“I’m really busy,” he answered instantly. And it was true; his job as a corporate tax attorney kept him at the firm till late in the evening, and he did work at least for a few hours each weekend.

She covered his hand with hers. “Kev, I love you. You know that. And I’m so excited to be married and have kids and all that good stuff. But I want us to have a long and happy life, and...well...I’m worried that we won’t if you don’t get healthier.”

She knew not to use words like diet or portion control or exercise more and the like. Focus on health and love, the literature had said. She’d read dozens of articles on the subject. Obesity interventions, they called them, and she cringed a little at the phrase.

Kevin looked at her for a long minute. There was hurt in his eyes, and her own welled with tears.

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you, babe,” she whispered.

“I could get hit by a bus crossing the street,” he said, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.

“I know. So could I. But—”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Really? That’s great!”

“I’m not making any promises. I’ll go once.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him, and he smiled. Her sweet Kevin, the nicest guy in the world. She took him to bed first, to show him how she felt. Yes, he was a big man, but she felt so safe with him, her head on his chest afterward, his heavy arm around her.

They had to stop to buy gym shorts that fit, and Emmaline was horrified at how big they were. The weight had crept on, ten pounds here, another ten there, and somehow or another, Kevin had become immense.

He was quiet on the way to the gym. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m disgusting.”

“Oh, Kevin! You’re not!” She squeezed his arm. “Honey, you have a big frame, and, yeah, you’re heavy. But we’re doing something about it. Okay?”

He gave a dejected nod.

Em held the door for him, chattering away, hoping to God Naomi wasn’t there. Her goal was just to get him to walk a little on one of the treadmills, make it fun, chat about the wedding, try to keep him distracted, because Kevin hated exercise (obviously). The more painless this could be, the better it could work.

Kevin registered as Em’s guest, signing the waiver they made people sign if they topped the scales at more than 30 percent of their ideal weight.

Kevin weighed almost twice what he should, the skinny, muscular man with bleached teeth told them. His ideal body weight was 188; he weighed 354.

“It’s fantastic that you’re here,” the man said. “Congratulations.”

Kevin mumbled in response. He didn’t make eye contact with Em as they walked to the treadmills, past the weight machines and the muscle-heads screaming with exertion. Kevin was out of breath by the time they got there.

He was dying inside, Em knew. She smiled at him and set the treadmill at the lowest speed. Set hers at the same.

“This was probably the hardest part,” she said in a low voice. “Just walking in the doors.”

Kevin didn’t answer. He bumped up the speed a little higher and started jogging.

Em knew he wouldn’t be able to keep that up. Too much, too soon.

Sure enough, he had to lower the speed a minute later. She pretended not to notice and kept walking, though if she were alone, she’d be running at her usual seven miles an hour.

Then she saw Naomi.

The trainer was wearing microshorts and a sports bra. Her arms curved with perfectly defined, elegant muscle, and her stomach was flat and lean but not ripped. Long, tanned, beautiful legs. Her body was perfect. Not unappealingly muscular...just perfect. There was no other word for it.

And evil personified, because her face changed as her gaze stopped on Kevin. Her hands went to her hips, and she sauntered over, slowly, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing in my gym?” she asked Kevin, her voice just shy of yelling. “Really. What the f**k are you doing in my gym?”

All around them, people grew quiet.

“How dare you,” Emmaline said. “Back off, Naomi.”

“Is this your man? Are you here to be supportive? Huh?”

Kevin’s face flushed even redder.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Emmaline bit out. “He’s here. He’s taken the first step, so shut up.”

“Oh, how sweet.” Naomi sneered. “Guess she has the balls in the family, huh, fatty?”

It was nearly dead silent now.

“I’m reporting you,” Em said. “You can’t talk to us this way.”

“Is that right? We’ll see, won’t we?”

“Be quiet,” Kevin muttered.

“Yeah,” Em echoed. “Shut up, Naomi.”

“I was talking to you,” he said.

Emmaline stopped walking, then jerked to a run to avoid being thrown off the treadmill.

“You’re disgusting,” Naomi said, her eyes on Kevin. “You know how much fat you’re carrying right now? Slick, yellow, nasty-ass slabs of fat? Oh, wait, you have a big frame, right? You’re a big guy. Is that what you tell people? Is that what she tells you? You have a slow metabolism? Thyroid problem? Bullshit.”

“I do have a thyroid problem,” he mumbled.

“Right. You’re a fat, lazy food addict, and you make me sick. You’ve done this to yourself. You made yourself disgusting.”

“I have an eating disorder,” Kevin said, his voice meek.

“I have an eating disorder,” she mimicked. “No, you don’t. You have no self-control, no self-respect, and you’re lying to yourself. I bet she lies to you, too. ‘I love you just the way you are, honey!’ Right?” Naomi looked around at the other gym members, who were unabashedly staring. “Well, guess what? Everyone here looks at you and thinks you’re grotesque. No one cares about your great sense of humor and beautiful mind.”

“That’s not true! Stop it!” Emmaline yelped.

“Shut up,” Kevin ground out.

He had never said anything like that to her. Ever.

Naomi reached over and pushed the stop button on Kevin’s treadmill. He was drenched in sweat; the seven minutes they’d spent walking just now was more exercise than he’d had in a long time.

“Get out,” she said. “Go home, lard-ass. Order a pizza. Bet you have Domino’s on speed dial.”

Just last night, Em had made a big salad with grilled chicken; Kevin had a huge serving, then called for a pizza. Extra cheese.

Now he just stood there, his head hanging.

“You want to lose weight, lard-ass? It’s not gonna happen from climbing on a treadmill twice a week. You think just walking in this door is enough? It’s not. You may as well not even try.”

“Jesus,” Emmaline breathed. “Honey, let’s go. There are plenty of other—”

“What do I have to do?” Kevin asked.

Naomi smiled. “Every f**king thing I say.”

It went against all the literature. It went against everything her parents had said. Bullying wasn’t supposed to work. Humiliation wasn’t supposed to motivate.

Kevin signed up for a six-month membership with two hours of personal training a day.