Stand-In Groom

He didn’t want any of the guests offended, but he didn’t want any paparazzi or reporters gaining entrance, either. Most of the guests would understand. “Please call me no matter what.” He pulled another stack of papers out of his bag, split it in half, and started them around the room. “This is a release stating that you have heard and understood the guidelines I’ve just enumerated for you. Please sign it and return it to Mr. O’Hara or me, and then you can go back to your duties.”

They were signing the releases when Anne’s cousin Jonathan burst through the doors. “George, I think you should come outside.”

He left Major to gather the paperwork and ran across the building. His phone beeped and he pulled it out to answer the call from Cliff’s publicist.

“We were on our way to the hotel in downtown, and Mr. Ballantine decided he wanted to have the press conference at Lafitte’s Landing instead.” Tracie’s voice betrayed her state of near-panic. “You’ll need to figure out a podium and some sound quickly.” A black stretch limousine, followed by innumerable vehicles, wound its way up the long drive toward Lafitte’s Landing.

“Oh, my sainted aunt!” He spun and ran back inside. “Keep Mr. Ballantine in the car until we get everything set up,” he called into the phone, then disconnected and clipped it back in place.

One of the staff directed George to a storage room where he found a large lectern and portable sound system. As the boys who’d worked with the equipment before rushed to get everything plugged in, George arranged the stanchions and black velvet rope, originally set out to line the red carpet leading to the entrance, as a barrier to keep the reporters and cameras out of Mr. Ballantine’s face. Like locusts, they swarmed toward the building, but the college students did an admirable job of keeping them behind the barricade.

After a thumbs-up from Jonathan, George descended the porch steps and crossed to the limousine. Blinding flashes combined with yelling reporters competed for Cliff’s attention as George opened the door and the movie star stepped out.

What was he wearing? Blue jeans and a University of Louisiana baseball jersey? George shook his head. If he hadn’t been here all day… But he’d promised Anne.

Anne! She still didn’t know. He whirled to return to the building and find her before she woke up and walked out into the middle of her worst nightmare.

Cliff grabbed George’s shoulder to stop him. “Tracie, call the hotel and have them send over any other reporters still waiting for me there. Laurence, show me what’s been done inside.”

No, no, no! He had to get to Anne. He had to tell her himself. Please, dear Lord, let her sleep through this. Let her stay in the office until I can get to her. “Yes, Mr. Ballantine.”

The diminutive, dark-haired publicist stepped up to the lectern to announce that Mr. Ballantine would give his statement in approximately fifteen minutes.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, George’s gaze scoured the room for the statuesque blonde he’d come to love in the last month. He sighed when he couldn’t spot her.

Like a politician, Cliff greeted the college students still working on the decorations, table settings, and final preparations. George kept his eyes trained on the door at the back of the room. When Tracie gave him the word, he’d get Cliff back out front and go tell Anne. He couldn’t let her hear this from someone else.

Standing in the middle of the ballroom, Cliff turned in a full circle, nodding his head. “Looks great, Laurie. Good job.”

“I can take no credit, sir. Your wedding planner, An—”

“Why aren’t any of them asking for my autograph?” A fierce frown marred Cliff’s world-famous face.

Oh no! A worker, with the box holding everyone’s cell phones under her arm, went through the door at the back of the room. George moved to stop her, but Cliff grabbed his shoulder again. God, please don’t let Anne wake up! “Everyone working here tonight signed a release that they wouldn’t. We gave them signed head shots a few minutes ago.”

The frown melted into relief. “Oh. Good. I thought I was losing my touch for a minute there.” He inhaled deeply. “Take me to the kitchen. I want to sample what we’re eating tonight.”

Yes. The kitchen. Anne probably wouldn’t go in there.

The frenetic preparations in the kitchen came to a dead stop when Cliff entered. Major O’Hara commanded them all back to work and came toward him, his face a study in granite.

“As I live and breathe, Major O’Hara.” Cliff extended his hand jovially.

The caterer’s smile seemed forced. “Cliff Ballantine. It’s been a long time. Welcome.”

“So what’s on the menu?” Cliff seemed not to notice the frosty reception.

George followed them as Major allowed Cliff a taste of each of the dishes. He knew why Anne and her family would give Cliff a frigid greeting. What had happened with Major O’Hara?

Tracie beeped through on his phone while Cliff taste-tested the jambalaya. George stepped to the double doors and peered out into the ballroom. No sign of Anne. “Tracie, please tell me everyone is here and we can get started.”

“Yes. The natives are getting restless. They’re ready for the human sacrifice.”

“I’ll have him out there in a moment.” He had to wait for Cliff to finish slurping down a glass of iced tea. Through the doors and fifty feet across the ballroom, and Tracie would take over. He pushed the swinging door open, and it bumped someone on the other side.

“I beg your pardon—” Not now! Not when he was so close to success.

“It’s okay. Oh, hi, George.” The beautiful, trusting smile that crossed Anne’s face broke his heart.

“Thanks, guys, everything looks great!” Cliff called over the din of kitchen equipment.

George’s shoulders dropped. “Anne, I was going to tell you—”

“No!” She shook her head and backed away from him. “No.” The dead calm of her voice worried him more than the shock on her face.

“Laurence, why—” Cliff stopped beside him and muttered a surprised expletive under his breath. “Annie Hawthorne. I never thought I’d see you again.”

George clenched his hands into fists and bit the insides of his cheeks. “Mr. Ballantine, may I introduce your wedding planner?”

“Wedding planner?” Cliff looked from George to Anne. “You’re kidding, right?”

Anne’s face had gone pale, her posture so stiff George worried she might faint. His phone beeped again. “Sir, the press conference.”

“Right. Anne—we’ll talk later.” Cliff brushed past her on his way out of the kitchen. She jerked away from him and exited into the ballroom.

When George came out of the kitchen, Anne stood with her back to him. “Anne. Anne, I wanted to tell you privately, but then he came here instead of going to the hotel, and…” He shook his head. “And things spiraled out of my control.” He touched her arm.

She whirled to face him. “Cliff Ballantine? You work for Cliff Ballantine?” Her gaze shot electric blue anger at him. “Did you have a good laugh last night? I poured my heart out to you. I told you how much he’d hurt me. And you stood there and said nothing. Nothing! If you really cared about me, you would have told me. Right then. Stranger things have happened? That’s all you could say?”

Although she never raised her voice, he felt as though she’d yelled at him. He looked around the room. A few students working nearby quickly turned their attention back to their tasks. He clasped her elbow. “Let’s go to the office—”

She yanked out of his grasp. “Afraid I’ll embarrass you with my outburst?” She took a deep breath, and before he could blink, her expression changed from fury to calm professionalism. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.” She stalked away.

Oh, Anne, Anne! I’m so terribly sorry. He turned to exit the building. Now the truth had been revealed, Anne wouldn’t want him here. His responsibility lay solely with Cliff and Courtney… and in figuring out how to convince Anne to forgive him. Perhaps after she got over the initial shock, she’d be more open to listening to his explanation.

* * *

A red haze surrounded Anne. Cliff Ballantine. She’d been planning Cliff Ballantine’s wedding. To see him standing there behind George… Tears burned her eyes. How could he do this to her?

He? Whom was she most angry with? George? Cliff? God? She hated to admit it,