it. I think I had failed at something, or… no, wait, there was a rejection letter from a prestigious college,” I gasp, suddenly latching on to another memory. “I had applied to several schools. All Ivy League, of course. And I didn’t get into Princeton. It was my top choice. I was brokenhearted. I think I cried myself to sleep…

“And when Dad heard about it, he pulled me aside and said, ‘Every rejection is a redirection,’” I add, his words sounding crystal clear in my head. “Every rejection is a redirection, an opportunity to get closer to what you really need and deserve. Because what I wanted was not aligned with what I needed, otherwise I would’ve gotten into Princeton.”

Nico nods in agreement. “Sage advice from the old man. He had a point.”

“Do you remember what school you did get into?” Chance asks me.

“NYU. They have a fantastic art department,” I reply.

“You could go there once we…” he pauses, trying to find the right way to express my situation without divulging anything more to Breonna. “Once we sort everything out.”

“You’re an artist then,” Breonna quips. “I’d love to see some of your work!”

“Maybe someday you will,” I chuckle softly.

Perhaps, if I survive this storm, I’ll see my paintings hanging on the walls of prestigious art galleries around the world. It sounds like a crazy dream, under my current circumstances, but it gives me something to aspire to.

My past may be bloody and riddled in mysteries.

But my future can be anything I want it to be.

15

Anya

Later in the evening, Chance finds me reading in the living room, nestled in my usual spot, in the armchair by the window, huddled under a plush blanket.

“My earlier enthusiasm about getting a job and moving on might’ve fizzled out,” I giggle as he swoops down for a gentle kiss. “It’s nice and cozy here.”

“Like I’ve said so many times already, stay with us. Give us a chance. We’ll keep you safe until you remember who you are.”

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