Page 57 of A Star is Scorned

Flynn looked in the mirror and straightened his bow tie.

The damn thing felt more like a noose. He studied his reflection—from the gray morning coat he wore (complete with tails) to the matching top hat perched on his head.

He looked ridiculous in this monkey suit.

He’d much rather be wearing one of his pirate costumes, if he was being honest. At least those were meant to look over-the-top.

But Rhonda had insisted she get the white-tie wedding of her dreams, and who was he to deny her?

Every time he’d opened his mouth to protest one of her more absurd suggestions—be it the live peacocks that would surround them at the altar or the twenty individually carved ice sculptures she’d designed for the reception—Stanley Devlin’s maniacal face and Judy Blount’s split lip flashed in his memory.

And he’d think, Well if the dame wants peacocks, she can bloody well have peacocks then. As long as Judy and Livvy are safe.

From the hall, Flynn heard someone whistling the “Wedding March.” Or wait, was it a funeral dirge? When Dash opened the door, his gaze twinkling with mischief, Flynn rolled his eyes. “What were you whistling?”

“Here comes the corpse, heading for his demise,” Dash sang.

“Oh, shut it.” Flynn was already dreading this. Did Dash have to make it worse?

Dash laughed, clearly very amused by his own antics. At least that made one of them. “You’ve only got yourself to blame, pal.”

“Don’t remind me,” Flynn grumbled.

“Because I know today is going to be hard for you—”

“I’d rather have a root canal,” Flynn muttered.

Dash ignored him. “I’ve brought you a surprise.”

Flynn wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever Dash had for him. On the night before Dash’s wedding, Flynn had tried to get him to strip naked and perform with an exotic dancer in a Reno nightclub. So he didn’t really trust that Dash had noble intentions. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

But when Dash opened the door a little wider, Flynn was delighted to see Lionel Berry, and following close behind the animal trainer, Rallo, wearing a miniature top hat and bow tie of his own. “Rallo!” Flynn exclaimed.

“You’ve already got a monkey of a best man,” Dash teased, pulling a face. “So I figured what was one more?”

Flynn kneeled as the little monkey ran to him, leaping onto the arm that Flynn extended.

“Come to join the wedding party, have you?” Perched on his outstretched hand, the monkey tilted its head from side to side and bared its teeth in what Flynn hoped was a grin.

“Yes, well, I feel the same. But what can we do?”

He stood and Rallo scampered up and took his perch on Flynn’s shoulder.

The steady weight of his cinematic sidekick unraveled something in Flynn, and the tension in his spine released ever so slightly.

No matter what happened, no matter how miserable his marriage to Rhonda, he still had his friends.

He studied himself in the mirror as Rallo reached up and tilted Flynn’s top hat at a rakish angle, lending his finery more of a piratical air.

“That’s more like it.” Flynn grinned. The monkey made a little bow, and he laughed for what felt like the first time in weeks. “Oh, thank you, Dash. Truly.”

His best friend clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course. I thought you could use your best primate.”

The two men and the monkey studied themselves in the mirror. Flynn had to admit they looked good. Even if he felt more like he was going to meet a firing squad than walk down the aisle to his future spouse. At least he’d look dapper doing it.

His stomach fell when someone from the hall called out. “Five minutes until the procession begins.”

But Dash’s smile didn’t waver. He gripped Flynn’s shoulder a little tighter and said, “It’s going to be fun. I promise.”

And then he winked.

***

Livvy took a deep breath and choked on the sudden whiff of incense that overwhelmed her senses.

She tried not to cough as she receded into the shadows of the archway above the small private chapel at the side of the church.

She felt ridiculous. Joan had nicked her a nun costume from wardrobe after Livvy realized it was the only way to get herself into the church without being recognized.

Had she stolen the idea directly from Flynn’s film The Prince and the Pirate?

Yes. But thus far she’d had good luck borrowing ideas from his movies.

As the guests had begun to file in, Livvy had filtered in with them, kneeling by a display of candles and pretending to pray anytime someone looked in her direction.

The fuller the church got, the fewer people noticed her.

And she was able to survey the Church of the Blessed Sacrament more keenly.

The aisle was lined with a cloying overabundance of flowers—shocks of white freesia and hot-pink daisies that didn’t go together even a little bit.

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her skull when a man in a brown jumpsuit led three peacocks down the aisle and tied them to little ropes surrounding the altar.

Well, there was no accounting for taste, she supposed. Though the presence of large birds with beaks and talons might significantly complicate things.

She recited the plan to herself in her head, making sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. If they pulled this off, it would be a miracle. Especially now that she had peacocks to contend with. Maybe she should try actually praying while kneeling here. It couldn’t hurt.

But any thought of prayer evaporated as a hush fell over the crowded pews and a woman at the front began warbling a rather off-key version of “I Love You Truly.” Livvy crept forward in her best imitation of a solemn nun, concealing herself behind a marble pillar as she watched the procession begin.

Flynn led the way, with a woman she thought might be his mother on his arm.

Livvy’s heart fluttered at the sight of him in his top hat and tails.

Rallo sat on his shoulder, and she had to laugh at the monkey’s matching hat and bow tie.

She and Rallo locked eyes for a brief moment, and the monkey chittered at the sight of her.

Flynn’s head snapped in her direction, and she pulled herself more tightly behind the pillar in the nick of time. She hoped Flynn hadn’t seen her yet. It would ruin everything.

“Rallo, no!” she heard Flynn gasp. But she didn’t allow herself to look at what transpired. This wasn’t a good hiding place. It was too exposed.

She looked at the high marble pulpit to the side of the altar. There was a rope across it, so they wouldn’t be using it today. Maybe she could sneak up there when the crowd was distracted.

Another voice interjected, “Keep going. Lionel will find him.” That was Dash, calling out to Flynn from the back of the church.

She reminded herself to breathe. They’d gone over the plan at least ten times.

Dash knew what was supposed to happen. He would keep them on course.

Rallo was meant to distract Flynn, not give them away.

But she had to trust that Dash was ready to improvise.

Livvy leaned back against the pillar and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, when she felt something tug at the hem of her habit. She looked down and saw the mischievous little monkey standing at her feet.

“Nuts,” she muttered under her breath. She knelt and scooped him up as the monkey wrapped its soft, furry arm around her neck in an embrace. “I’m happy to see you too, Rallo, but you have to go back to Flynn.”

Rallo stuck out his tongue and burrowed his head into her chest. That was a no, then.

She turned her head and peered over her shoulder. Flynn was finishing his march to the altar with the reluctant posture of a man headed for the gallows. The loss of Rallo seemed to have robbed him of his willpower. Just hang on, Flynn.

Shortly behind Flynn followed Dash and Joan, arm in arm. Dash was Flynn’s best man, and Joan was a bridesmaid at Flynn’s request. When they passed by her pillar, Dash nodded in Livvy’s direction, so subtly that only someone looking for it would notice.

Rallo peeked his head out from the folds of her black habit and looked between her and Dash. Did the little rascal know what they were up to? No, he was a monkey. He couldn’t possibly.

A flurry of other bridesmaids and groomsmen processed in, and then it was time for the bride to make her grand entrance. The woman singing wrapped up her song, and the organist began to play Handel’s “Processional.”

The guests in the crowded pews stood and turned to face the back of the church, where Rhonda Powers was dressed in a gown that looked more like an ornately decorated petit four than a wedding dress. Livvy couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Her mouth went dry as she spied Stanley Devlin on his niece’s arm. The bastard was walking Rhonda down the aisle to marry a man he’d blackmailed into it. His sickeningly smug smile made her want to claw his eyes out.

But this was Livvy’s moment to act. While the rest of the church was distracted, she seized the opportunity to scamper from her place in the shadows to the stone stairs that led to the pulpit.

She clung tightly to Rallo, snuggled in her robes, as she sprinted toward them and fell to her knees once she was tucked behind the marble wall that surrounded the stairs.

She held her breath and listened. The “Processional” continued, and everything appeared to be going off without a hitch. No one had seen her.

She continued to crawl up the steps until she reached the flat landing of the pulpit. She was now above and to the side of the altar where Flynn and the wedding party stood. She snuck a peek as Devlin deposited Rhonda at the altar, making a show of kissing her hand.