A sensible woman would’ve been delighted to be her future sister-in-law’s maid of honor, as it implied cordial relationships or some sort of bullshit like that. I knew better.
I made an excellent scapegoat.
As the wedding party’s weakest link, everyone expected me to trip on my dress, maybe break an ankle along with my neck, or spill the entire wine fountain onto the floor. My brother claimed he loved me, but I believed he’d been the one to spread the rumor I was the world’s clumsiest woman.
When I secured my revenge, it would be sweet.
But first, I needed to survive my brother’s wedding without being responsible for a single hiccup. Playing to my brother’s misconceptions, I’d spent months tripping over nothing on purpose so I could transform myself into the image of traditional beauty and grace.
I’d even lost twenty pounds so my dress would fit.
The wedding would be a disaster, but I would emerge from the chaos smelling like roses, red wine, and garlic bread. Honestly, I doubted the wedding would make it to the reception.
Some weddings had bridezillas. We had a thoroughbride, and if she got it into her head to run, I wished my brother the best of luck catching her before she fled from the church. My proposal to have the wedding on a yacht, where my brother’s thoroughbride couldn’t escape, hadn’t earned me points with anyone.
The bride hated the ocean.
My brother was smart enough to catch onto my implication.
It wasn’t my fault Amy wasn’t exactly the most reliable woman in the world when it came to marriage. Once was a fluke. Twice was a trend. Five incidents of running from the wedding was evidence the thoroughbride would strike again, and my dear old brother would be saddled with the fifty thousand dollar bill, as he refused to believe Amy would run out on him.
Oh, no. Amy would never run out on him.
My brother was an idiot, but I loved him too much to let his wedding fail. My brother deserved to be left at the altar as snubbed groom number six, but I wouldn’t back out. I’d play my part, I’d even try to keep her from running or ruining the wedding, and I’d take as many pictures as possible to immortalize the chaos.
Thanks to Amy’s awful taste in gowns, I had ample space in my cleavage to hide my phone.
At four in the morning of the big day, I called in every favor owed to me so I could not quite match the bride in the beauty department. In exchange for doing his taxes for two years, Wolfgang transformed my dull, light brown hair into a curled work of art and handled my makeup. Clarice did my nails and toes for dibs on any interesting photos, and she’d even pay for them if she liked them.
My brother would never forgive me for selling photographs of his wedding to a newspaper. If he hadn’t wanted me taking pictures, he wouldn’t have talked shit about me behind my back.
“This is crazy,” Clarice muttered, fiddling with my toes while Wolfgang waged war against my unruly hair. “What did Matthew do for you to pull out all the stops? Wearing those baggy sweaters to hide your waist size was pure brilliance. I heard the thoroughbride bitching about how you’ll burst out of your very expensive dress.”
“It’s a good thing my dress fits me perfectly, isn’t it?”
“I worry for the donut supply the instant the reception is over.”
Wolfgang snickered. “Do you think there’ll be a reception?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out in twelve hours. Did you talk to Ben?”
“If the photographer doesn’t show, you’re covered,” he confirmed. “You’re good on the caterer, too. My source confirmed they started their work on the cake an hour ago, and they’re doing two just in case. If nothing goes wrong, you’ll be paying for the second cake in volunteer work.”
I expected the caterer, a business operated by Wolfgang’s aunt, would be the most reliable element of the wedding. “The open bar?”
“Aunt Emma has sworn on our family’s honor everything will be perfect.”
“If this goes off without a hitch, I’ll double owe you both. The dresses are confirmed, Clarice?”
“They’re in my SUV and ready to roll. I have a list of brides and maids who could use them if they survive through the day.”
I had doubts about that. “The flowers?”
“Ten-minute arrival window if needed, and if they’re not needed, they’ll be sent to the local hospitals and nursing homes to cheer up the