Crashing the Congressman’s Wedding (Crimson Romance) (21 page)

He nodded. “Are you ready for your big show?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Will you be there?” she asked.

“No.” He blinked once, twice and then looked at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “Much as I’d like to hear you sing, that’s not my crowd.”

“They’re not my crowd, either.”

He raised a brow and hitched his lip. “They will be … after you sing.”

Whether it was a vote of confidence for her voice or a dig at the shallowness of her audience, she didn’t care. His comment insinuated that her talent gave her some sort of power, and right now she needed to believe it did.

Her phone buzzed in the distance. “I should take that in case it’s about the theatre or the concert, but don’t go anywhere. I still want to talk.”

He nodded before disappearing into the kitchen.

When Alice answered the phone, Mrs. Mitchell rattled off a new litany of demands.

“Sing
Ain’t Misbehaving
to Elliot Price. Walk off the stage and sit in his lap. That man has deep pockets if he’s buttered up. I’ll put him down front for easy access. And take requests for an inflated donation. I’m still working on the details of that, but be ready.”

Now Alice knew were Justin got it. The Mitchell family vernacular was telling people what to do. But somehow Mrs. Mitchell’s demands were tolerable. Maybe because she was a mother. Maybe because Alice missed her mother telling her what to do.

“I’ll do what I can,” Alice said, not making any promises. “My top priority is putting on a first-rate performance so we all have a night to remember.”

“I believe we will,” she said, ending with an oddly muffled sound.

The stress of the planning so soon after a heart attack was probably getting to her. Not to mention the stress of presenting Alice Cramer to the Mitchells’ friends and colleagues amidst the Parrish-created storm of rumors. It still baffled Alice that Mrs. Mitchell was willing to try. Then again, with the change of venue and the added performance component, attendance for the event doubled over last year. Apparently, money was a great promoter of civility.

“It’s going to be a huge success,” Alice said, smiling for her own reassurance.

“Let’s hope so.”

Alice had been doing little else. Hope was the single reason she’d made it this far in an otherwise dingy life. She always hoped something bigger and better was around the bend. Now here she was, in the midst of a telephone call with the mother of the man she loved, and all she could do was hope she didn’t flub up the gala bad enough to lose him.

“Thanks so much for calling, Mrs. Mitchell.” Alice smiled harder, desperate to forge a congenial relationship with a woman she used to fear. “I appreciate your advice.”

She ended the call and turned toward the kitchen, still wearing her try-hard smile.

“Not your people, huh?” Charlie stood between the rooms with a spatula in hand. His brows raised in jest. Somehow, he didn’t fit the space. Plaster crumbled over his head. Sad-colored paint framed his face. When he’d been drinking, he blended in, but not anymore.

“I’m being diplomatic, Charlie. Sometimes it gets me better results than being dramatic — or overly dramatic.” She smiled. “Bottom line, you’re my people, and that’s my theatre. You should be there.” She wanted the world to see what she was seeing.

Charlie Cramer was going to be somebody — just like her.

• • •

Justin managed an early escape from Washington, but to his surprise, when he arrived in Harmony Falls, Alice wasn’t at the theatre. He drove out to her house, hoping to find her there.

He found Charlie instead.

The familiar man on the inside of the screen door looked different somehow, better, and yet the expression he wore around Justin was the same. Disgust. Mistrust.

“Alice said you were gone,” Justin said.

“Yeah, well, I’m back.”

“Where’ve you been?” A part of Justin cared, but mostly he asked for Alice.

“None of your damn business.”

“True.”

“My sister’s not here.”

A stench like burning manure filtered out the screen door.

“Damn it,” Charlie roared. He turned on the heels of his cowboy boots and stomped into the depths of the house, leaving Justin on the front porch, wrinkling his nose against the smell.

More swearing coupled with banging echoed in the distance.

“Do you need help?” Justin asked, leaning into the screen, careful not to breathe. “Is something on fire?”

Crash. Thump. Clang.

Justin opened the door and stepped inside. Black smoke snaked from the kitchen entranceway. At the ominous sight, Justin jogged into the kitchen. “Is everything o … ”

It wasn’t the domesticated sight of Charlie fanning smoke out the kitchen window with a dishtowel that had Justin stopping cold. It was the gourmet spread on the countertop where Mrs. Cramer used to keep her fruit bowl. Field greens with walnuts and … where those cranberries? Stuffed mushrooms. Swordfish.

“You made this?”

Charlie used the towel to grab a blackened, smoking pan off the stove and throw it into the sink. “The best part is ruined.”

Justin stepped toward the food and leaned in for a sniff.
Heaven.
His stomach grumbled in agreement. “There was something better than this?”

“Dessert.”

Straightening, Justin watched Charlie work, rinsing pans, cleaning utensils and rolling knives into a protective case.

“You can cook like crazy. How’d I never know?”

“We haven’t been friends in years. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” Charlie shook his wet hands over the sink before grabbing a paper towel and drying them.

“I’d like to change that.”

“Because you’re … whatever it is you’re doing to my sister.”

There was a time when Justin couldn’t name what was between him and Alice either. That time was long gone. “I love your sister,” he said without flinching.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, love is sick and twisted. So good luck with that.”

With what Justin had planned, he could use the luck. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Charlie turned, leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. He balanced the heel of one boot against the tip of the other. “Does she know?”

“Not yet. It’s a surprise.”

“What if she says no?”

He’d asked himself that question many times, and the answer was always the same. “Then I ask again and again until she says yes. I won’t give up. I can’t imagine life without her.”

Charlie stared at him, a hard and heavy glare that drew his brows together low on his forehead, and then his nose twitched. “I’ve been in Connecticut.”

“With Morgan.” Justin warmed on a surge of contentment at Charlie getting the woman he wanted, but then he cooled a bit when he remembered he once stood in the way.

“Not exactly.” Charlie fidgeted, kicked his boot tip some more. “Let’s just say I know a thing or two about being shot down and not giving up.”

“I’m sorry for the role I played in a plan that kept you two apart, especially if it’s making it harder to be together now. Whatever you need, name it. I’ll help anyway I can.”

Silence swirled between them. As the burnt scent in the air dissipated, so too did the animosity that had been their bosom buddy for years.

“You hungry?” Charlie asked. “Somebody should eat that food.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Turned out the food was every bit as good as the company.

• • •

What a week … correction, what a month,
Alice thought, trying not to focus on the ringing in her ears, the fluttering in her stomach and the dryness in her throat. Any minute now, a tuxedo-clad Mark Mitchell would introduce her as the musical headliner for Valley Hospital’s Gala of Giving. She swallowed another mouthful of water and stared at her painted toes.

This was the moment of truth. With no character to play and no cast mates to lean on, she’d rise or fall on her own. She breathed in and out, trying not to think about the people in the audience who would love to see her fail. Of course they were there. They’d always be there. But so were the people who wanted to see her soar.

“ … I give you an evening with Alice Cramer.”

Clapping thundered. Even with the champagne happy hour, she hadn’t expected rambunctious applause or errant whoops and whistles. Whether it was sincere or the byproduct of booze, the adulation rattled her, causing her to stumble on her sequined train. Mark flocked to her side, steadying her, and as she righted her posture near the microphone, she looked over a sea of shadowy faces. One smile caught her eye. Justin. In the front row. Beside Charlie.

Her heart squeezed, and then the music started, leaving her no time to think or feel anything that wasn’t related to giving the performance of her life.

An hour later, three sets of songs punctuated by costume changes and screen drops ended in the blink of an eye. As Alice sunk into a curtsy, she struggled to catch her breath.
Bravos
and
encores
rose above the applause, and when she straightened, the audience stood too. Justin and Charlie smiled, anchoring the front row, but everywhere she looked more smiles appeared. For Johnny Cramer’s poor little girl, the moment was surreal.

A pleasant trill warmed her body as she stepped backward so the curtain could fall.

“You were wonderful, dear.” Mrs. Mitchell stood in the wing. Her bony hands clasped at her waist, and her face was void of a smile, but the words came without waiver. Knowing that Margaret Mitchell’s approval was hard to come by, Alice happily took what she could get.

Mark’s voice boomed, directing the audience to the lobby for a post-performance reception. If Alice thought she was nervous before, it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now, knowing she was destined to mingle with people she’d spent her whole life fearing. What did they think of her now, after the church, the slap and the rumors about Justin? Was a good set of pipes and a three-hundred-dollar dress enough to erase their disdain?

Fifteen minutes later when Alice stepped into the lobby, Barry Beakman grabbed her hand. “Amazing, really, Alice. Superb.”

“Thank you,” she said, remembering to breathe and smile.

“Darling, if your mother could see you now, she’d be so proud.” Beverly Beakman appeared at Alice’s other side. The woman sparkled with diamonds befitting a hospital CEO’s spouse.

“Thank you, Mrs. Beakman. That means a lot.” Alice barely said the words before a tap jostled her shoulder. “Excuse me,” she said to the Beakmans, turning to the source of the taps.

“You were breathtaking, Alice. We wish Kory could’ve been here.” Mrs. Flemming wrapped Alice in a hug while Mr. Flemming smiled in agreement.

“Pardon me, miss, can I get your autograph for my niece?” A woman Alice didn’t recognize stood nearby. “She’s very much into Broadway. I just know you’ll be there someday, and I can say I saw you when … ”

As Alice accepted the woman’s pen and paper, her smile stretched across her face, causing her lips to burn. By the end of the evening, her face was numb, but her smile never faltered, not even when Justin disappeared an hour before the gala’s end.

When Mark and Mrs. Mitchell closed the front doors on the last invited guests, Alice collapsed on the bench at the bottom of the stairs. She hadn’t realized how tense and hopped up on adrenaline she’d been until now, when she crashed with shoulders slumping and feet throbbing from too-high heels.

And where was Justin? She bent at the waist, unfastened the buckles and kicked the shoes aside. All around her, the cleaning crew buzzed.

“Good night, Alice. Thank you for everything.” Dark circles rimmed Mrs. Mitchell’s eyes.

Alice stood, her bare feet screaming in protest. But if Mrs. Mitchell was still on her feet a month after suffering a heart attack, Alice had no room to complain. “You’re welcome.”

Mark nodded. “You did great. Now come on, Mother. Let’s get you home.” He slid a hand beneath her elbow and tugged.

But Mrs. Mitchell didn’t move. She stood staring at Alice, the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

“Let’s go, Mom.” Mark tugged again.

“I thought you were leaving. Will’s already gone.” Justin emerged from the front doors. Despite the crisp white shirt, shiny red tie and flawless black suit, his wide eyes and windblown hair made him look frazzled.

Alice’s belly nose-dived.

“We’re leaving now.” Mark pulled again, and this time Mrs. Mitchell moved. She nodded once at Alice, and then shuffled her way to Justin where she brushed a hand across his cheek before leaving.

With her aching feet stuck to the floor and her head spinning, Alice watched as Justin closed the doors behind his mother and brother.

He offered her a shaky smile. “You’re going to need those shoes.”

She looked at her feet. “Why? I don’t think I can subject myself to more pain.”

Coming to her side, he wound his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. “You know what they say? No pain, no gain.”

Alice blinked up at him. “What gain? What are you up to? Where have you been?”

He chuckled. “Put on those shoes and I’ll show you.”

With a huff of hesitation, Alice sat again, but before she could reach for the shoes Justin knelt beside her, taking her left foot in his hands. He pressed tiny circles into her arch while he squeezed and warmed her foot, melting her misery.

“You surprised a lot of people,” he said, moving his hands to her calves.

Her lips twitched. “Yeah, well a lot of people surprised me. They weren’t bad. At all. I guess my dad was wrong about that too.”

Justin set her left foot on the ground and picked up her right, repeating the heavenly motions. “I hope your mother’s okay. She seemed extra tired.”

He grinned. “She’s fine. We had a long talk, and she’s … good.” He reached for a shoe, sliding one heel on and then the other, kissing her ankles before he stood. “Ready?”

She placed her hands in his. “I don’t know. You’re making me nervous again.”

With a wink, he pulled her to her feet. “You have nothing to be nervous about. I, on the other hand … ”