Stand-In Groom (2 page)

“KCAN newsroom. How may I help you?”

“Hi, I’m trying to get in touch with Danny Mendoza.”

“Is this Anne Hawthorne?” the female on the other end asked.

Frowning, Anne started to pace. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t have time to call you before now. Danny got called in on a breaking news assignment and will be out in the field for the rest of the evening. He asked me to let you know he wouldn’t be able to meet you but that he would call you tomorrow.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed her forehead. “Thanks for letting me know. If you talk to him again this evening, tell him—” What?
Thanks for standing me up?
“Never mind. I’ll just leave a message on his cell phone.”

“Okay. Listen, I’m really sorry I didn’t have time to call you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Anne ended the call, hooked the phone back on her waistband, and returned to her table. The aroma from the fried squid and crawfish on the plate in front of her tantalized her taste buds.

“Any word?” The waiter returned and tipped his head at the empty chair.

“Yes. He got called in to work so won’t be coming.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Do you want me to box this up for you?”

“If you could bring me a box, that would be great, because I’ll never be able to eat all this and a meal, too.”

“You mean—you’re going to stay?”

Anne tried not to laugh at his surprised expression. “Of course. I’ve been waiting to eat here for a month. I’m going to have the eggplant roulade—with the eggplant grilled instead of fried.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll go place your order now and bring you another drink.”

“Don’t forget the box for this.” Anne served a few pieces of crawfish and calamari onto the small appetizer plate. Jenn always
liked Anne to bring home leftovers after dining out, to see what other restaurants were doing.

At the thought of her restaurateur cousin, Anne shook her head. This was the third time Jenn had set Anne up on a blind date and the third time it hadn’t worked out. Jenn had a habit of setting Anne up with men of Jenn’s taste rather than Anne’s type. At five foot six, Jenn didn’t have to worry about towering over her dates. Five inches taller, however, Anne wanted to date someone who was at least six feet tall so she didn’t feel like quite such an Amazon beside him. But it seemed as though
tall
, single Christian men over the age of thirty were hard to come by.

Of course, every man Anne had gone out with in the past who had matched her ideal of the Perfect Man had ended up being Perfectly Wrong for her. Maybe she needed to stop focusing on the physical type and just get out and have fun meeting new people.

She spent her life making others’ dreams come true. Well, it was time for Anne Hawthorne, wedding and event planner extraordinaire, to start creating her own happy ending.

8

George Laurence perused the menu, surprised to find the wide variety of dishes listed. His experience with Italian restaurants in midsized American cities primed him to expect spaghetti, lasagna, and fettuccini. So far, Palermo’s Italian Grill in Bonneterre, Louisiana, appeared promising.

“So, George, where do you hail from in England?” Across the table, his employer’s local lawyer shook out the folded fabric napkin and laid it in his lap.

George closed the menu. “I spent my childhood in London. My late teens and early twenties in Edinburgh.”

“University of Edinburgh, huh? Heard that’s a great school.” Forbes Guidry handed his menu to the waitress and placed his order.

George considered his response as he ordered crawfish-stuffed
manicotti. He’d wanted to live in America because he’d always heard that people weren’t judged by their family background, wealth, or education. After five years of working for one of the wealthiest people in the country, he’d learned otherwise. The social prejudices in England and America differed but still existed. When most Americans found out he’d never attended college, they made assumptions about his intelligence and ranked him lower in their estimation.

He handed his menu to the server and returned his attention to the lawyer. “I wouldn’t know about the university. I never had the opportunity to attend. I started working when I was sixteen.” First, there would be an awkward silence, then a mumbled apology—

“I’m impressed.” Forbes took a sip of his water, seeming unflustered. “Just from talking on the phone this afternoon, I would have guessed you had at least a master’s degree if not a PhD.”

George opened his mouth, but nothing came out. No one had ever given him such a compliment. Although, he had heard lawyers in Louisiana weren’t to be trusted. Was this man, with his tailored suit, expensive haircut and manicure, and impeccable manners, just one of those Artful Dodgers who could charm his way out of any situation? Or was he as genuine as his Southern accent and friendly demeanor indicated? George hoped for the latter. He’d never pretended to be someone else before and needed an ally, someone who knew his true purpose and identity.

“Thank you.” No other response came to mind. Instead of putting on false modesty or being arrogant by focusing on his own merits, George returned to a previous conversation. “You said a housekeeper has been hired?”

“Yes, but since no one’s been in residence, she just goes by every so often to dust and let the exterminators in, that kind of thing. The house was built like a typical English manor, or so I’m told. There are two bedroom suites in the basement beside the service kitchen. I figured you’d take one and Mrs. Agee would take the other. Now, to business.” Forbes reached under the table and retrieved a document from his briefcase.

The
document. The addendum to George’s work contract—the contract he’d never wanted to sign in the first place. The rules by which he would have to live his life while in this quaint Southern city. He clenched his fists under the table. If keeping his work visa didn’t depend on this…

“I assume your employer discussed the details of the addendum with you.” Forbes handed the contract across the table.

George nodded, guilt clenching his gut. “Yes.”

“As his legal representative, it is my responsibility to remind you of the confidentiality clause. Should you reveal to anyone, including the wedding planner, the identity of your employer or that you are not Courtney Landry’s fiancé, your employment will be terminated. As you know, if you lose your job, you will be in violation of your work visa and must return to England.”

The only reason why George had agreed to this charade. “Yes, I understand.”

“Take it with you and read over it tonight. Any questions you have can be discussed when we meet tomorrow at ten.”

George tucked the document into his own attaché case. “Very good.”

“Whew. Now that that’s over, we can enjoy our dinner.”

“Yes, indeed.” George needed a neutral topic to have time to take his mind off the fact that he was about to spend the next five weeks living a falsehood. He still hadn’t figured out how to do it and maintain his Christian values. “Have you lived in Bonneterre all your life, Forbes?”

Over the salad course, the lawyer talked about Bonneterre as it had been during his childhood. George consciously made eye contact every fifteen or twenty seconds while also looking around the restaurant decorated to resemble a Tuscan villa.

Movement at a nearby table caught his attention. A waiter stopped, two fancy desserts perched precariously on his tray. With great ceremony and flourish, he placed the sweet delights on the table.

What was it about the patron that made him stand out? The fork in the young man’s hand trembled, and he never took his gaze off his pretty companion. Neither could be much older than twenty. The lass took a couple of bites of the chocolate confection, but her fork stopped when she went for the third. She frowned, then dug something out. A small box. A few moments later, she let out a high-pitched gasp and threw her arms around her beau’s neck. The lad dropped to one knee, and the crowd broke into applause.

George hoped the two young people had given this decision prayerful consideration. He hadn’t been much older than the newly engaged couple when he’d prepared to propose to his first love. Praise God he’d learned her true nature before making a complete fool of himself.

Forbes clapped with enthusiasm. “Good for them.”

“Are you married, Forbes?”

The lawyer held up his left hand and wiggled the empty third finger. “No. Don’t know if I ever will be, either.”

George sat back, surprised.

Forbes laughed. “Now, before you go getting the wrong idea about me, let me explain. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a woman my sisters and mother will find suitable for me. They’ve been trying for years. But the ones they like, I can’t stand.”

“And the ones you like?” George raised his brows.

“Humph. That’s the problem. I can’t even find one to bring home for them not to like.” He sighed. “I suppose when God’s ready for me to fall in love, He’ll throw the right woman into my path.”

“Hopefully you won’t be driving at the time.” George kept his expression serious.

Forbes blinked, then threw his head back in laughter, drawing the admiring gazes of several nearby female diners.

The waitress arrived with their meals. George glanced at the proposal-couple’s table. A woman in an aubergine suit knelt between the two, listening to the animated young woman, her focus earnest and interested. Her blond hair was caught up in a french twist,
and even from this distance, he could see a sparkle in her electric blue eyes. Everything about her—from her smile to the way she put herself below the level of the young couple—bespoke someone who put others before herself. The kind of woman he’d always dreamed of finding.

“George?” A frown etched Forbes’s celebrity-caliber face.

George nodded his head toward the beautiful woman still kneeling beside the other table. “Who do you suppose that is?”

“Well, well, well. I knew she had other plans tonight; I just never imagined…” Forbes’s smile took on a warmth usually reserved for a man’s mother, wife, or sisters—or sweetheart. “She’s a professional wedding planner. Right now, she’s listening to all the young woman’s childhood dreams of what her wedding should be like. When she meets with them in her office sometime next week—and don’t worry, they’ll be there—she’ll already have a preliminary budget worked out.”

George’s heart sank at the woman’s title. “Wedding planner? Is she—?”

“She is. She’s going back to her table now.” Forbes leaned to his left to watch her progress over George’s shoulder. “If I can catch her before she leaves, I’ll introduce you.”

George nodded, keeping his turmoil under tight control. This would have been a lot easier if she’d turned out to be some old, grandmotherly type. How would he ever convince this wedding planner he was the bridegroom when he found her so utterly attractive?
God, what have I gotten myself into?

A
s soon as she returned to her table, Anne wrote down all the details of her conversation with the potential new clients. Of course, if they really wanted to get married in three or four months, she might not be able to take them on. Her schedule was so full now she rarely got more than four or five hours of sleep every night of the week. Just about the only remnants of her personal life she hadn’t given up were church, Sunday dinners with the entire extended family, and Thursday night dinners out at Jenn’s restaurant with the cousins.

In five years, her business had gone from operating out of the second bedroom of her apartment to allowing her to lease a storefront on Town Square. Six months ago, she’d purchased the Victorianturned-triplex, where she’d lived in the second-floor apartment for nearly five years. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she’d be so successful. Of course, the article about her in
Southern Bride
back in January had helped.

Satisfied vindication filled her. Her ex-fiancé might have taken her for all she was worth ten years ago, but she’d still been able to get out of debt and make something of herself.

Good grief. Why did she still feel she had something to prove to
him
? Just because she’d supported him until he’d become a megamovie star whose photo graced the front cover of every gossip magazine and tabloid known to man. Just because she’d dropped
out of graduate school to go to work full-time to be able to send him rent money out in Los Angeles—

“Here you go.”

She jumped at the sound of the waiter’s voice and quickly closed her planner and put it on the floor. “Thank you. It looks wonderful.”

“Enjoy.”

Pushing aside the memories of her first and worst relationship, Anne determined to enjoy her meal and not let the past interfere with the present. The only thing she could do was make sure she never let another man use her and dump her again. She deserved better.

As she savored each bite of the eggplant roulade, she let her gaze wander across the restaurant to make sure she didn’t miss seeing or speaking to anyone else she knew. Casual conversations with acquaintances could turn into referrals. At the sight of her cousin Forbes, with his dark good looks, halfway across the room, she paused. Women young and old turned to cast admiring glances in his direction.

Who was he with? Seated, the other man appeared to be about the same height as Forbes with a more slender but still athletic build, while his slightly too-large nose and sharp chin gave him a distinct profile.

Something stirred inside Anne that she hadn’t felt in a long time— interest. He wasn’t conventionally handsome—nothing compared to her cousin—but the way his sharp features softened when he smiled at the waitress created a tingling sensation in her stomach that she hadn’t felt since high school. He had medium-brown hair but looked like he was graying a bit at the temples, adding a distinguished air. She should go over and speak to Forbes so she could meet this handsome stranger. But if they hadn’t tried setting her up with him, he might be married—

“Is everything okay with your dinner?” The waiter replaced her half-full glass of soda with a fresh one.