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AFEW DAYS LATER, JACKmet Amelia’s mom.
“This is Jack,” Amelia said, hugging his arm.
“Senator, it's lovely to meet you,” Christine Dufort said, shaking his hand outside the restaurant where they met. “It’s nice to meet the man putting such a happy smile on my daughter's face.”
“As she is mine,” he replied.
They enjoyed a long lunch, and Amelia shared that she would introduce him to the dominant men in her family in time, but for now she wanted to make up her own mind on him.
“It’s a smart move, sweetie. Those brothers of yours would have you wrapped in cotton wool if they had a choice,” her mom had said.
“Aidan is in Chicago right now, anyway,” Amelia shared. “And Logan is still in Hawaii with his new bride.”
“I’d like to meet your dad,” Jack had said.
Christine glanced at him knowingly, and when Amelia went to the restroom, she tapped his hand as it rested on the table.
“My husband would kill me for saying this, but if you want to ask his permission, don’t. Amelia is right about the men in our family. They are dominant and manipulative. If you love her, ask her to marry you. You do not need Andrew’s permission. Amelia is her own woman.”
Jack smiled. “Thank you.”
“Plus, you have mine. I can see the love you have for one another,” she said. “I assume all the drama with that woman is done with.”
“Yes, ma’am. That was well before I met Amelia, and none of it was true.” Jack said firmly.
Yes, he had slept with Cindy, but the official White House statement was that he hadn’t, so aside from Amelia, his lawyer, and Black Hawke Security, no one knew the whole truth.
“Good.”
“What are we talking about?” Amelia said as she sat down.
“Now you are going to finally show me your studio and art?” Jack said, sipping his coffee.
And she did.
Finally.
That night, after dinner at her place, she stood and reached out his hand.
“Already?” he teased, rubbing his stomach. “I may need to digest before I can perform, sweetheart.”
“Stop. Before I change my mind.” She shook her head at him humorously. Then Amelia led him down the hall and opened the door he’d been eyeing for over a month.
Jack stood in the doorway and lifted his arm as she leaned into him.
“Holy shit,” he said, glancing around.
“It’s a mess.”
“You don’t say,” Jack walked in further, ignoring the playful slap on his chest. “Sweetheart, this is fucking incredible.”
On the walls were sketches, easels with paintings, and on every inch—and he truly meant every inch—there were paints and blocks of metal and wood and fabric lying around.
Color burst from surfaces, creating mayhem, but in some weird way he could see she had a system.
In one area, near a vast number of windows, she had a bare platform.
“That’s where I create the product. Then I usually have to get things made in workshops and have them shipped to where I’m assembling them,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle.
