Stand-In Groom

but of the three, Cliff’s surprised expression at seeing her acquitted him of any guilt. He hadn’t known about her any more than she’d known about him.

“Keep the walkways clear of streamers and confetti. We don’t want anyone slipping and hurting themselves.” The college students jumped to do her bidding.

George. She’d trusted him to be honest with her. She’d told him—

“Make sure to tape the plugs connecting those light strings so they don’t come undone. Also, tape the extension cord down along the floorboard so no one trips on it. If y’all are finished with that, you need to go change into your uniforms.”

God, how could You do this to me?

In response, her own voice echoed through her memory. The only way I’d be able to talk to Cliff Ballantine is if he were to walk through those doors. She hated it when God took her at her word.

Several students stood in the front hall, gawking through the windows on each side of the front doors. “If y’all don’t have anything else to do, you need to go change clothes and get your stations ready.”

They scattered, and Anne took their position at the window.

Had Cliff always been so broad through the shoulders? Between them stood George, hands clasped behind his back. Compared to his employer, he looked half his real size.

He glanced over his shoulder, and their gazes met. He turned and slipped inside. “Anne.”

She stepped back, shaking her head. She opened her mouth but had no words. Pressing her lips together, she closed her eyes and turned away.

He moved closer. “Anne, I wanted to tell you last night, but I couldn’t. I truly was going to tell you this afternoon, but he changed his plans at the last minute and came here instead of going to the hotel to give his press conference. He showed up just as I was coming to tell you.”

The din outside rose in volume as reporters started shouting questions over each other. Anne stopped but kept her back turned to him. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. I just want to get through tonight with as little drama as possible.” She walked away, praying he wouldn’t follow. The sound of the heavy front door closing gave her some relief.

She crossed the French Quarter at Mardi Gras–themed ballroom into the kitchen. Major O’Hara looked up from where he was supervising one of his cooks. She jerked her head toward the staff break room. He nodded and joined her a few moments later, closing the door on the noise and confusion of the final preparations.

“Did you know?” Major asked. He perched on the edge of a stack of four dining room chairs. Ten years ago, Major had agreed to cater Anne and Cliff’s reception for a miniscule amount of money.

She released the large clip at the back of her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “No. I can’t believe George didn’t tell me.”

“Does he know you have a history with Cliff?”

“Not until I told him everything last night.” She sank onto an ancient sofa and then decided she’d have been more comfortable on the floor.

“And he didn’t tell you then?” Major crossed his arms, a familiar storminess coming into his expression. She’d forgotten what a short fuse he had when he thought someone he cared for had been wronged.

“He—” What was it she’d said to George last night just before telling him about Cliff? I don’t expect you to tell me what you’ve sworn to keep secret. She leaned her head back and stared at the water-stained tile above her. “He promised Cliff he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Then why did he pull everyone together and tell all of us right before Cliff got here?”

Anger surged anew. Why indeed. “You’re right. He could have told me last night. It’s not like I’m going to go out and blab to some supermarket tabloid reporter. He should have shown me more respect than that. ‘Stranger things have happened,’ my foot! If he has so little respect for me, after tonight is over, he can just plan the rest of the wedding by himself.”

Chapter 22

She would put all the Hollywood royalty present tonight to shame.

George ran his finger under his collar, suddenly unable to breathe. Dressed in a modest floor-length, black column dress, Anne glided around the perimeter of the room, double-checking the readiness of each station and each server. If her idea had been to blend into the background, she’d failed miserably. He turned at a tug on his sleeve.

“George, how do I look?”

Courtney Landry stood before him, no longer a cherubic nineteen-year-old, but a grown woman dressed in a clinging, plunging silk gown the same electric blue as Anne’s eyes. He wanted to drape his tuxedo coat about her bare shoulders and hold it closed just below her chin. He cleared his throat and reached for her hand. “Like a princess.” He brushed a kiss on her knuckles.

She blushed and touched the chestnut curls piled up on top of her head. “He’s introducing me to all his friends tonight. What if I trip? Or drop food down my dress?”

“Now, Miss Courtney, I know you paid more attention than that during our etiquette lessons. Chin up, shoulders square, make direct eye contact.” She followed his commands like a well-trained soldier. “And remember, tonight is about you. Not Cliff, nor anyone else in the room. Now…” He tucked her hand under his arm. “It’s time for you to greet your guests.”

Cliff stopped pacing when George arrived in the foyer with Courtney. “It’s about time. Laurence, check my tie. I think it’s crooked.”

George squeezed Courtney’s hand once more and stepped forward to pretend to adjust the perfectly straight knot of white silk at Cliff’s throat. In his ear, a short burst of static came over the radio, followed by, “Mr. Laurence, a limo’s coming!”

He touched the button on the side of the pack clipped to his belt. “I’ll be right along.” Returning his attention to Cliff, he brushed invisible lint from the lapel of the black Valentino. “If you’re ready, sir?”

Cliff waved him away. “Yeah. Enough. Go. Don’t keep people waiting.”

“Wait!” Anne’s voice stopped George cold. She ran into the foyer and skidded to a stop, breathless. “You forgot your jewelry, Miss Courtney.” Anne’s maternal smile as she clasped the diamond-and sapphire-encrusted choker around the girl’s throat curled George’s toes. Yes, she would be a wonderful mother to their children.

She left without even a glance in George’s direction.

“Laurence. I believe it’s time to let the guests in.” Cliff motioned toward the front doors.

“Yes, Mr. Ballantine.” George stepped out onto the front porch, rolling his shoulders to release some of the tension.

Over the next two hours, he stood vigil on the porch, keeping the photographers beyond the ropes, welcoming guests, overseeing the valets, and, in general, trying to keep the chaos to a minimum. Every so often, Anne’s voice came over the radio in response to one worker or another’s panic. The calm reassurance in her tone acted as a soothing balm for everyone. Just the awareness that she had everything under control made the evening successful.

The radio crackled as she came over the connection. “George, I need your assistance. Please come to the administrative office.” Something had to be terribly wrong for Anne to call him away from his post. But her voice betrayed nothing.

“I’ll be right there.” He motioned to Jonathan to take over supervision. Inside, around a hundred guests milled about, exclaiming over the decor and devouring the Cajun food. He looked around to check on Courtney. His heart thudded when he didn’t see her, and he quickened his pace.

He pushed open the ajar office door. Courtney sat in one of the guest chairs, Anne kneeling on the floor in front of her. When the young woman saw him, she burst into tears, pulled away from Anne, and flung herself at him. He caught her in an embrace and looked over the top of her head at Anne. She shook her head as she stood.

“They hate me,” Courtney wailed against his black waistcoat.