Page 44 of A Game of Ruck
Not the girl trying to make herself smaller to fit someone else’s idea of what pretty looks like.
Not the dutiful daughter or the awkward plus-one, hoping not to be noticed by her cousins’ sneers.
But me.Annabeth freakin’ Martinez.
And damn.
I look good.
My hair is curled and glowing under the soft overhead lights.My skin’s got that lit-from-within thing going on, and my lips?
They look kiss-stung, a little swollen from being absolutelyravishedby Luca Warden in front of half my extended family.
And this dress?
God bless the boutique saleswoman who made me try it on and the seamstress who tailored it to my body.
It clings in all the right places—hugs my curves like it was made for them.
My chest looks incredible.And my waist and thighs?
They're not a problem.
They're part of the package.
The whole voluptuous, powerful,I’m-here-so-deal-with-itpackage.
I used to think being a size 18 meant fading into the background.
Being the funny friend.
The one who didn’t get picked.
The one who should be grateful for scraps.
But maybe that was all a lie.
Maybe itisn’tjust wishful thinking that a man like Luca Warden might want me.
Actually want me.
Not as a favor.Not for show.But because he sees me.
Because hewantsthis.
Maybe I’ve been way too hard on myself.Buying into all that tired bull society and my family spoon-fed me like gospel.
That big girls don’t get the fantasy.That we’re not the love interest.That we’re consolation prizes at best.
But the man waiting outside that door didn’t kiss me like I was a consolation.
He kissed me like I was the damn prize.
And maybe I am.
Maybe it’s time I stopped waiting to be given a happy ending and started writing my own.
Head high, heart pounding, I smooth my hands down my hips, square my shoulders, and walk out of the restroom like I own the place.
