Chapter 11

Television sets affixed to the walls in front of the cardio equipment: treadmills, stationary bikes, stair climbers, and elliptical machines. Lance jogged in place on the treadmill as Grant worked with the elliptical machine. Music along with heavy breathing, grunts, and groans occupied his hearing. Sweat slid down Lance’s neck and back while the pleasant burn of his muscles took over. His feet pounded the treadmill.

Nothing personal. The thought repeated in his mind like a commercial. He exhaled puffs of breath. He needed to slow down, but he was past no return.

Only a few more weeks and his troubles would be over. Trouble? Not the best way to describe his situation, but how did a man handle his future wife and ex at the same time?

He had friends that took pride in having more than one woman, but for Lance, it only increased the tension in his head. Thank goodness Chantelle had moved on with her life. He couldn’t handle it if she harbored bitterness towards him.

He ran harder. Sweat dripping from his nose. His t-shirt clung to his skin. He pictured himself walking into her hospital room. He had panicked seeing the blood. Lance called 911 that night since Chantelle had needed help. He’d been clueless. Making those fateful steps to her room had been brutal.

It was the right thing to do—at least that’s what his parents convinced him.

“You have your whole life ahead of you,” his mother had said.

His father had only nodded. “Listen to us, son. You and Chantelle are young. I’m proud of you for wanting to do that right thing, but this is too much for teenagers.”

Lance had sat in the empty hospital room with them, listening to their opinion on his relationship. If he had stayed, how would he support Chantelle? Lance hadn’t gotten that far. Then everything changed.

“Want to slow down there, bro.” Grant panted.

Lance’s muscles twitched as they reached the end of their endurance. He blocked out the memories. If only he could run from his problems. If only he could stop the tug-a-war inside. It tempted him to have Andrea to call off the wedding and meet her in Paris. They could get married with no hassle.

He huffed. She’d never go for it. Andrea loved the camera and being in the spotlight. Lance despised it. Why did the world need to know?

He asked her to marry him, and she said yes. Simple. Why did their wedding guest list have over five hundred people? Half of them, he didn’t know, but between Andrea’s celebrity friends, his friends and family, and his father’s business partners, not inviting them would do more damage than good.

Chantelle’s face flashed in his mind once more. She would’ve listened to him, instead of brushing his feelings under the rug. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone listen. He didn’t have to fight for his place with her. She always understood. Except that one time.

Her eyes were cold as they bored into him that night. “Are you kidding me?”

He didn’t respond.

“You want it to be... over?” Her bottom lip had trembled.

“I can’t handle it. Can you?” Lance had to be honest.

“Get out.” Her voice chilled his bones. Her stare burned like a burning coal in his soul.

He stepped forward. “It was a mistake. Can’t you see that?”

Tears spilled from her eyes. “I should have known. Why did you even ask me?”

He couldn’t lie to her. “I love you.”

She turned to her side. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

Lance’s heart raced as he pumped his fists. He couldn’t think about it anymore. It wasn’t fair to Andrea—or to him.

“Lance?” Grant called out again. “Slow down.”

“Why?”

“So you won’t fly off that thing,” his friend said.

Slowing the speed, Lance switched from running to a slower pace. He grabbed his nearby towel, dabbed his forehead dry, and wiped behind his neck.

“What’s up with you?” Grant asked.

“Too much going on.”

“The wedding?”

“That. Your sister’s back in town. My mother’s taking over the wedding, and Andrea who wants to take another modeling gig in Paris.”

Grant bobbed his head. “Wow, that is a lot.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Anything I can do? We can move up your bachelor party.”

Lance chuckled. “No, I can wait on that. Besides, I have work to catch up on when I get home.” He waved his hand to dismiss his comment. “I don’t want to talk about me anymore. What about you?”

“Elise wants kids.”

Lance winced, but hoped his discomfort didn’t show. He would listen to his best friend. “You don’t?”

“I do, but it makes me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t you be? Having a—” Grant shut his eyes as if realizing his mistake. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t be. I’m cool.” He wouldn’t admit the truth right now. “I say learn as you go.” He gulped from his water bottle. “Nobody’s perfect and you’ll do great.”

“Thanks.” Grant wiped his own sweaty forehead. “You sure I can’t help with anything?”

“Like what? Picking out the food for the reception?”

Grant laughed. “I guess you’re right. Not my thing either. Still, you can’t go wrong with chicken.”

A laugh escaped Lance’s mouth. “According to Andrea, maybe chicken or fish. No beef.”

Grant choked. “What! No beef?”

“That’s what I said. A man needs a burger sometimes. Even your sister eats burgers.” Did that slip out of his mouth? He and his best friend didn’t talk much about his past with Chantelle. Grant and he had only grown closer in the last few years. Lance didn’t blame him for wanting to protect his sister. Though they buried the hatchet, Lance treaded lightly when discussing Chantelle with Grant.

“What’s up with you and my sister?” Grant asked.

“Nothing. We ate today at Jasper’s Diner. Nothing major.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” What more did he need to do? Get his word in writing?

His friend bobbed his head. “Cool, but do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Don’t hurt her.”

More sweat formed on Lance’s brow. He wiped it away. “Shouldn’t you worry about her hurting your best friend?” It was a long shot, but Chantelle wasn’t the only one who suffered heartbreak. He may not have expressed it as she did, but he blamed himself for years. Was the stress too much for both of them? They’d gone behind their parents’ back after both families had decided what to do.

Grant watched him. “She’s my sister. I’m not getting into who’s right and who’s wrong. Just be careful—both of you.”

“Will do.” The message from his best friend was obvious. Lance was to stay away from her.

***

Chantelle held her cell to her ear, dreading to hear Brenda’s comment on her notes so far with Lance. He was such a private person and there was no way he would spill details on him and Andrea. She felt sorry for him.

How was he supposed to feel with his life under a microscope? Living in the spotlight wasn’t easy, especially in a small town like Delta Heights. What could Chantelle say? They loved that a local was getting married.

“Any good news?” Brenda asked, not bothering to say hello.

“Hello, Brenda. Did you get my email?” Chantelle rubbed the back of her neck.

“This is not what I expected. There’s no romance in this. Does he even love this Andrea?”

Chantelle swallowed. “He does. Lance Taylor is just very private. This is still his relationship.”

“I understand, but he is a celebrity. Celebrities give up those rights once they become famous. Lance Taylor is no different.”

Blowing out her cheeks, Chantelle shut her eyes for a moment. She never condoned exploitation. It was not acceptable in her eyes, but it didn’t matter to her boss. At least Brenda was better than Edward Lyle.

She could see his sky-blue eyes. Working at The Hillside as a reporter proved to be an exciting task. Being fresh out of graduate school, Chantelle loved every minute. Though in his late fifties, the man ran the newspaper like an assembly line. There was a downside. He didn’t care about the talents of his employees. It was about the circulation numbers. When Chantelle came at the height of the newspaper, she caught the eye of Edward.

“Do you think you can make it out there?” He had asked, with his deep raspy voice. The corner of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “It’s better if you let me help you get there.”

Chantelle despised him. She shivered, bringing her mind back to the present. “I understand, Brenda.”

“So, where does that leave the story? You have a few weeks left. If anyone can pull this off, you can. Don’t forget why you’re doing this.”

Nodding her head, though relieved Brenda couldn’t see her rolling her eyes, Chantelle breathed. “I’ll do my best not to let you down.”

Brenda hung up without a goodbye. Chantelle placed her phone on her mother’s kitchen table. Where did she go from here?

“Can’t sleep?” Douglas asked as he paced into the kitchen.

Chantelle straightened in her seat. “No, I had a business call.”

“Everything alright?” he asked, tightening the royal blue robe around his waist. “You sounded a little stressed.”

“I’m fine.”

Douglas bobbed his head, but his lips parted to say something else. His eyes softened. “I am here for you Chantelle. When you’re ready.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her kind-hearted dad would sit her on his lap as he read her short stories as a kid. Then he would kiss her temple and tell her how smart she was.

“You’re going to be great, and remember you already are,” he had said.

“Really Daddy?” She had asked in her childlike voice.

He kissed her full cheek. “You’re not only beautiful, but you’re smart.”

Chantelle closed her laptop on her mother’s table. She drained the rest of her coffee cup and carried it over to the sink. “Thank you, Douglas.”

She went to her room and shut the door behind her. Chantelle laid her laptop on the bed. Pacing to her dresser, she pulled out an old jewelry box given to her by her paternal grandmother. No jewels inside, but the scratched wooden box kept her beloved stories she would write for her father. Unfolding the crumpled, worn notebook paper, Chantelle read the words scribbled in pencil.

 

The little princess lived in a castle in a faraway land. No one cared what she thought since they only looked at her face. Why? She was pretty, but more was inside. She had a heart, but no one cared. Would anyone?

 

She spotted another piece of paper tucked in her jewelry box. Chantelle grabbed and opened it. She wrote this one in pen. Ten years ago. Her chest heaved as she read.

 

I couldn’t protect you. I failed. Maybe I didn’t know what I was doing. Maybe it was better this way, but I can’t imagine how. The safest place in the world should have been with me, and I can’t apologize enough. I won’t forget you. I’ll always love you. I’ll never know what you would have looked like. I can only picture your smile as you would look up at me.

 

Chantelle folded the paper. She couldn’t read anymore. Tears brimming in her eyes, she stopped and returned the paper to her jewelry box. She wiped her face as she nibbled on her lips. Rubbing her arms, she forced herself to remember the good times. She needed to focus on one thing. Her article.

She could do this. Chantelle could write her story without exploiting Lance and his life. There had to be a way without disappointing her boss.

Sitting on her bed, she opened her laptop once more and typed an introduction to her article. What would she call it? Tapping her slim fingers to her lips, she mulled title names.

“The Bachelor Takes a Wife”? She noted it as a placeholder. She could change it later. Lance had a future with Andrea Williams. They would marry and live happily ever after. Chantelle’s stomach hardened at the notion. She would return to Chicago—alone.

***

Lance waited for Andrea to pick up the phone as he paced his bedroom. Waking up early, he made his coffee, grateful Dottie had made him a hearty breakfast. After his workout, he slept better, and woke up refreshed.

He only had a few minutes before going into the office today, so he wanted to catch her in his free time. The fresh scent of his aftershave overwhelmed his nose. Running his hand down his face, he bit back the groan in the back of his throat. Then he heard Andrea’s voice.

“It’s about time you answered.” Wrong move, but he said it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve been working. Aren’t you?” Andrea asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

He sighed, plopping down on his bed. “I don’t want to argue with you. It’s not why I called.”

“Why did you?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he sat up in bed. “How about this is the first conversation we’ve had without you rushing me off the phone.”

“I haven’t been rushing you. I’ve been—”

“I know working.”

She huffed. “So I’m just supposed to forget about my life and be what you want?”

“No.” He rubbed his forehead. “All I’m asking is for you to take a break.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very.”

“Whose idea was this? Your mother’s? She’s already controlling the wedding.”

“You said she could help, but if you were here, she wouldn’t have to. What do I care about if we have a DJ or a band? It’s not my job.”

“Why don’t you say what’s really bothering you? Is it work, Lance?” Her voice mellowed as if she were trying to remain calm. “Talk to me.”

He stood on his carpeted floor and paced back and forth. “I don’t understand why we can’t have a destination wedding or even go to the courthouse. All this fancy stuff is not worth it to me.”

“Lance, almost every woman in life has dreamed of her wedding. I’ve been imagining this since I was a little girl. It’s a dream come true for me. I don’t think a perfect wedding is too much to ask for.”

Perfect. A word he had tried to live up to his entire life. If he wasn’t trying to please his parents, he was trying to be the best lawyer and beat the record of other attorneys at his father’s firm. Lance pinched the bridge of his nose. He slowed his breathing.

He couldn’t keep doing it. Something had to change. His parents were another topic altogether, but he could try with his future wife. “Perfect, huh?”

“You don’t agree?” Her voice sounded full of concern.

Lance’s chin dropped to his chest. “I’m not perfect, Andrea. If that’s what you’re expecting, I’ll never live up to that.”

She sighed. “Are you having second thoughts? Does this have to do with your—”

“That’s the past. I told you that,” he said. He didn’t want to open old wounds. Not with her, especially since he hadn’t told her about Chantelle being back in town. When was the right time?

Andrea continued. “Then can we talk about this later? The wedding plans, I mean.”

“Why can’t we talk now? You have my attention. Don’t I have yours?” Lance asked.

“It’s just… I have a few appointments tomorrow, and I can’t be late. I need to get some sleep.” Her voice sounded regretful.

Lance blew out his cheeks. He forgot about the time difference. “Alright, when will you be available again? Should I call you or check with Roland, your agent?”

“I can’t believe you! This is important to me, and you don’t even care. You know what, yes. Call my agent when you want to talk like the man I’m marrying.”

She hung up. His last comment went too far, and the lump in his throat only worsened. He could call back to apologize, but she wouldn’t listen. Andrea was the type that needed to cool off. Chantelle faced an argument head on.

Lance pressed one fist to his forehead. He wouldn’t compare them. Clutching his phone, he thought about calling Andrea again. Knowing still she wouldn’t answer, he stuffed his phone in his pocket. To his surprise, his phone buzzed. Andrea called back.

“Sorry,” she said.

Lance released a deep breath. “Me too.”

“What’s the problem, Lance? It has to be more than the wedding.”

“Why haven’t you come to Delta Heights?”

“I’ll be there soon enough. I plan on—”

“No, I mean before.” Chantelle’s question had rang in his ears. Why didn’t Andrea visit him? A relationship worked both ways. “I grew up here. I’d like for you to see where I grew up. My old high school. The community center.”

“I didn’t know it meant that much to you.”

“I guess I never mentioned it.” They had to get better at communicating or they wouldn’t work. Communication and trust. Those words stood out to him more than anything. He could trust Andrea. He knew that from their first conversation that she was confident and strong. They shared the same values—somewhat.

Would it be enough to sustain a marriage? Where was this tension between them coming from?

“Why didn’t you?” She asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Do men have that much of a problem sharing their feelings?”

Her comment didn’t sting. Lance knew the stereotypes and worked hard to prove people wrong. He’d made dumb decisions as a boy. Some he couldn’t forget. It etched in his memory like an epitaph to a gravestone. “My family doesn’t do emotion, Andrea. We deal with life and move on.”

Move on. That idea had cost him everything.

“I see.”

“But I… don’t want to do that with you.” He hoped she heard his honesty.

“I know.” Then she groaned. “Lance, I have to go. Can we please talk later?”

He wouldn’t argue this time. There was no point. “Sure.”

Andrea hung up. Lance stared into space. Their future marriage wasn’t off to a good start.