George ran his finger under his collar, suddenly unable to breathe. Dressed in a modest floor-length, black column dress, Anne glided around the perimeter of the room, double-checking the readiness of each station and each server. If her idea had been to blend into the background, she’d failed miserably. He turned at a tug on his sleeve. “George, how do I look?” Courtney Landry stood before him, no longer a cherubic nineteen-year-old, but a grown woman dressed in a clinging, plunging silk gown the same electric blue as Anne’s eyes. He wanted to drape his tuxedo coat about her bare shoulders and hold it closed just below her chin. He cleared his throat and reached for her hand. “Like a princess.” He brushed a kiss on her knuckles. She blushed and touched the chestnut curls piled up on top of her head. “He’s introducing me to all his friends tonight. What if I trip? Or drop food down my dress?” “Now, Miss Courtney, I know you paid more attention than that during our etiquette lessons.
