The Chubby Wife He Couldn't Forget

Chapter 2

DAISY

“It’s you??” I squeaked again, my voice cracking like a teenager caught sneaking out. My legs wobbled on the window sill as the full horror hit me. This half-naked Greek god with the towel and the smirk was Camden Whitmore. The man my parents were selling me to like a used car.

Camden didn’t even glance at me. He turned smoothly to the butler still standing in the doorway, that wicked smile still playing on his lips. “I’m not sure I can come down right now, Richard. My wife seems determined to run away through the window. Quite the energetic start to our engagement, wouldn’t you say?”

My wife?

The words slammed into my chest like a warm punch. My heart did this stupid little limp-flip thing, almost painful. No one had ever called me theirs before. Not like that. Not with that lazy confidence. I was always the “fat one,” the burden, the girl who needed to be fixed or hidden. But here he was, fresh from the shower and dripping sin, claiming me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The butler tilted his head, confusion wrinkling his old face. The door wasn’t fully open, so he couldn’t see me perched there like a ridiculous escape artist. “Young Master? Is everything alright? Shall I inform the family you’ll be delayed?”

Camden waved a hand casually, his muscles rippling under that towel that was definitely hanging on for dear life. “Leave it. I’ll be downstairs in a moment. Tell them to make themselves comfortable.”

“Yes, sir.” The butler bowed and disappeared, closing the door with a soft click.

The second we were alone, I scrambled down from the window, my dress hiking up my thighs. My bare feet hit the plush carpet. I kept my head down, staring at my chipped toenail polish like it held the secrets of the universe. Heat burned my cheeks. Of all the ways to meet my future husband, this had to be the most humiliating.

Camden walked closer. I could feel the heat from his body before I saw his feet stop right in front of mine. Strong fingers gently caught my chin, tilting my face up until I had no choice but to meet those whiskey eyes.

My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it. “What… what are you trying to do?” I whispered, my voice shaky but trying to sound brave. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

“Dear wife,” he said, low and smooth, like velvet dragged over gravel, “would you do me the honors of not jumping through the window on the day of our engagement?”

There it was again. "Dear wife." My stupid heart flipped harder this time, a warm flutter spreading through my chest. I wanted to hate it. I wanted to push him away and tell him exactly where he could shove his fake charm. But his touch on my chin was surprisingly gentle, and that little spark in his eyes didn’t look mocking. It looked… interested. Like he was seeing me. Really seeing me. Not just the tummy Mom loved to point out or the body the world called bloated.

I stayed quiet, my lips still pressed tight. No way was I giving him the satisfaction of knowing how those words affected me.

Camden’s smile deepened. He let go of my chin and strolled across the room like he owned the air itself...which, technically, he did. I watched, frozen, as he clicked the main door lock. Then the windows. One by one. The soft snicks echoed like tiny traps closing.

Fear spiked through the fluttery warmth. I took a step back, my arms wrapping around my middle instinctively. “What the hell are you doing?” My voice came out higher than I wanted. “You can’t just lock me in here! This is kidnapping! My parents are downstairs...”

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that did unfair things to my stomach. “Relax, escape artist. I need to go into the dressing room and change out of this towel. Can’t exactly greet your family like this.” He gestured down at himself, and damn it, my eyes followed. “And I can’t afford you jumping or running away again. You seem… creatively determined.”

I blinked. The image of me trying to hurl myself out his window while he stood there half-naked flashed through my mind. A tiny, traitorous giggle bubbled up before I could stop it. I pressed my lips together, but a smile escaped anyway, tugging at the corners of my mouth. It felt strange. Foreign. That was the first time I’d ever smiled because of a man. Not out of politeness or fear, but because something he said actually amused me.

"Did I…? Did I just blush for him?"

My hands flew to my cheeks. They were warm. Traitorous skin. I turned away quickly, pretending to study a painting on the wall like it was the most fascinating thing ever. But I could feel him watching me. That spark was still there, humming between us like static electricity. He wasn’t laughing at me. He was laughing with the situation.

Camden paused at the dressing room door, one hand on the frame. “You know, Daisy, most brides don’t try to flee before they even say hello. Should I be worried, or flattered that I inspire such dramatic exits?”

I huffed, crossing my arms tighter over my chest. “Flattered? Try insulted. You kept my family waiting like servants while you… showered or whatever. If this is how you treat people, no wonder they need to buy you a wife with my dad’s debts.”

He leaned against the doorframe, still in that towel, completely unbothered. “Buy a wife? That’s one way to see it. But maybe I’m looking for something real. Someone who doesn’t pretend to be perfect.” His gaze drifted over me again....not judging my curves, but tracing them with open curiosity. “And you… you’re already more interesting than anyone I’ve met in years.”

My heart did the limp thing again. I swallowed hard, fighting the warmth spreading through me. This was dangerous. Men like him didn’t fall for girls like me. They used them and tossed them aside. But that gentle touch on my chin, that teasing smile… it felt different.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Whitmore,” I muttered, even as my smile tried to sneak back. “I’m still considering the window option.”

He laughed outright this time, throwing his head back. “Locked, remember? You’re stuck with me for now, dear wife. Give me five minutes to change, then we’ll face the circus downstairs together. Deal?”

I didn’t answer. But as he disappeared into the dressing room, I caught myself touching my chin where his fingers had been.

"Yup, I was definitely blushing out of control"