Page 34 of His Curvy Obsession

“We have that one,” he says excitedly, looking at my face to ensure I’m still watching. “Strong affection. Kinship.”

“Right,” I reply with uncertainty. “Kinship.”

“And strong affection,” he says. “Attraction, tenderness, based on sexual desire. We have that one too.”

He draws another thick black check mark beneath his first.

“Eric,” I say. “What is this?”

“I’ve been doing research,” he answers.

“You’ve been researching love?”

“Yes,” he says. He’s reading the entry below the second now. “Affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests. We have that. Most of that.”

“I can’t think of a common interest we have,” I reply truthfully.

“Sex,” he says.

“That doesn’t count.”

“It does the waywedo it,” he replies darkly. “I’m counting it.”

Another thick black checkmark.

I sigh.

“Warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion,” he continues. He glances up at me. “I feel attached to you. Enthusiastic too. And as I’ve already told you, when we get married -”

“It’s ‘when’ now, is it?” I ask wryly.

“When we get married, I’ll be the most devoted man to you that you can imagine,” he finishes, ignoring me. “Especially when you’re pregnant. You won’t have to do a thing.”

“When I’m pregnant,” I shake my head.

“If you’re pregnant,” he says quickly. “No expectation. No pressure, Rebecca. I don’t mind. If we never had kids, if it just didn’t work out that way for us…”

I watch him closely, wondering how this man suddenly knows how to say the things I badly need to hear. That I’m not expected to have any biological children, that it’s okay if that’s not something I can ever do. That I’m more to him than just a vessel, someone to fulfill his dreams with…

“I’ll be devoted regardless,” he says. “Because I know that’s how that role works.”

“What role?”

“Husband,” he replies as though the answer is obvious. “That role comes with duties.”

“And what about wife?” I ask him. “What kind of duties come with that?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. “I’m not aspiring to be a wife. I haven’t looked into it.”

“But you know what you’d like in a wife,” I say, stifling laughter now.

“Just…I don’t know,” he says. “Be there when I get home from work. Can you do that for me?”

“Not if you keep assigning me this bullshit,” I reply, gesturing to my laptop.

“You won’t be working here,” he says. “I told you. Your writing career. That’s what you’ll be doing.”

Oh. Right. I forgot about that detail of his proposal.

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