The Sweet Spot
Page 23
He wasn’t interested in making small talk, even though both Elvis and Marilyn had tried to engage him in their shtick. All he saw was his bride. Her makeup was minimal, her ebony hair cascading in its natural state of unblown waves, just like that fateful night when he’d met her, only now it rested on her bare shoulders. After all this time, she still took his breath away.
Amanda couldn’t recall a time Chase ever looked more handsome, although she’d seen him in a tux a hundred times before. His eyes were iridescent, his smile so dazzling, it was like a magnetic force field pulling at her from where she stood. The recorded music started playing, the Elvis started singing, and she began the short walk to join the man who was minutes away from becoming her husband.
And per her explicit instruction, there wasn’t a photographer in sight. However, there was a single unmanned stationary video camera set up in the back. Thanks to a written and signed confidentiality agreement, it would have its content turned over to Amanda in exchange for a hefty sum. The next fifteen minutes she intended to selfishly keep for them alone.
Amanda stepped down the small aisle, past the several rows of empty chairs, forcing herself to keep from racing, her gaze locked on Chase. When she reached, then joined him, they still were made to wait. Elvis had a chorus to go, despite the fact there were only two anxious people the performance was for. Apparently, they were going to get the full treatment. Marilyn swayed and James Dean jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and slightly bobbed his head to the music.
“When does he stop?” Chase whispered in her ear as Elvis continued gyrating all around his stagelike platform.
“I guess when he’s good and ready,” Amanda whispered back and they both tried not to laugh.
The song finally ended and Amanda handed her small bouquet over to Marilyn. At Elvis’s request, Chase took Amanda’s hands in his.
“Uh, we are gathered here, before God and,” Elvis began, addressing all the empty chairs, “and these two witnesses to celebrate the love this man and this very handsome woman have for each other.”
Amanda could feel her palms getting sweaty. This was it, she was about to marry the man of her dreams, breaking millions of girls’ hearts in the process. She blinked up into Chase’s loving gaze. He winked and gave her hands a reassuring squeeze before leaning over to Elvis and politely interrupting him. Elvis stopped his speech and drew his head closer to Chase. They shared a brief, private exchange in which both pulled away smiling after Elvis gave an affirmative “Uh-huh-huh.”
“Amanda, your hunka hunka burnin’ groom thinks it might be best if you went first, so you won’t feel so nervous,” Elvis continued in full act. “So I . . . I . . . I want you to repeat after me. I, Amanda, take you, Chase, to be my wedded husband.”
“I, Amanda, take you, Chase, to be my wedded husband,” she repeated through the tears of joy starting to brim in her eyes. It was happy-ending time. Her fairy tale was about to come true.
“I promise never to leave you at the Heartbreak Hotel or step on your blue suede shoes,” Elvis preached loudly.
Way to lighten up the moment, Amanda thought as she repeated it, giggling.
“I promise to love, cherish, honor, and obey. . . .”
“I promise to love, cherish, honor, and . . . ” Amanda halted before saying waspishly, “Beg your pardon?”
“You heard him.” Chase grinned and pointedly said, “Obey.”
Amanda took a quick look around at the other three people in the room and pursed her lips together. “They don’t say that anymore.”
“But you will,” Chase stated boldly, his grin getting wider.
Amanda pulled her hands out of his and took a step back, landing them on her hips. “I’m not saying that,” she said sharply. She heard Marilyn’s small gasp of either shock or hopefulness followed by a carnal breathy “Oh” and Amanda jerked her chin at the maid of honor in warning. James Dean began to look interested.
“Come on now, little sister, don’t be cruel” could be heard coming from the platform.
Amanda snapped her head in its direction. “Pipe down, Elvis, this doesn’t concern you!”
Elvis took a big step back with another “uh-huh-huh” and started pulling at his collar in a way that was more similar to Rodney Dangerfield getting ready to plead for some respect.
All the while, Chase remained in his spot and watched, unconcerned and thoroughly amused, waiting to see what his bride would do next.
Amanda rounded back on Chase, itching to slap the smile off his face, one that only moments ago she adored and which now infuriated her.
“Why on earth would you choose to act like a wise guy on our wedding day?” she hissed at him.
“I can’t let you have all the surprises, can I?” he calmly asked, his eyes bright and laughing.
She swallowed her anger and took a step closer to him, lowering her voice. “I realize our life is an open book on this sort of thing, but you’re embarrassing me.”
“Not my intention,” Chase continued mildly. “Frankly, you looked so nervous, I wasn’t even sure you would notice.”
“Well, I did,” she huffed. “Now, can we stop this madness and get back to our wedding?”
“Certainly, just as soon as you say it.”
“I’m not saying it,” she repeated through teeth clenched in frustration.
“Then I guess we’re at an impasse,” Chase said seriously. “I’m not going to be the only one to do it.”
Amanda could feel herself blushing even before hearing Marilyn’s sensual sigh and Elvis’s relieved one. Chase had successfully gotten her to set herself up. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or kick him in his shin. She already knew life with this man was never going to be dull.
“You’re saying it, too?”
He smiled tenderly, offering his hands to her. “Of course, even though it’s really just a formality. I’d never expect you to abide by it. Old-fashioned, remember?”
She placed her hands back into his and leaned closer into him. “Please tell me you would never have done this at a church full of our friends and family?”
“Are you kidding?” He bent down to murmur into her ear, remembering he wasn’t supposed to kiss her until he got the final go-ahead. “I wouldn’t have done it here if it wasn’t for that confidentiality agreement they all signed. I have to snag these opportunities when I can get them.” Chase snuck in a quick kiss to her temple before adding impishly, “Wait till you see how angry you got.”
Amanda could feel his fingers, webbed within hers, tightening ever so slightly, probably as a precaution in case she tried to slug him.
“I really like this better when I’m the one making you mad,” she pouted.
“Then let’s wrap this thing up so you can get back to it,” he told her before straightening to his full height and ordering, “Hit it, Elvis.”
The original “King” resumed his official duties, and both Amanda and Chase promised to love, honor, cherish, and obey, forsaking all others until their dying day. James Dean produced the two plain gold bands from his pocket, purchased spur-of-the-moment to replace the carefully designed rings that were still waiting for them back home, and they slipped them on each other’s finger. And as soon as he heard the word pronounce, Chase pulled Amanda in close. With one powerful hand securely on the small of her back, he wove his other hand deep into her hair. Then he sealed it all with a kiss.
But instead of vacating the building, which would have been their plan, Chase and Amanda were obliged into celebrating with their first dance to a very long-winded rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” So long, in fact, that James Dean proffered his hand to Marilyn and they joined the bride and groom while Elvis worked himself up into a sweat of passionate crooning.
“Next time, let’s get married by Earth, Wind and Fire,” Amanda sighed into his chest.
“Anything you say, Mrs. Walker,” Chase replied, right before lifting her off the ground to bring her f
ace-to-face and kissing her again. He set her back on the ground and resumed their dance, singing into her ear. “Got to get cha into my life.”
EVENTUALLY THEY WERE ALLOWED TO leave. The DVD and a flash drive, the only tangible pieces of evidence that a wedding had occurred, were secure within their possession. Chase and Amanda got back into their waiting limousine to head back to their hotel, while Marilyn and Elvis threw confetti at them from the entrance to the chapel and James Dean smoked a cigarette. They accepted the driver’s congratulations and engaged in few minutes of well-mannered conversation. Sitting on opposite ends of the big backseat, each took a moment to privately appreciate the enormity of what had just taken place. Amanda stared out her darkened window at the passing scenery, where desert met debauchery, overwhelmed with bliss. Her life would never be the same. With Chase by her side, there was nothing she couldn’t accomplish. When she gave herself over to him, he only made her stronger. She knew she would never be loved so completely again. And slouched from his side, as she watched the bustling activity on the Las Vegas strip whizzing by, Chase watched her. The most beautiful, maddening angel come to earth was his in every sense of the word. He really was a man who had it all.
“You know, there are a whole bunch of people back home who still think there’s going to be a wedding,” he mentioned casually as his finger depressed a button near where he was sitting. “People who went to a lot of trouble.”
“They’ll get over it,” she said vapidly, her gaze still out the window, but catching the partition separating driver from passengers start to rise from the corner of her eye.
“That’s not very nice,” he continued sternly once the divider was fully in place, ensuring their privacy. “And your behavior in that chapel was deplorable. Borderline to a tantrum, I dare say.”
She turned her gaze from the window to fleetingly double-check the partition before settling it on her husband. Chase did his best to appear as the strict disciplinarian. Amanda gave a halfhearted attempt at looking contrite. Both were completely bogus.
“I’m not sure what came over me,” she said, more pleased than sorry.
“You know what has to happen here,” he said with all the disapproval he could muster, which still made for a good show. He sat up and shifted to the middle of the long bench seat, extending his hand in her direction.
Boy, do I! Amanda thought with glee as she took his hand and he pulled her gently across his knees. He began to lift her dress as he said unconvincingly, “I hate to have to do this.”
“I’ll bet,” she sassed from beneath yards of material now over her head. She felt strong fingers hooking into both sides of her panties followed by the familiar cool rush of air on her skin while he peeled them down. She held her breath in anticipation as his hand began the sensual tracing and dancing before coming to rest on his favorite place, right where her bottom ended and her thighs began. Her sweet spot.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself, young lady?” A rhetorical question answered only by Amanda wriggling against his muscled thighs in erotic delight.
Chase righted her seconds before the Bellagio’s valet opened the door on his side of the car, scooping her panties off the limousine floor and stuffing them in his pocket. He helped his flushed new wife out of the limo, taking her hand and walking with purposeful strides directly to the hotel elevator. He deliberately and uncharacteristically ignored anyone who recognized them.
Nobody saw them for two days. When they returned to New York they still had the party, but they left their fancy duds in the closet, and everyone was encouraged to wear what made them comfortable. A light snow began to fall on their way home, and it gave Amanda the idea of a fairy-tale whim. They put their wedding clothes on, her white flowing gown and his black tie. Chase drew her into his steely arms and she delicately placed her hand in his before he rested them both over his heart. And they danced alone together in the ballroom of their recently completed castle.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I first found out Big Girl Panties was going to be published, I was so naïve, on the level of Forrest Gump. I knew very little about publishing. Almost nothing. I hung up the phone after getting the word and thought, Well, that’s good . . . one less thing. I’ve learned so much since that phone call, mostly about all the really hard work that caring, dedicated people would undertake on my behalf. Enthusiastic folks who took me and my book into their hearts and helped guide me through my new learning curve. Saying thank you doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of the appreciation I’d like to express. It is with that thought and deepest gratitude that I’d like to thank the following:
Rachel Kahan—for believing in me when I doubt myself and feeling my characters almost as much as I do. She is an editor extraordinaire.
Liate Stehlik—for trusting me and the editor extraordinaire to tell this story. Having Liate in your corner is like being touched by an angel.
Heidi Richter—for being so smart and savvy and keeping me organized. She always knows just what day it is. Woot!
Kathy Gordon—for having more energy than a can of Red Bull—the kind of energy that’s contagious.
The team at William Morrow/HarperCollins—Trish Daly, Angela Dong, Dianna Garcia, Kaitlin Harri, Jen Hart, Virginia Stanley, Shelby Meizlik, Doug Jones, Lynn Grady, Tavia Kowalchuk, Rachel Levenberg, Erin Gorham, Lorie Young, Julia Meltzer, Lisa Stokes, Mary Schuck, and Andrea Rosen. For making hard work look like fun.
Andrea Cirillo and Meg Ruley—for making me feel sane, even when I know I sound completely off my rocker.
Rhonda Ritter Witkowski—for being the first friend I ever made, back when we were five, and hanging around for the duration. She is likely the only person on this earth who can truly blackmail me.
Ava Johnson—for always being ready to bust out a little “I’m Sally O’Malley”!
Amy Caswell—for helping me see the humor in everything and her uncanny ability to relate it to a Seinfeld episode.
And finally, from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank every wonderful reader who took time out of their day to make mine. Whether you reached out via the World Wide Web to lend your support, or recommended me to a friend, or shared a few minutes with me while I was passing through, you’ve enriched my life in a way I’ll cherish forever. Thank you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STEPHANIE EVANOVICH is a full-fledged Jersey girl from Asbury Park who began writing fiction while waiting for her cues during countless community theater projects. She attended New York Conservatory for the Dramatic Arts, performed with several improvisational troupes, and acted in a few small-budget movies, all in preparation for the greatest job she’s ever had: raising her two sons. Now a full-time writer, she’s also an avid sports fan who holds a black belt in tae kwon do.
www.stephanieevanovich.com
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ALSO BY STEPHANIE EVANOVICH
Big Girl Panties
CREDITS
Cover design by Mary Schuck
Cover photograph © Ilina Simeonova/Trevillion Images
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE SWEET SPOT. Copyright © 2014 by Stephanie Evanovich. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter inv
ented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Title page and chapter opener art © by Roman Malyshev/Shutterstock, Inc.
Designed by Lisa Stokes
ISBN 978-0-06-223481-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-06-233600-2 (international edition)
EPUB Edition July 2014 ISBN 9780062234834
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