by Kaye Dacus
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, 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.
He patted her back, trying to soothe her. “No one could possibly hate you. What happened?” He directed the question at Anne.
“Apparently she overheard some not-so-kind remarks about herself in the restroom.”
“They called me a gold-digging, trailer-park redneck.” Courtney pulled away enough to look in his eyes. “I did everything just like you taught me.”
“I’m certain you did.” He disentangled himself and sat her in the chair again. He knelt on the tile floor in front of her while Anne perched on the edge of the other chair. “Courtney, I wish there were some way I could protect you from people saying terrible things about you. But this is the life you’ve chosen by agreeing to marry Cliff. You must become inured to being insulted for no reason.”
Courtney’s fine brows pinched together in confusion. He looked to Anne for assistance.
Her lips twitched, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “What George means is that you have to get used to people insulting you. You’re going to be in the public eye, and you’re the envy of every woman in this country.” What had it cost for her to say that? “Hell hath no fury like a scorned—or jealous—woman. I’m certain you remember what it was like when you were in high school. Everyone hated the girl who dated the most popular guy, and said horrible things about her behind her back, and made up stuff to make her look bad.”
Courtney ducked her head and blushed. “Yeah. I remember. I was like that. I guess it’s payback time now, huh?”
Anne patted her hand. “Whenever you
hear or read bad things about yourself, just remember the people who love you and think you’re one of the most wonderful people in the world—like us.”
Courtney looked from Anne to George, moisture still glittering in her brown eyes. “Really?”
With a tissue, Anne dried the young woman’s tears. “Really.” She handed her a makeup compact. “Now. Powder your nose and go show those jealous biddies what you’re made of.”
Courtney giggled and did as instructed, then swept out of the office with her chin up, shoulders straight.
George tried to get Anne to meet his gaze. “You’re very good at what you do, Miss Hawthorne.”
“Thank you for your assistance. I don’t know if I could have handled her on my own.” She turned her back on him, reaching for the doorknob.
Disappointment filled him. He’d hoped when she called him in here that she might have gotten over her anger and decided to forgive him. “You would have managed one way or another.”
* * *
Anne surveyed the crowd milling in the ballroom, exclaiming over the genuine Mardi Gras parade float, admiring the life-size murals of the historic buildings lining the French Quarter, and devouring Major’s excellent Cajun food nearly to the exclusion of the caviar and other delicacies she’d worked so hard to get brought in from the New York and Los Angeles restaurants. Of course, the list had been Cliff’s idea. No way would Courtney have ever come up with that.
George came out of the kitchen, and her heart thumped even as she narrowed her eyes. How could she feel so torn about him? Part of her was ready to forgive him, while the other part never wanted to talk to him again.
Halfway to the front door, a vaguely familiar young woman grabbed George’s arm.
“George, you have to introduce me to the event planner!” The girl’s voice carried over the din of guests and the zydeco band playing their hearts out on the other side of the room.
