Page 115 of No Merciful Corruption

“It’s not my fault,” I say to my reflection. “For Christ’s sake, the street food vendors in Singapore have Michelin Stars.”

Alejandro throws a hand up as if he’s had a brilliant idea. “A trip. They should go away. Have some private family time.”

I let out a cry of frustration and collapse onto the floor. A thought occurs to me and I lie down while sucking in my stomach. I saw my mother and aunt do this once after a particularly carb-heavy holiday season and if they were able to zip up their low-rise jeans in 2005, then so can I.

“This is what I get for eating all that sapin-sapin in Manila…and the ube puto with all that flan…oh my God, and the otap. That otap was sooo good.” I pause to catch my breath. “These jeans aren’t going to zip. Fuck.”

Alejandro’s in the middle of a long-winded tirade but I haven’t heard a word. I’m too anguished over my expanding waistline and the loss of my favorite jeans. If these don’t fit me, I am so astronomically fucked because that means almost nothing else in my closet is going to fit. All the work I put into squeezing into a wedding gown with a cinched waist has gone done the drain after a two-month honeymoon.

I suck in one last time and attempt to get the button through the loop but when it slips through my fingers, I scream out loud and collapse in defeat.

Alejandro comes around the island and looks down at me with a perplexed expression. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to ship myself off to Brazil, that’s what!” I exclaim. “And getting all of this—” I jab aggressive fingers into all my problem areas, body positivity be damned. “Dissolved! Massacred! Cut off, gone! I want every ounce of fat sucked up into a machine and burned in a sacrificial fire and I mean every last ounce. I want my hips shrunk, my gut gutted, my ass liposuctioned within an inch of its life, and breasts so small I can go braless in a white tank top and look chic! And you’re a man so you won’t get it but nothing looks more fashionable than an itty-bitty shirt and no bra!”

He stares for a moment, hazel eyes raking up and down my figure, a look of pure horror and confusion transforming his face. He’s as lost as he is concerned.

“If you do that I might actually kill myself.”

An ugly, unrestrained laugh breaks free and I smother a hand over my mouth.

He shakes his head, eyes narrowed. “What the Hell is the matter with you?”

“I can’t button my jeans! Ugh,” I laugh a bit and glance at my reflection in the mirror, taking in how ridiculous I look. “This is horrible.”

“I think you look fine.”

“I look like I ate too much on our honeymoon.” I rub my throbbing temple. “None of my clothes are fitting properly.”

He rests a hand over his abdomen, flat and chiseled under his button down, and glances at his profile in the mirror. “So did I. Diego took my weight the other day and I gained a whole four pounds.”

I snatch up a skirt I discarded earlier and throw it at him. He chuckles and kneels down on the carpet beside me to kiss my forehead. “If it’s any consolation, I hardly notice the difference.”

“It’s not. You’re a man.”

“What if I said the hips and the great ass are my favorite things about you?”

I sigh heavily. “Well…at least there’s that.”

“You also have amazing breasts,” he consoles, as if the thought just occurred to him. “Perfect, actually.”

“At the rate I’m going, I’ll be the size of a pernil by Christmas.” I tell him. “We can just roast me for dinner instead.”

“I wouldn’t mind having you for dinner. In fact,” he grips the waistband of my jeans and starts to tug them down. “I wouldn’t mind having you right now.”

I laugh and push him off me as I sit up. “Don’t you have something to do with Dimitrio this afternoon?”

“That’s the afternoon.” His kisses my neck and reaches behind me to unhook my bra. “This is now.”

I make a halfhearted attempt at pushing him off me but he snakes an arm around my waist and holds me close. I feel silly and giddy when his fingers coast down the length of my spine, each touch in tandem with the press of his lips against my neck.

“Alex, really,” my voice hitches when his hand travels up the back of my neck. Once his fingers are tangled in my hair, he tugs and twists at the root, pulling me back to face him. “I have so much to do today and⁠—”

He brings his mouth to mine, silencing me. My stomach twists and flutters at his proximity. The expert stroke of his tongue against my own sends a rush of heat through me and I blush from my hairline to the tips of my toes.

“Lift,” he murmurs against my mouth and I obey. He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of my jeans and tugs them, and my underwear, down the length of my body. “Now turn around.”

I’m not sure what he means. I half expect his other arm to come around my waist and for him to lift me into the air as he carries us to bed. He surprises me by leaning against the middle island and taking me with him.