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Matt’s lips twitch.
“Do you know who Drew Robinson is?” I ask.
The woman—actually a teen, now that I get a closer look—shows me her tablet. A headshot of the famous jazz musician fills the screen. “That’s him.” She points, her face uncertain. “Right?”
I chuckle. “That’s him. But he’s not here tonight. And Mr. Hertzsprung is with me.” The girl opens her mouth again, but I cut her off. “I’m the daughter of the groom, and Mr. Hertzsprung will be taking Mr. Robinson’s place.”
“I’m not sure I’m allowed to make substitutions, Ms. Holmes.” She looks at Matt, as if he will confirm this.
“It’s okay, Typhanee. Ms. Holmes really is the daughter of the groom, and I can confirm Mr. Robinson didn’t attend the wedding. If he shows up, I’ll leave. Okay?”
She bites her lip again. “I should probably check with Ms. Mac.”
He nods as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Stella. Ms. Holmes has to get inside, so how about I let you know what Ms. Mac says when she replies?” He types something in, shows her the message with a smile, then edges toward the ballroom doors.
“I guess?” She pulls out her own phone and taps the screen.
“You know where to find us.” He points at the open doors, then grabs my hand and pulls me through.
I laugh. “That was a new experience.”
“What, you don’t get turned away from your father’s wedding reception by a teenaged bouncer every day?”
I pull him around and tow him toward the DJ set up in the corner. “No.”
“Or do you mean how my small-town-high-school-teacher-mojo saved the day? You may be famous, but in a place like Rotheberg, teachers are practically mythical. Kids are always shocked to see us in the real world. It’s like they think we don’t exist outside the school.” His phone vibrates. He looks at the screen, then shows it to me with a laugh.
Stella
This better not be one of your pranks. If I find Drew Robinson locked in a closet somewhere, you’re toast.
“She believed you?” My brows draw down in surprise, and I carefully smooth my face. The last thing I need is permanent wrinkles. I’m not ready for Botox.
“We’re friends. She knows I’d never do anything to risk her job. Plus, I’m sure the rumor mill has already spread this across town.” He gestures between us.
It’s too late to worry about the “secret” wedding. The paparazzi are all over this thing, already. “What are the gossips saying?”
He flushes. “Everyone knows I’m a huge fan of yours. I’m sure word got around that I managed to wrangle a date with you to the wedding. They’re probably all cheering for me.”
“That’s sweet. And I’m the one who did the wrangling.” I’m still not sure why, but I’m glad I did. This has already been more fun than it would have been solo. I take a couple steps closer to the DJ and wave to catch his attention. “Hi, I’m Nica. Dad asked me to kind of emcee this thing.”
The DJ looks affronted. He folds his arms across his broad chest, stretching his ABBA T-shirt tight under his tattooed biceps. “What’s he need you for? I’m a full-service DJ.”
Great, I’ve offended the over-priced celebrity tune-spinner. I shrug. “It’s my dad’s wedding, and he wants me to say a few words. How about you do the warm-up and let me introduce the couple, and we’ll call it good. I don’t want to interfere with your gig.”
The arms drop, and his lips press together as he considers this. “Fine. But I get to say Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Holmes.”
I frown at him. What does he think “introduce” means?
“I mean, you can do the wind-up, but I get to say the names. It’s in the contract.” He pulls his phone out and scrolls through it while Matt and I exchange a confused look. Then he shoves it at me. “See paragraph ten A.”
I squint at the screen. Sure enough, the contract says he introduces the couple. “I think that means you have to make sure it happens, not that… never mind. We’ll do it your way. Thanks for your help.” I step back, nodding.
He grunts and shoves the phone into his pocket. “You can talk during the toasts. That’s the appropriate time for family to speak.”
Matt catches my eye. He’s trying to hide a grin, but it’s peeking out at the corners of his mouth. “Seems like it’s all under control.”
“Great, thanks.” I nod and survey the room. “Where do you suppose Mr. Robinson was supposed to sit?”
