The Wedding Wrecker

1. Emma

1

EMMA

" E mma Marshall, if you tell me you're measuring light angles instead of enjoying Ireland, I swear I'll reach through this phone and strangle you."

I laughed, adjusting my camera strap as I climbed another winding staircase in Ashworth Castle. I had my phone connected to one earbud so I could use both hands on my camera. "Maggie, the perfect photo happens at the perfect moment in the perfect light. I can't just wing it."

"Yes, you absolutely can," my best friend said. "That's literally what candid photography is."

"This isn't just photography," I argued, pausing to peek into yet another room that definitely wasn't the one I needed. "This is my chance. My big break. If I nail this wedding, I go from 'Oh, you do weddings?' to 'Oh my god, you're the Emma Marshall.'"

There was a slight pause. “You’re not still working on that secret wedding Pinterest board are you? The one you claim is just for ‘research’ and definitely not all about your own dream wedding?”

I gasped in mock outrage. "You promised never to mention… The Board."

"The fact that you say it with that weird emphasis like it’s a holic relic is concerning. I can almost hear the capital letters.”

"I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!" Maggie's voice turned serious. "How are you really doing? And don't give me the 'I'm fine' bullshit."

I sighed, leaning against a stone wall. "Honestly? I'm terrified. This is a massive wedding. The venue is incredible. The couple is gorgeous. Everything needs to be perfect."

"You always make everything perfect."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done in a castle that apparently rearranges itself when I'm not looking." I pushed off the wall and continued my search. "I swear I've passed this same suit of armor four times."

"Maybe it's following you."

"Not helping." I checked my watch, then gave the suit of armor a nervous look over my shoulder. "Look, I need to find the west tower before I lose the light. Apparently, there's this amazing view of the sunset that would be perfect for?—"

"For the Golden Hour shots, I know." Maggie sighed dramatically. "You're hopeless. A total wedding junkie."

"Says the woman who cried at a toilet paper commercial because the puppy was 'wearing a tiny bow tie like a little gentleman.'"

"That puppy was adorable and you know it."

I rounded another corner, hoping to see something—anything—familiar. "I might be lost."

"Might be?"

"Okay, I'm definitely lost. And I really have to pee."

"Of course you do. You always have to pee when you're lost."

"It's a nervous bladder thing!" I protested, then lowered my voice as the sound echoed off the stone walls. "Oh god, what if I can't find my way back? What if I have to live in this castle forever, surviving off of tourist water bottles and wedding mints?"

"Emma."

"I'll become a legend. The Phantom of the Wedding. Haunting halls with my fantastic, minty breath and critiquing flower arrangements?—"

"Emma!"

"What?"

"Stop catastrophizing and find a bathroom. You always think better with an empty bladder."

She had a point. "Fine. But if I'm not back to civilization in twenty minutes, send a search party. With snacks."

"Deal. Love you, crazy."

"Love you too."

I hung up and surveyed my surroundings. The castle's corridors stretched out in three directions, each one looking equally medieval and impossible to navigate.

That's when I saw it—a small wooden sign with a universal stick figure that had never looked so beautiful.

I broke into what could generously be called a jog, my camera bag bouncing against my hip as I followed the signs. When I finally reached the bathroom, I nearly cried.

Out of order.

"No, no, no," I muttered, doing what my sister calls the 'pee pee dance.' "This isn't happening."

Then I saw it—the men's room. I glanced around. I pushed open the door, my bravery fueled only by how badly I needed to pee.

“Yoo hoo! Anybody in there?”

No answer.

"Desperate times," I whispered, then made a break for it.

I pushed the heavy wooden door open further, wincing at its dramatic creak. The men's room was small but clean—well, clean-ish. Medieval castle standards were different from modern ones, I supposed.

One lonely stall occupied the far wall, flanked by two urinals. I approached the stall with hope in my heart and a prayer on my lips.

That hope died a quick, brutal death when I saw the toilet. It looked like it had survived several wars, a plague, and possibly an exorcism. There was no way any part of me was getting anywhere near that thing. It wasn’t even suitable for a hover-pee-style attack.

Nope.

That meant I was left with the urinals, those strange, bafflingly not private things I sometimes thought only existed in movies and not real life.

I stared at them, hands on hips, weighing my options. "Okay, Emma," I muttered. "Cowgirl or reverse cowgirl?"

The porcelain gleamed mockingly in the dim light. I'd need good aim, a steady stance, and ice in my heart to pull this off. And if anybody walked in while I was mid-stream? Yeah. It was better not to think about that.

"Reverse it is." I hiked up my dress, grabbed some paper towels, and started my awkward backward approach. Just as I was perfecting my stance and mentally preparing for the feat of engineering I was about to attempt, the door creaked open.

I froze, dress bunched around my waist, underwear at half-mast, pasty ass exposed, and in what had to be the least dignified position of my entire life.

At least I hadn’t already started peeing…

The universe, apparently deciding I hadn't suffered enough, chose that moment to fully reveal my visitor. He stepped into view, and my brain short-circuited.

He was tall—the kind of tall that made you want to climb him like a tree. Dark hair fell across his forehead in that perfectly messy way hot guys across the world seemed to have a monopoly on. And his face was… chef’s kiss. A sharp jawline, strong nose, and eyes so blue they made the Irish sky look washed out.

A black sweater hugged broad shoulders and what had to be an illegal amount of muscle. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a magazine ad for "Rugged Rich Guy Casual Wear."

And for some reason, I was still frozen in position. That was also the exact moment the pee started to flow.

Just wonderful.

One of his thick, dark eyebrows lifted and he turned his back to me. “Good for you. A lot of people get gun shy at the range, if you know what I mean.”

I should have been mortified. Should have died on the spot. Instead, I found myself fighting back a laugh. "This isn't what it looks like."

"No?" I could hear the amusement in his voice and picture the smile on his full lips. "Is it at least what it sounds like? Because it sounds like you’ve got your ass out and you’re pissing in a men’s urinal.” He leaned to the side, then nodded. “With impressive aim, I should add."

"Okay, it's exactly what it looks like." I straightened up when I finished and tried to resurrect my long-dead dignity by fixing my clothing. "But in my defense, the women's room is out of order and that toilet"—I pointed to the stall—"is probably a portal to hell."

He took a quick look in the stall and grimaced. "Fair point." Then he smiled, and oh my God, that smile should come with a warning label .

"I'm James," he said.

"Emma," I managed, very aware that my face was probably bright red. "And I don't usually meet men like this."

"In bathrooms?"

"That, or with my panties around my ankles. But, um… do you mind turning around again? Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I have to go twice.”

His laugh was rich and deep, doing dangerous things to my insides. "I'll wait outside and guard the door while you... finish up."

"My hero," I said dryly, but couldn't help smiling.

He gave an exaggerated bow and backed toward the door. "Take your time."

As the door closed behind him, I heard him call out, "Don't forget to wash your hands!"

I burst out laughing, then immediately regretted it as my bladder protested. Right. Focus. I had a mission to complete.

A couple minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom feeling Richardious, if slightly traumatized. James was leaning against the wall, looking unfairly attractive for someone standing in a medieval hallway. In fact, with a slight wardrobe change, I could’ve absolutely pictured him belonging in a place like this.

Prince James, Baron of Impeccable Genetics and heir to the throne of bedroom eyes.

"Successful mission?" he asked.

"Let's never speak of it again." I smoothed down my dress. "Though I do feel like I've really bonded with this castle now. Nothing says 'intimate connection' quite like peeing in ancient urinals."

"I'm pretty sure the bathrooms were added when they started using this place as a wedding venue. But don’t worry, I’m sure the castle still enjoyed the moment you two shared back there.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

I opened my mouth to respond with something witty—or at least something that wouldn't make me sound like a complete idiot—when voices echoed down the corridor. A group of men rounded the corner, and I recognized them as part of tomorrow's wedding party.

"Oh, Emma!" Mr. Harrison Senior called out in his booming Irish accent. "Checking the facilities for tomorrow, are you? That's dedication!"

I met James' eye, saw the laughter there. "Absolutely! Just making sure everything is..." I gestured vaguely, "up to standard."

"And?" Mr. Harrison asked.

"The urinals are excellent," I said with complete seriousness. "Very... architecturally sound."

Behind the wedding party, James had to turn away, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

I imagined Maggie’s laughter when I told her this story and found myself smiling. I wouldn’t even have to embellish it like usual. The real version was plenty ridiculous. But I doubted she’d believe me when I told her how gorgeous this James guy was. I was looking at him and I hardly believed it.

After the wedding party passed, leaving echoes of laughter in their wake, I turned back to James. "So, what brings you to Ashworth Castle? Are you with the wedding?"

Something flickered in his eyes—so brief I might have imagined it. "You could say that." His smile turned enigmatic. "Let's just say I'm here to make sure everything goes... according to plan."

"Mysterious," I said, trying to ignore the way his voice made my skin tingle. "Are you always this cryptic?"

"Only in castles." He checked his watch, and that flicker crossed his face again. "Speaking of plans, I should get going. I have a... meeting to prepare for."

"Right." I tried not to sound disappointed. "Well, thanks for being my bathroom bodyguard."

"Anytime." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Oh, and Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"Save me a dance at the rehearsal dinner tonight." His grin was pure sin. "Since we've already shared a bathroom, it seems like the natural next step."

I watched him disappear around the corner, my heart doing a weird little flutter in my chest. A dance. With him. At the rehearsal dinner.

The proper professional part of me said there was no way I could. I had a million things to prepare for the big day tomorrow. I was way too busy. Way too stressed. Way too…

Tempted.