by Kaye Dacus
How could God do this to her? Bring the perfect man into her life only to force her to help him marry someone else?
She fled the restaurant. Her car’s engine came to life with a roar. But instead of putting it into gear and driving away, she pounded her fists on the steering wheel.
“This is my punishment, isn’t it, God?” she cried. “You’re punishing me because I’ve never been able to forgive Cliff Ballantine for what he did to me, aren’t You? I don’t want to forgive him! He ruined my life. I dropped out of graduate school to work and send him money, and then he dumped me so he could go off and become a famous movie star and I could work myself practically to death to pay off all the debt I went into for him. Why is it fair that You’re punishing me by showing me what I can’t have, and he’s had everything go right for him?”
She slammed the car into gear and screeched the tires pulling out of the parking lot. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down. “Lord, I know You have a plan for my life. But if it includes forgiving Cliff Ballantine, I’m not sure I can do it.”
Chapter 11
The coffee shop inside the Blanchard Leblanc bookstore was Anne’s favorite place to unwind on a Sunday afternoon. She sipped her caramel-hazelnut latte and claimed one of the overstuffed armchairs near the front windows. Heavy rain pelted the glass, drowning out the low buzz of noise from the other customers.
She set the stack of magazines she’d just purchased on the floor and pulled People off the top. Most of the publications she’d purchased were running celebrity wedding issues, serving dual purpose as research materials. She retrieved an empty folder and scissors from her attaché to save any interesting articles or photos.
Usually she just flipped through the pages, not paying attention to anything but the wedding articles and pictures. Today she scrutinized every photo, read each caption in hopes of seeing George Laurence’s name.
The more she saw, the more thankful she was that she hadn’t married someone who was always in the public eye. She’d seen the shows on TV about how photographers stalked celebrities. They never got a moment’s peace.
She choked on her latte when she flipped a page and was faced with a double-spread layout of photos of Cliff Ballantine. Pushing aside her distaste for the man, Anne found the long caption at the bottom of the page: Hollywood is abuzz with rumors that America’s most eligible bachelor, and this year’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” is no longer eligible. According to sources close to the actor, his recent solo appearance at premieres and events may be due to a relationship he’s managed to keep out of the tabloids.
A few months ago, she’d thrown the local newspaper across her office after opening it to see Cliff’s face in full color on the front page when he’d come to town for his college fraternity’s one hundredth anniversary. Thank God his visit had coincided with her trip to Shreveport as an exhibitor at a bridal show. She didn’t know what she would have done or said if she’d run into him while he was in town.
She chewed the inside of her lip as she looked at the photos of Cliff at different red-carpet events in Hollywood and New York. His hair was shorter than he’d worn it ten years ago, his body more sculpted, his wardrobe top-of-the-line. But he was still the same full-of-himself Cliff with the smile that had charmed her out of all good sense…and thousands of dollars. To think that she was the one who’d enabled him to become what he was today—but no, she didn’t want to go there.
The surprise came from seeing him alone in all the pictures. In the past when the magazines featured him on the cover so that she couldn’t avoid seeing him, he had a buxom blond starlet hanging off his arm.
Anne shook her head and turned the page. She was tempted to send a letter to the editor expressing her condolences to the anonymous girlfriend.
Her cell phone began playing the theme song from The Pink Panther. She grabbed it out of her briefcase. “Hey, Mere. What’s up?”
“Didn’t see you at church this morning and you didn’t come to family dinner, so I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Meredith said.
Anne arched her back to ease her bunched muscles and found a more comfortable position in the cushy chair. “I overslept, so I slipped into the back, and then I had lunch with David and Amanda before they left town.”
“Stayed up too late partying last night, huh?” A crackle of static sounded through the phone connection as lightning flashed outside.
“It’s not every day one of my friends gets married. Even a wedding planner is allowed to cut loose once in a while.” Anne tore out a page that listed restaurants that had catered celebrity events.
Meredith chuckled. “It was a gorgeous wedding. I thought it was so sweet that David got choked up when he was repeating his vows.”
“It was the first wedding in a long time where I’ve shed a few tears. They’re so cute together.” She pressed the phone to her ear with her shoulder to free her hands and cut out a photo of a gorgeous wedding cake that Aunt Maggie would adore trying to recreate.
“Hey.” Jenn’s voice replaced Meredith’s. “Do you have plans for dinner tonight?”
“I’m not going on another blind date.” Anne pulled the magazine closer to try to see someone in the background of a picture.
“What makes you think I’m trying to set you up on a blind date?” A hint of laughter betrayed the falsely innocent tone Jenn tried to adopt.
“Because you asked if I have ‘plans for dinner.’ That’s what you always say when you’re trying to set me up. What an awful dress.” Anne tore the page out of the magazine for her file of what not to do.
“What are you talking about?” Jenn asked.
“Oh, it’s a celebrity who got married in a dress that looks like strips of toilet paper strung together with silver shoelaces.”
Jenn’s laugh mixed with the static crackling through the phone. “Annie, he’s a really nice guy. He works in Forbes’s law firm.”
“No, Jenn. I…” Why not? She wanted to get married, didn’t she? Then why did the thought of another blind date set off her panic alarm? “This is the busiest time of the year for me. You know that. I don’t have time to think about dating right now.”
“Okay. You just remember that was your excuse this time. Come fall, you won’t be able to use that one.”
Anne laughed. “I’ll remember. I’ll think of a better excuse by then.”
“I know you will. We’ll catch ya later, gal.”
“Bye.” She closed the phone and dropped it back into her bag.
Outside, thunder rumbled, vibrating through the building. Anne nestled down into the chair and sipped her latte, amused by the amount of money celebrities were willing to spend on simple items. Dresses that cost more than most normal people’s entire weddings. Florists who charged more for one event than most flower shops’ annual incomes. Imported crystal and china. Flamboyant gifts for attendants. And all of this for marriages that would last only a few years before they did it all over again with someone else.
Lord, thank You that Cliff broke off our relationship before we actually got married. I don’t think I would have survived a divorce. It was a painful reminder that people aren’t trustworthy, but I’m glad I learned it sooner rather than later.
“May I join you?”
Startled out of her prayer, she looked up. George Laurence stood in front of her, a shopping bag tucked under one arm, a grande cup in his free hand. His hair was damp, and he wore jeans, a dark T-shirt, and a long-sleeved denim shirt. Water spots on his shirt and pants betrayed his lack of preparation for the unpredictable Louisiana weather. Anne swallowed hard. He was even handsomer dressed down than in his expensive, tailored suits.
Her skin tingled. She should say no. She should remind him that he had a fiancée. She should insist their meetings be chaperoned. “Yes, please do.”
“Catching up on some reading?” He nodded toward the stack of magazines beside her chair.
She showed him the wedding-themed front of the one in her hand. �
�Research.”
“Ah. No one gets married like the rich and famous.” He settled down onto the adjacent love seat.
“Been to many celebrity weddings, have you?” She had to know who this guy was and for whom he worked. Coming right out and asking wouldn’t work.
“I’ve witnessed several—shall we call them events?—in my time.” He grinned, and Anne tried to keep her heart from flipping out of her chest. “Of course,” he continued, “the weddings here are much different than those I’ve seen in England.”
“Did you do the same type of work there?” She laid the magazine on her lap and sipped her latte.
He crossed his legs, his left ankle resting on his right knee. “In a way. Working for a member of Parliament is much different than working for someone…not in government service.”
He didn’t work for a politician. She hadn’t thought so, but it was nice to know for sure. “Which do you enjoy more?”
His expression turned thoughtful. “It’s hard to say. In the years since I’ve worked at this level, I’ve enjoyed postings because I liked the person I worked for, or I’ve enjoyed postings because of where I lived, or I just haven’t liked postings at all.”
“Postings? Does that mean that you get assignments as to whom you’re going to work for?”
“Oh, no.” He sipped his coffee and pulled a hardback book from the shopping bag. “I suppose it’s just a difference in British and American terminology. A posting is the same as a job, a position.”
She grinned. “I’ll bet there’re a lot of differences in what you’re used to in England and how we do things here.” To see him like this—relaxed, casual, and chatty—was addictive. She could imagine spending every Sunday afternoon like this with him. He’s engaged to Courtney Landry.
“Most of the cultural differences are minor. Though the distances one has to travel to do anything—and the lack of public transport in most places—was a rather difficult transition.”
Anne slipped off her shoes and pulled her feet up under her. “What would you say is the strangest thing you had to get used to over here?” Get up. Leave now. He’s not available. He’s already spoken for.
“Drive-throughs.”
She stared at him a moment. “Drive-throughs? Restaurants? You don’t have drive-throughs in England? But haven’t all of the American fast-food places opened up over there?”
The lines around his eyes deepened; the corners of his lips pulled up with such warmth Anne nearly started fanning herself. “They have, but you walk in and either dine there or order takeaway. And I’d never heard of such a thing as driving up to a window to collect dry cleaning or even prescriptions.”
She laughed, her heart racing. She really needed to get out of here. “Yeah, that’s the old, lazy American mentality at work. Drive-through everything, pizza and groceries delivered to your door— and now we don’t even have to go out to rent movies. Just get online and click a button and wait for it to come in the mail. Same thing’s happening to our language. Laziness has turned to ignorance, and what used to be incorrect is now ‘acceptable usage’—” She stopped, embarrassed, at the odd expression on George’s face. Why did she become such a geek around him, running on about something that no one she’d ever known—outside of her professors—had ever shown the least interest in?
“Please continue. Your conclusions are fascinating. It sounds as if you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.”
Her pulse did the jitterbug. Was he serious? “I used to. My master’s thesis was on the impact of the popular culture of the 1970s and ’80s on American English.”
“You’ve a master’s degree in English?” George set his book aside, shifted to the edge of his seat, and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
She tried to swallow the emotion that threatened to cut off her breath. She’d ventured into treacherous territory; he belonged to someone else. I have to get out of here. I have to put an end to anything but a professional relationship between us. “Linguistics—though I was about ten hours from finishing when I had to leave school for financial reasons.”
“I’d be interested in reading your thesis sometime. The study of language has always fascinated me.” He couldn’t be for real. No one—not even a family member—had ever asked to read her work.
The sincerity and warmth in his gaze made Anne want to cry. “I’ll see if I can dig it up.”
He leaned back again. “I enjoyed dinner with your family Thursday evening.”
“I’m sorry they gave you such a hard time with all those questions.” Her cheeks burned in memory of some of the things said at dinner a few nights ago.
“Don’t fret about it. My brothers would probably be much worse. Do you eat together every week?”
“It’s a long-standing tradition. Forbes, Meredith, and I started it a couple of years ago to help support Jenn’s restaurant.” She remembered Jenn’s request. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Two, both younger.”
“And do they both still live in England?”
“Henry just moved to Australia. Edward still lives in London. My mum writes occasionally to say they’re doing well.”
“It must be hard to be so far away from your family.” She would never want to live anywhere but within a short drive of her relatives.
He shrugged, and the sadness in his gaze tore at her heart. “I left home at sixteen for a live-in apprenticeship. Henry and I have grown closer since the advent of e-mail, but I don’t have much contact with Mum or Edward.”
Stop asking him personal questions. “Have you gotten to know Courtney’s family?”
He looked away and cleared his throat. “No. Since I moved Courtney out of her mother’s house, we’ve had no contact with her family.”
Her heart constricted. “You…you’re living together?”
“We are living in the same house, yes.”
Anguish choked her, and she struggled for breath. She stuffed the magazines into her bag. “You must not have read the entire contract. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to resign as your wedding planner. The morals clause states that unless the wedding is to be immediate, I don’t plan weddings for couples living together.” Standing, she flung the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder.
“Wait—let me explain.” He jumped up from the sofa, panic edging his voice.
Grabbing her empty cup from the floor, she stuffed her unused napkins into it, unable to meet his gaze. If she looked at him, the moisture burning her eyes would turn into full-fledged tears.
“I had to get her out of her mother’s house. You’ve met Mrs. Landry, yes?”
Anne nodded.
“Then you understand why I couldn’t leave Courtney there. But you must believe me—there is nothing untoward happening. She is staying in a room on the third floor, while my suite is in the basement—right beside the housekeeper’s room.”
“Right beside…?”
“The housekeeper’s room. So you see, even if Courtney weren’t currently in Paris, we have a chaperone. There is no need for you to resign. I would—I know Courtney would be most distraught if she discovered my decision to get her away from the negative influence of her mother caused you to break the contract.”
He’d thought of everything, hadn’t he? Could he be a more perfect gentleman? She swallowed hard. “I see. Well, in that case, I suppose we should set a time to meet this week and finalize the plans for the engagement party, since it’s only two weeks away.”
Based on several bids still out, she scheduled George for Wednesday afternoon, at which time she planned to have her presentation for the engagement party finalized. She just hoped the plan wasn’t too ambitious to pull off in less than fourteen days.
She had to get out of here. “Oh, wow, look at the time.” She rummaged for her keys. “I’ve got to run.” Keys found, she extended her right hand. “George, it was good to see you. I’ll see you Wednesday. Don’t forget you can park in the alley and come in the bac
k door.”
His warm, smooth hand wrapped around hers. “I’m glad I ran into you. Cheerio.”
Anne tried not to look back as she exited the store but did take a peek over her shoulder as she reached the door. He’d sat down again, his back to her.
She wanted so badly to go back, to sit and talk to him as if they were the only two people in the world…like they had for the last hour. Walk away. Don’t give in to temptation. Lord, give me strength.
She opened the exterior door and got a face full of rain. She’d left her umbrella on the floor beside the armchair. Unable to face him, she ran to her car. She didn’t start the engine but leaned forward and rested her dripping head against the steering wheel.
“God, why are You torturing me like this? Please, please take away these feelings I have for him. Why is it that the only men I’ve ever been attracted to haven’t felt the same way for me? Lord, what have I done wrong? I do the best I can—every task You’ve ever put before me, I’ve poured myself into one hundred and ten percent. Why are You asking me to plan a wedding for a man I’m falling in love with? What are You trying to teach me?”
A tear burned down her cheek as she visualized George standing under a floral-bedecked arbor, awaiting his bride…and it wasn’t her.
* * *
Forcing himself to stay seated and not run after Anne was the hardest thing George had ever done in his life. He’d nearly blown his cover this afternoon by revealing more of his feelings than he should.
He gave her a few minutes to drive away, shoved the copy of the latest spy thriller from his favorite author back into the bag, and edged around the coffee table. He tripped and looked down to see her red and black University of Louisiana umbrella tangled between his feet.
Grabbing the umbrella, he headed for the exit. He pulled out his phone, scrolled to the entry for Forbes Guidry, and selected his mobile number. Anne’s umbrella came in handy as he splashed through the parking lot to the car.
Thunder nearly drowned out Forbes’s baritone voice. “George? Is everything all right?”
