Summary: Mafia marriages aren't about love, but that doesn't mean you have to have low expectations for your future husband.
A/N: Reader is big, tall, female. No other physical descriptors used.
Warnings: Body shaming. Please let me know if I missed any!
In the game that is genetics you know you've lost. Most women take after their mother in terms of build. You took after your father. While any man would kill to be so tall and broad, it was social suicide for a woman.
You'd gotten your first taste of that when your "friends" went on a shopping spree for their birthday and you were the only one unable to try on any clothes as they were all too small. You'd grown too big for your mother's clothes and shoes by the time you were 13. None of the big name labels ever carried the latest fashion in your size. You'd had to stop trying because of the bile that rose in your throat every time the store assistant saw you come in with a look of fear, or worse, contempt.
Money could do so many things, but it couldn't make your body socially acceptable. Not without major surgeries that you were simply not willing to undergo.
Besides, at least a woman of your size wouldn't have to worry about the old men in your father's syndicate making unwanted advances. They prefer the small, petite girls that they actually have a chance of overpowering.
Still, a woman of your status was expected to marry well for your father's business. You tried, honestly you did, to get the attention of someone who would make father look good. You know better than to expect love, of course, but it would be nice to find someone who didn't immediately dismiss you when they saw you weren't wearing heels but were still eye level with them.
Honestly, the temptation to give in to the men who wanted you to step on them was getting harder and harder to fight. They'd promise you money, jewelry, custom made clothing and lingerie, just let them use your body how they wanted. All the while they made it clear you would just be a sex toy to them, not a person. You know love isn't an option but respect shouldn't be so hard to find.
It was quite the duality to have a body that was simultaneously seen as "unfit" and also fetishized.
So it was that, when your father called you into his office to tell you there had been offer for your hand, you were surprised and nervous.
"He's a former federal agent who helped our family get through some dicey times," Father explains. "He's out of the legit game, early retirement or whatever. But he's willing to continue helping us out with his connections so long as he gets you."
"I understand, Father," you nod. "Though I'm surprised you trust him enough. He betrayed his agency, why wouldn't he betray the family?"
"That's another reason I'm giving you to him. I trust you and I know where your loyalties lie."
"We'll probably have to come up with some new phrases," you nod.
"That's my girl," Father smiles. "He's asked you to meet him at your future home. Says he wants to get your opinion on things so he can get things renovated or fixed up before the wedding."
"That's...quite considerate of him," you blink. "What's his name?"
"August Walker."
The car pulls up to the townhouse you'll be moving into after the wedding. The exterior is quite plain but, if Mr. Walker can be expected to keep his word, you'll have a say in changing that.
When your car door opens, you're surprised to be greeted by your future husband, offering his hand to help you out of your seat.
"Thank you," you smile softly as you take his hand.
Stepping out of the car, you make sure to not put too much of your weight onto him, forever mindful that many cannot handle your size. But there is a strength in his arm that makes you wonder if he could.
Mr. Walker kisses the back of your hand and your cheeks heat up, unused to such gentlemanly behavior.
"I know this isn't a mansion or a penthouse, but I do hope the townhouse will be sufficient for you," he smiles. "Especially after all of your requested changes are made. I've got Mr. Carter, a local construction supervisor whom I trust, and who your father recommended, already inside, ready to take notes."
"Thank you, Mr. Walker."
"August, please. We will be married after all, and I would prefer my wife call me by my first name."
"I understand," you nod.
His lip twitches and you're not sure if it's in amusement or annoyance.
"Shall we?" he gestures to the front door.
"Please."
When you're inside, it's clear the townhouse is an older construction and you feel a slight thrill. You admire the custom work done that have withstood time. The contemporary style of everything being sleek, shiny and white has never appealed to you. Testing the waters of your fiance's promises to listen to you, you make sure to state aloud the fixtures you'd like to keep. You're pleased to not hear any arguments from Walker on the matter.
As the tour continues, you grow bolder, asking about replacing things that can't be kept with something similar in terms of style. Mr. Carter says he knows a very good woodworker who can provide some estimates and you find yourself smiling.
Every so often you catch a glimpse of Walker and you swear he's smiling more as you're going on.
"And now, for the final part of the tour," Walker takes your hand again, "the main reason I sought this house."
When he opens the final door you enter into a two-story tall library, making you gasp. You almost feel like Belle from Beauty and the Beast.
"The shelves are empty, waiting for the books you currently own and, hopefully, there will be enough room for future books you should seek to purchase," August informs you. "My own books will remain in my office and this will entire library will be yours."
"August..." you whisper.
"I have seen other men attempt to woo you with gold and riches," he explains. "But you are no Atalanta, distracted by shiny things. You are a woman who craves intelligence more than money or power. Our lives are not given to expectations of love, but having a wife I can respect? That's a very good start, in my book."
You beam at him, almost teary eyed, "and having a husband who can genuinely make me smile is far more than I could have ever expected. Thank you, August."
