speak, but her voice came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you. I’ll call all of the vendors we’ve already signed this afternoon and let them know to cancel the contracts.”
He frowned. “No, no. You don’t understand. I’m not the groom. I never was. The groom is my employer. He wants to remain anonymous—to keep the wedding plans out of the media. He sent me here as his stand-in—to plan his wedding by proxy.”
She waved her arms above her head and knocked his hand away. “I can’t breathe.” She sat up and wished she had done it slower, pressed her hands against her temples, and closed her eyes.
“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”
She opened her eyes. George knelt in front of her.
Chuckling, he reached for her hands, folded them atop each other, then held them between his. “You’re not hallucinating. Nervous breakdown, maybe. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way, but now you know.”
Anne’s heart connected with the imploring look in his eyes. “Let me make sure I’m clear on this. Everything we’ve discussed—the vendors we’ve booked, food we’ve tasted, venues we’ve visited— none of that was for you?”
The skin around his eyes crinkled in the way she loved as his smile grew. “Correct.”
Concentration on the subject at hand was hard when he looked at her that way, but she persevered. “The contract
“Yes.” He leaned forward.
Anne shifted to her right a bit so her knees didn’t impede him from getting closer. “And you couldn’t tell me before, but now you can?”
He shrugged. “I should have found a way to tell you from the beginning. But my—”
“I know. Your employer.” She tried to ignore the tingles that climbed up her arms from the way he rubbed his thumbs against the backs of her hands. If George was here on behalf of his employer, and George and Forbes had been working on something together— this wasn’t just a case of George withholding his identity from her. Both of them had been lying to her for nearly three weeks.
She pulled away from him and crossed the kitchen to lean over the sink, just in case her churning stomach decided to give up its contents.
“Anne?”
“Forbes has known all along, hasn’t he?”
“Known? Yes. He is the one who presented me with the contract.” George’s voice faded out as if he realized he was revealing too much.
She backed away, holding her hands out in front of her, palms out. “I don’t believe this.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
She should have known better. She’d forgotten the only thing Cliff had ever taught her—never trust anyone.
George moved closer. Anne’s Wedgwood blue eyes turned a stormy gray, her cheeks went pale, and she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “Anne, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.” Anger, quiet but potent, laced her words.
He should have known it wouldn’t go well. “I’m sorry. Can we sit down and talk?”
“No. I just need you to leave.” Her smooth alto voice was emotionless, flat. She gave him a wide berth and opened the back door.
Fear—deep down and abiding—took root in George. Only once before had he ever fancied himself in love. That had been a mistake. Looking at Anne, he now knew the true nature of love. He couldn’t risk losing her.
“Anne—” His cell phone interrupted him with Courtney’s ring. He ignored it. He had to talk to Anne. To explain. To apologize. To beg her forgiveness. To have her look at him again with the longing in her eyes even her best expression of professionalism hadn’t been able to mask.
“Please leave.” Tears escaped onto her porcelain cheeks.
His heart ached. He’d caused this pain. “Anne, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Please. I’ll do anything to make this up to you.”
She wouldn’t look at him, just turned her flooded eyes toward the floor.
Rather than stay and cause more damage, he opened the glass storm door and trudged down the steps. The door clicked shut behind him with a crack that ripped through his heart like a bullet.
The carriage house–style lights lining Main Street flickered past as he drove down the wide, tree-canopied boulevard. How happy he could have been here! Even with the nearly unbearable heat and humidity, Bonneterre was the first place in more than twenty years that had truly felt like home.
For the second time in his life, he’d taken someone else’s advice on how to tell a woman he had feelings for her. The first time, he’d merely been embarrassed by the outcome. He could only pray this time he hadn’t ruined the chance for future happiness for both of them.
He couldn’t leave things like this. He grabbed his PDA and scrolled down to Anne’s number. He was immediately connected to her voice mail.
“This is Anne Hawthorne. I am sorry I cannot take your call at the moment. Please leave me a message, and I’ll get back with you as soon as I can. Thanks!” Her cheerful recorded voice twisted his innards with guilt.
“Anne, George here. Please call me back. I desperately need to speak with you. Words cannot express how terrible I feel about what transpired this afternoon. I know you’re angry and have every right to be so. But please, you must let me explain—”
A tone sounded and the connection cut off. He quickly dialed her number again. “Please, Anne, call me. It doesn’t matter what time. We need to talk.”
Later that evening, although he prepared for bed and turned off the lights, George couldn’t sleep. He stared at the small black phone on his nightstand, praying it would ring and he’d hear Anne’s voice.
He jumped out of bed and paced, chewing on the tip of his thumb. Why didn’t she call? The grandfather clock in the upstairs entry hall chimed twice. They’d parted more than ten hours ago.
The rattle of plastic against wood startled him. His phone vibrated, then started to play “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love.”
Anne!
He leaped for the phone. “Anne? I’m so glad you called.”
“George, it’s Forbes.” The lawyer’s voice was gravelly. “Has Anne contacted you? Do you know where she is?”
George dropped to sit on the edge of the bed. “No, I haven’t heard from her. How are you calling me on her phone?”
“I’m at her apartment. Her cell phone was here. She had your number programmed into it. I’m calling everyone on the list. She didn’t show up for church tonight, which isn’t like her at all.”
“She’s not home?”
“That’s what I just said.” Frustration clipped Forbes’s words.
“Where might she go? Is there a friend she might stay with? Another of your relatives?” Where was it she’d said she liked to go when things got hectic? “Your grandparents?”
“Meredith has already driven out there. No one’s talked to or seen her since this morning. What happened this afternoon?”
George ignored the accusation in Forbes’s voice. “I told her the truth—not all of it, just my role. She didn’t react well.”
