Stand-In Groom (6 page)

“But it’s going to be worth it, huh?” He nudged her with his elbow.

“Hrrrrr.” She groaned, smiled, and shook her head. “Yeah, it’s going to be more than worth it—if they’re telling me the truth.”

Forbes’s left eyebrow shot up. “What leads you to believe they’re not telling you the truth?”

“No limits to what can be spent? Come on. Everyone has their limits.”

“Oh.” He loosened his tie and turned to look over his left shoulder. “Hey, Jenn?” he called across the room to his sister.

She waved at him but didn’t turn from her conversation with two of her servers. When she was finished, she rejoined them. “What’s up?”

“That new music come in yet?”

“Yep—even those tracks Annie wanted me to order.” Jenn poked Anne’s shoulder. “And I just want you to know, those were hard to come by, too.”

“Thanks. I’ve got to expose y’all to the classics. All this new music—”

“Good grief!” Jason, a younger cousin to all of them, flopped into the chair beside Meredith. “Karaoke hasn’t even started, and she’s already griping about modern music.”

Anne laughed along with them. She’d save the lecture for the next couple choosing their reception music. Once the other cousins arrived and the food was served, they cajoled Jenn into opening up the microphone an hour early.

“You’ll have to get up and do a couple of those songs you want us all to hear so much,” Forbes said.

Anne shook her head, and her stomach flip-flopped. “No. You know I can’t sing in front of a crowd.”

“Once you’re up there with the spotlight on you, you can’t see anyone. Just concentrate on the words going across the TV screen, and you won’t think about anyone else being here.” Jenn jogged across the restaurant to the stage.

The rest of her cousins caught on to Forbes’s suggestion and started chanting Anne’s name. A bit of feedback quieted the now-packed restaurant. Anne angled her chair to see the stage better.

“Welcome to the Fishin’ Shack, where every night is family-friendly karaoke.” Jenn’s announcement and following dialogue with her patrons got the crowd riled up. “Now I see the sign-up list is already pretty full.” She pointed at the small whiteboard beside the stage. “And I usually open it up to the first person on the list. But tonight, we have a special request from the large party in the back.” She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered, “That would be my crazy family.”

The men at the table stood and cheered as if their football team had just scored a touchdown.

Jenn’s eye-roll was easy to see from across the room. “Anyway, if you’ve looked at the new music list tonight, you may have noticed some strange titles. Anne—why don’t you come up here and entertain us with one of them?”

Anne’s cheeks burned. She hated being put on the spot— especially when it meant public humiliation. The cousins started chanting her name again. She narrowed her eyes and grimaced at them before rising and crossing the dining room. She took the list from Jenn and picked out the first song title she recognized, pointing out the number to the sound guy.

Jenn hadn’t been lying. Once she stood on the platform, she couldn’t see anything but dark shadows beyond the bright spotlight.

The trumpet blast that started Dean Martin’s “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head” drew whoops and cheers from the crowd. She smiled and started singing—nervous at first, then with growing confidence as she lost herself in one of her favorite singer’s signature songs.

She didn’t do it justice, but she did have fun. The audience cheered and clapped when the music ended. The next person, an older gentleman, took the microphone from her but stopped her
with a hand on her arm. “I haven’t heard that song since the last time I saw the Rat Pack on stage in Vegas. Good choice.”

Several people stopped her on her way back to the table to let her know how much they’d enjoyed the song.

8

“And we ought to see if that Elvis impersonator Sara had at her reception is available. You don’t want your uncle Billy Joe doing it once he gets into the beer.”

George coughed and reached for his water glass. Since sitting down for dinner at the upscale restaurant, one absurd comment after another had spewed forth from Mrs. Landry’s mouth, nearly bringing the half-chewed food back out as well.

If Courtney’s shoulders drooped any lower, she’d be under the table. His heart twisted with compassion for the young woman. To be so browbeaten by a woman with such poor taste. He steeled himself to do what he’d been dreading all evening—living up to his namesake and facing the dragon.

He drew in a deep breath, wiped his mouth on the white cloth napkin, and laid it beside his plate. “Mrs. Landry, while I thank you for making suggestions for the wedding, I would ask that you cease now. Your daughter has hired a professional wedding planner to take care of all those details.”

Mrs. Landry’s mouth hung open, exhibiting the remains of the pasta she’d been chewing. “I beg your pardon!” She slammed her fork down hard enough to make the glassware on the table tremble and clink together. “Courtney, are you going to sit there and let him talk to me like that?”

Tears brimmed in the girl’s eyes. “Mama, please. You’re making a scene.”

“He started it.” Mrs. Landry pointed across the table at George.

How had Courtney turned out to be so delightful? He had to get her away from the harpy before Mrs. Landry ruined this experience for her. He dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the table, then stood
and offered his hand to Courtney. She folded her napkin beside her plate and rose, not looking at her mother.

“Mrs. Landry, dinner was—enlightening. I will take Courtney home.” He gave the sputtering older woman a curt nod and led Courtney out of the restaurant.

Outside, Courtney threw her arms around his waist. Taken aback, he froze, hands hovering away from his sides.

“Thank you so much. I’ve been wanting to tell her all afternoon to shut up. She offered to pay for part of the wedding, but probably only so she can have some say in what happens.”

He patted her back. “Do you want her involved in the planning process?”

“No!” She released him. “I don’t even want her
at
the wedding, much less having any say about it.”

“Now, miss, she is your mother.”

Once again, tears threatened to overflow the innocent brown eyes. “That’s just it. She is my mother, and she knows exactly how to get under my skin. I don’t know how I’m going to last four months in her house.”

“You don’t have to.” The valet arrived with the car. George held the door for her, then went around and climbed in. “You’re going to direct me to her house, and you are going to pack your bags and move into your fiancé’s home.”

Her full lips started to form into a smile. “Mama will flip when she finds out.”

They’d been at the house nearly twenty minutes, and Courtney was halfway through moving her clothes from the bureau to a suitcase, when her mother stormed into the room. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Packing, Mama.” Courtney continued arranging the folded T-shirts in a layer on top of the blue jeans.

George moved in between them as Mrs. Landry reached out to grab Courtney’s arm. He intercepted her hand. “Kindly allow Miss Courtney to continue what she’s doing.”

Mrs. Landry gasped and jerked away. “How dare you come between me and my daughter!” Her voice rose to a pitch that would soon have all the dogs in the gated, exclusive subdivision barking. “Where do you think you’re going to go? To live in
sin
with
him
?” She practically shrieked the accusatory words.

“Mama!”

“Mrs. Landry, that is quite enough.” George used every ounce of training and past experience to keep his voice even and low. “Courtney is going to move into one of the third-floor bedrooms. I will be staying in a room in the basement—beside the housekeeper’s room. Nothing untoward will happen.”

“If you’re not—then why—?”

“Because it’s obvious she cannot stay here one moment longer.”

“Well, I never!” Mrs. Landry folded her arms across her ample— and most likely not natural—chest. From the way her face screwed up, she seemed to be trying to conjure some tears. “I can’t believe you’re going to choose him over me! Is that what you really want? Because if you leave here, that’s what you’re doing. I’ll…I’ll never speak to you again.”

Courtney kept packing; but her hands shook, and she tossed items in the suitcase haphazardly. George mirrored Mrs. Landry’s movements to stay between them.

“Court?” Mrs. Landry glared at him when her daughter didn’t answer. She planted her fists on her hips. “Fine. But you’ll come back here begging my forgiveness before too long.” She turned and flounced out of the room.

“I’m through here.” Courtney slapped the lid of the suitcase down and zipped it closed. “If I’ve left anything behind, we can come back for it tomorrow when she’s at the tanning salon.”

Although happy to be leaving, George dreaded going downstairs and walking through the house again. Gold-plated cherubs and low-quality reproduction Greek and Roman statuary crowded every inch of space possible.

The wheels of the suitcase caught on the faux tiger-skin rug—at
least he
hoped
it was fake—that covered Italian ceramic tile in the front foyer. He heaved the bag up and carried it to the door.

Her baggage barely fit into the car trunk.

“I’m so sorry about my mom.” Courtney rested her elbow on the windowsill but leaned toward him as the cabriolet ragtop closed. He didn’t want to take any chances with the thunder growling in the distance. “She always wanted to be rich—I remember she and Daddy used to argue all the time about how she wasted money on junk. Then after he died…”

He started the car and left with all due haste. “How long ago did your father pass away?”

“Ten years ago in April—an accident at work. Mama got a lawyer, and the chemical plant settled out of court for millions of dollars. Mama finally had more money than she could spend on all of the chintzy junk she’d always wanted. Lucky for me, she decided to send me to a private prep school, where I lived on campus nine months out of the year.”

That explained how she’d escaped unspoiled. “I’ve seen enough people like her in my time. You don’t have to apologize for her actions or words.”

Thank God his employer’s home lay on the other side of the city from her mother. Unfortunately, Mrs. Landry had been to the house and could probably find her way back should the fancy strike her. His stomach churned—although it could have just been hunger pains since he’d only eaten a few bites of his dinner before making the grand exit with Courtney in tow. “You don’t think your mother will show up on the doorstep, do you?”

“Nope. There’s no way she could find it again. She didn’t pay attention on the way over, and she fired that driver this afternoon because he didn’t change lanes when she told him to.”

At the front door, he taught Courtney the security code to get in. She insisted on carrying two of the smaller suitcases, while he managed the large one and the hanging bag. Why had he decided to put her on the third floor? The second floor would have been much
easier on his knees than climbing all these stairs.

Courtney chose the room at the end of the hall—the one that would make a “perfect nursery,” and one of the few that had a full set of furniture. Pale pink walls and white and pink linens hugged the room in femininity. Perfect for the very feminine creature who stood beside him—whose stomach emitted a roaring growl.

She rubbed her tummy and grinned at him. “I’m kinda hungry. Think we can raid the kitchen?”

He returned the smile, his own stomach feeling grumbly. “I’d like to introduce you to Mama Ketty, the housekeeper and, for now, cook.”

As he’d hoped, Mama Ketty cooed over Courtney and insisted on cooking dinner for her, even given the late hour of nine o’clock—Mama Ketty’s normal bedtime. Mrs. Agee bustled around the kitchen in her bathrobe and slippers, silver hair mounted on enormous curlers and covered with another colorful scarf.

“Show me your room, George.” Courtney slid off the barstool.

“There isn’t much to show.” He ushered her down the hall, opened the door, and motioned for her to enter.

“This can’t be your bedroom. No, you’ll have to move into one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

He laughed. “No, this is just the antechamber.”

She opened the second door and looked around. “Well. It’s big enough.” She disappeared through another door. “And the bathroom is great—better than mine at Mama’s house.” Coming back out, she pinned him with an amused gaze. “Tomorrow we go furniture shopping. I know you have a budget to furnish your room—I heard that part of the conversation at least. I know all the best places where you can get nice stuff cheap.”

Furniture shopping with Courtney would help seal his assumed identity. He pushed aside the guilt that threatened every time he thought about the untenable situation he’d allowed himself to become entangled in. How was this going to reflect on his witness as a Christian when the truth finally came out?

“Now, George, it won’t be as bad as what you’re thinking—no, I can tell by your expression you don’t like shopping. But it’ll be fun; I promise.”

He immediately composed his expression and bowed his head toward her. “As long as I don’t end up with a pink faux-fur rug, I would appreciate your help.”

Laughing, she tapped his arm with her fist. “Not funny.”

“You two ’bout ready to eat?” Mama Ketty stood in the doorway, arms folded.

They followed her back out into the kitchen and sat at the bar, where she’d put plates piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns. Beside the main dish sat smaller plates with a stack of pancakes dripping with butter and syrup.

“Breakfast food’s my specialty. Coffee’s on—decaf—and I”— she paused to kiss Courtney on the cheek—“am going”—she kissed George’s cheek—“to bed.”

“Good night, Mama Ketty.”

“Thank you so much, Mama Ketty,” Courtney said around a bite of pancakes.

George poured coffee while Courtney wolfed down the food. She was halfway through when her cell phone sounded a familiar tune. Her eyes lit up, and her countenance glowed. To give her some privacy, he took his plate and coffee into the staff dining room—an octagonal chamber with a round, eight-person table as the centerpiece.