1
Ivy
Ah, wedding season.
I’ve never been to a wedding I didn’t love. Even after a stressful twenty months of planning, during which I had been berated and yelled at by entitled bridezillas, somehow it was all worth it to see two people in love pledge their hearts to one another.
I looked on wistfully as the officiant continued the ceremony. The ruddy-faced man launched into a lovely message about being one another’s best friends and biggest advocates.
I wish it could be me one day. I sighed longingly.
“If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace, the officiant announced, turning the page in the custom-bound book that held the wedding script.”
All that was left was for Evan and Camilla to exchange rings and say “I do.” Then we would have the tasteful cocktail hour and reception.
“I do!”
There it was. I raised my hands to applaud then realized wait…they hadn’t said their vows yet.
There were titters in the audience. My heart hammered, and I began to panic. This was literally a wedding planner’s worst nightmare! I looked around wildly for the culprit. The maid of honor stood in front of the altar defiantly.
“I object to this union!” she said loudly.
Where was security? I was at the back of the venue; the camera guys were blocking the side aisles, and I wasn’t the bride, so I didn’t dare walk down the center to drag the girl away.
“I object, because Camilla is a lying, cheating skank!” The maid of honor reached into the bodice of her blush-pink, sleeveless bridesmaid dress and pulled out a glossy poster.
“This bitch,” she said loudly as she unfolded it and waved the poster around, “was sleeping with my boyfriend. Don’t think I wasn’t going to find out, Arnold.” She wagged her finger at the best man.
Arnold tried to act innocent, but it was clear that his face and the one in the photo, though twisted into the grimace of an orgasm, were the same.
“Oh lord,” I groaned. There were shocked cries from the audience.
Camilla turned to Evan, reaching for him. “I’m so sorry, baby! It was an accident! I swear! I had too much to drink. I love you.”
The billionaire was wavering. Evan, like all rich men, was obnoxious and self-centered. But he was also image conscious. Would he play nice with the bridezilla for the ceremony then get a quiet annulment later? Was a public forgiveness forthcoming? Would love, or at least reputation, win the day?
The maid of honor hitched up her dress and screeched, “Don’t believe that cheating ho!” She fumbled under her dress then pulled another rolled-up poster out of her prison pocket.
Evan’s great aunt fainted. Another older woman screamed as the maid of honor unrolled the poster to reveal the bride and the father of the groom in a very compromising and frankly downright pornographic position.
“See?” she yelled, displaying the poster to the crowd. “Camilla. Is. A. Skank!”
“You ruined my wedding!” Camilla screamed and hurled her bouquet at the maid of honor.
At that point I decided to hell with it, I was walking down the aisle. The bride and the maid of honor were going at it. The maid of honor had the clear advantage, as her dress was shorter, though Camilla was really giving her a run for her money. As I waded into the fray, I barely registered Evan brush past me, dazed, blue eyes in pain. I couldn’t worry about him. I had a wedding to salvage.
I am a stress eater, and I come from hardy stock. Camilla had been dieting and hadn’t had anything except three leaves of kale and an almond in the past two days. I easily hefted her off of the maid of honor.
“You ruined my life!” Camilla sobbed, her perfect up-do snarled.
“If you could all please,” I announced over the screaming women, “head out to the terrace, we have drinks and light refreshments for everyone to enjoy!”
The crowd gaped, and nobody moved.
“Please,” I said firmly, “we have craft cocktails that were specially developed for the happy—er, well, craft cocktails.”
The promise of alcohol roused Evan’s great aunt, and people helped her up as Camilla collapsed on the floor. The maid of honor chased after the audience, posters in hand. Camilla’s mother and cousin ran up to the altar, and I left them with her.
“I’ve never seen anything like it!” the red-faced officiant said, fanning himself as he followed me after the maid of honor.
Please don’t have a stroke, please don’t have a stroke.
“Uh, Ivy?” Elsie’s voice crackled in my Bluetooth headset. “I thought we had another twenty minutes until the wedding let out?”
“Change of plans,” I said to my best friend and wedding caterer as I desperately tried to chase down the maid of honor. “Have you seen… Oh wait, never mind.”
Elsie was on the terrace in her crisp black pants and white shirt when I pushed through the crowd. She looked as dumbfounded as I felt as the maid of honor clambered up onto a chair, tottering in her platform heels, to tell everyone in the audience exactly how she felt about the bride and Arnold, her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.
“That lying, cheating bastard!” She waved the posters around. “You can’t trust a bitch!”
“Get those pictures from her,” I hissed into the headset as I rushed to corral the maid of honor. “Or actually don’t.” I skidded to a stop as I remembered where those posters had been.
The best man begged, “Please just come down off of there!”
“Dick! Lying piece of garbage!” The maid of honor threw the posters at him then snatched a platter of salmon crudité from a passing server and hurled it at Arnold. It missed—and landed all over me. Bits of fish dripped down my face and plopped onto the terrace.
I bit back a curse.
These people are future clients. Keep your composure.
“Where is Evan?” his stepmother demanded. I noticed she’d had time to grab a drink, so she clearly couldn’t be all that worried about him. “Where is my son?”
“I don’t know,” I told her, trying to look professional as I shook capers off of my shirt.
“You have to find him,” she berated. “You’re the wedding planner. What are we paying you for anyway if you can’t even hold onto the groom?”
You’re not paying me at all.
I grimaced a smile.
“We will all look for him,” I said as Elsie helpfully picked dill out of my hair.
“He can’t have gone far,” his friend Sebastian said. “I have his phone, wallet, and keys.”
I need a drink.
“Honestly, Ivy,” Camilla’s father, Orson Sutherland, said reproachfully. “How could you let this happen? What kind of wedding planner are you? Don’t think we’re paying you for this wedding,” he said with a frown.
Evan’s father, who had no shame, was pouring himself a drink.
“Honestly,” Evan’s stepmother and the father of the groom’s ex-wife said. “How could you?”
He took a swig of the drink. He had Evan’s same blue eyes, height, square jaw, and general aura of psychopath around him. He shrugged.