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.