He held the ring out, eyes on mine, waiting. But I didn’t hesitate. I extended my hand, fingers spread wide, and he slipped it over the knuckle of the ring finger on my right hand with a sigh.

“Do you even have to ask?” I slid my hand into his, index finger pressing against the small tattooed circle on the inside of his wrist. He did the same, finding the matching circle on my wrist as I whispered what we both knew all along. “I want all of you, William.”

He answered me with a kiss, his hands finding my hair as he rolled over, my thighs framing his strong middle as he pressed me into the sheets. Sometimes he still kissed me like it hurt him, like he was afraid he’d hurt me, and this was one of those times. But eventually, the crease between his brows faded, each new touch and kiss erasing it slowly. He kissed me until I felt beautiful and I kissed him until he felt worthy, and we never cared how long it took to get us there.

I’ve always hated weight.

Before I met William, I hated the weight that crowded my body, making me feel inadequate in every aspect of my life. Then, when I first started training with him, he pushed me harder than anyone ever had. Whenever I thought I was finally rising to meet his standards, he would add more weight to my set, making me work harder, forcing me to find the motivation to push through.

And maybe that’s the thing about weight — though it hurts when we feel its added pressure on our lives, it only makes us stronger in the end. Looking at William now, I couldn’t imagine him without the weight that had shaped him. His past made him into the man I loved — no matter how scarred. He was the man who fixed me, who changed me, and who helped me carry my own weight when it grew too heavy to handle on my own.

I was beginning to realize that weight really wasn’t a bad thing, after all.