But sometimes old habits are hard to break.
AMANDA AND HER MOTHER HAD an appointment with a highly recommended wedding planner. Catherine Cole was the strongest woman Amanda knew, with an innate elegance that Amanda strived to emulate, often feeling like she fell short. Catherine projected poise at all times, which always had Amanda double-checking to make sure she wasn’t slouching when in her presence. It was the sort of easy refinement that Catherine could turn on a dime and use to tear down any witness without them even knowing it. She was soft-spoken and crafty, often a lethal combination when combined with a nice-fitting business suit showing just enough shapely leg. Amanda said little as she watched her mother apply the same tactics to the wedding planner.
The planner they’d met was one of the best in the business, but she just grated on Amanda’s nerves. The overly made-up thirtysomething was too energetic and insanely enthusiastic, annoying traits that only intensified after she discovered who the groom was. Catherine was polite but direct, unaffected by the planner’s increasing excitement, as they discussed all the best scenarios for her daughter’s big day. After nearly two hours, Catherine did not confirm the woman had the job, but told her she would get back to her with a definitive answer within forty-eight hours. Then Amanda and Catherine left. They stopped for lunch before going back to Amanda’s apartment to begin going over the pile of brochures about venues, food, and flowers.
“That planner lowered her fee,” Amanda said, staring at the mountain of glossy paper on the table.
Catherine looked up from the catering-hall brochure she was reading. “Being able to say she handled your wedding is invaluable, from a business standpoint.”
If she hadn’t been raised by Catherine, Amanda would’ve thought she had just been reprimanded, but it was really just the tone Catherine incorporated when stating the obvious.
“Isn’t it funny how that works?” Amanda said blithely. “Those who can afford to pay the most get the best deals?”
“One of the perks of being a celebrity, I imagine.”
“She said Chase’s name so many times she sounded like a commercial.”
Catherine sat back in her chair and took off her reading glasses, a clear indicator she had already tuned into Amanda’s inner turmoil. She studied Amanda, saying nothing.
“Guess I’m going to have to get used to that,” Amanda said uneasily, under the weight of her mother’s analytical gaze.
“Yes, you are,” Catherine replied astutely. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Of course not.” Amanda lifted her chin and sat up straighter in her chair. She should’ve known better than to think she could put one over on Catherine Cole, not when it was one-on-one.
“That’s good, because from here on out, you’re going to be walking a tightrope.” Catherine didn’t mince words. “Your father and I were just discussing this.”
“You were?”
“He seems to think you’ve lost interest in the restaurant.”
Amanda’s instinct was to deny. She had been wavering about the Cold Creek for months. But always in the back of her mind was the feeling that her parents would view selling it as the wrong choice. A foolish choice somehow equated with giving up all her rights and independence. And a slight against all they had done for her.
“We’re both very proud of you.” Catherine smiled slightly at Amanda from across the table.
“Maybe that’s why I feel so torn,” Amanda told her honestly. You didn’t hide things from Catherine. She was an expert at getting to the truth.
“We were proud of you long before you started a business,” Catherine said before leaning both her elbows on the table. “It’s not easy being the wife of a successful man. Sometimes you feel as though you’re lost in the shuffle. He gets all the accolades, but you deserve them, too. Behind every great man is usually someone who bolstered his ego when he needed it, watched him struggle in his rise to the top, often picking up the slack. When you’re a wife that falls to you, often while having to multitask if you want to pursue your own ambitions.”
Amanda listened quietly, folding her hands in her lap.
“But if you’re partners with someone you love, you don’t really mind. Both of you know you share the glory. After your father was appointed to the bench, he made sure he did everything in his power to support me in return. My success gave him the opportunity to reassess what he wanted from his own life. And now the cycle begins again. If he makes this senate run, I’ll be the one standing beside him, doing my best to convince everyone I can that he’s the right candidate.”
“So you really can have both?” Amanda asked.
Catherine smiled. “You certainly can if that’s what you want.”
And in that one sentence, Catherine summed up the root of Amanda’s problem. She didn’t want both, but was scared if she picked one, it would look like she was throwing away the other. “What if all I want is to be with Chase?”
“I would say he’s a nice something to want.” Catherine laughed a little.
Amanda grinned. “I get the feeling being his wife is going to be a full-time job.”
“Then make sure you do it to the best of your ability. We’re very fond of Chase, Amanda. But this has to be what you want. He won’t always be as prominent as he is now. And both your dad and I have the feeling his happiness is directly tied to yours.”
“Sometimes the attention he gets is overwhelming,” Amanda confessed.
“You can handle it. I raised you to be a strong woman,” her mother told her confidently.
Amanda nodded her head and held back the giggle, wondering just what her mother would think if the strong woman she raised found some of her greatest pleasure in being spanked like a bad girl.
THE COLES WERE CORRECT IN their assessment of Chase. He wore his devotion to Amanda like a heart on his sleeve, sort of. Not quite as bizarre as his staunch refusals to even discuss a prenup, but close.
“What the hell is that?” Troy asked him in the locker room one evening in late August.
Chase quickly finished pulling down the undershirt he was in the process of putting on and muttered, “Shit.”
“You got inked.” A Southern boy’s translation for you fucking hypocrite.
Chase was one of the last men standing in the locker room when it came to getting a tattoo. He steadfastly maintained he didn’t personally have anything against them, except when it came to his person. He admired them on other players, but when it was suggested, Chase would laugh it off, promising that after he got his first surgery scar he’d think about it. The general consensus was he didn’t get one because he thought he was so damn fly, he’d consider it a blemish. Or he was a wuss that couldn’t take the pain.
“What of it?” Chase tried to sound confrontational, but it wasn’t in his nature. He had gotten it in a spot that wasn’t conspicuous, and with a few minor adjustments was able to keep it hidden for several days. He had gotten careless.
“Come on, man, you gotta let me see it,” Troy pressed, determined to get a good look.
Chase rolled his eyes and lifted his right arm up, dragging his undershirt with it. It was along the top of his rib cage, hard to spot with his huge bicep covering it if you weren’t looking for it. It just happened to catch Troy’s eye when Chase was getting dressed. Troy leaned in closer, confounded and amazed, not quite sure what he was seeing or how to react.