The Wedding Wrecker

4. Emma

4

EMMA

" T ell me you didn't sleep with him," Maggie said through the phone.

I adjusted my earpiece as I checked the flower arrangements in the castle's courtyard. "I didn't sleep with him."

"You're lying."

"I'm working." I bent to straighten a slightly crooked rose. Perfect.

"Emma Marshall, I've known you since college. I can hear your 'I totally got laid' voice from a mile away."

"I don't have a voice for that."

"You absolutely do. It's all breathy and dreamy, like you're starring in your little movie. Although, sometimes it’s a little shameful, like you just stopped and had gas station sushi and you know the consequences are coming sooner or later.”

I glanced around to make sure none of the staff could hear me. "Fine. Maybe something happened. And it was more like five Michellan stars than gas station sushi. "

"I knew it!" Her squeal made me wince. "Details. Now. And does it even go to five stars? Nevermind, don’t care. Just tell me everything!"

"Can't. Too busy making sure this wedding goes perfectly." I checked my watch. Two hours until the ceremony. "But it was... intense."

"Intense in a good way?"

"Intense like I'm pretty sure I saw God. And…” I looked around, once more, cupping my hand over my mouth to hide the sound of my voice. “It was big enough to have its own zip code, so there’s that." I smiled at the memory, then forced myself to focus. "But it doesn't matter. He got weird afterward and basically ran away."

"Weird how?"

"Like cryptically apologetic weird. Said after today I wouldn't want anything to do with him."

"That's... concerning."

"Yeah, well, I have bigger things to worry about. Like making sure a few hundred guests don't notice that the florist sent coral peonies instead of blush ones."

"No one will notice that."

"The bride's mother will. That woman has the eye of a hawk." I moved toward the altar setup, mentally checking off items from my list. "She already complained about the thickness of the paper stock we used for the programs. The programs , Maggie. As if anyone keeps those longer than?—"

I stopped short. James was there, talking to the bride's father. The charm he’d seemed to ooze yesterday was nowhere to be seen. He looked... tense. Grim, almost.

"Emma? You still there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just..." I watched as James handed Mr. McNamara something that looked like an envelope. A chill ran down my spine, though I couldn't say why. "Hey, I should go. Ceremony starts soon."

"Good luck! And Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to enjoy it a little. Not everything has to be perfect."

If only she knew how wrong she was. In this business, perfect wasn't just the goal—it was the bare minimum. One mistake, one bad review, and your reputation was toast.

I hung up and retreated to the bridal suite, where the final preparations were underway. The bride, Sarah McNamara (soon to be Harrison), sat perfectly still as the makeup artist made final touches.

I lingered for a moment, lifting my camera to snap a candid picture of her there. I did hire a separate photographer, but as someone who got my start planning weddings by being a photographer, I had never been able to fully give up the camera.

Something about taking pictures had always spoken to me. It wasn’t just about the pictures, it was about walking through life with a different perspective. Being a photographer taught you to recognize and appreciate moments in a different way. They were fleeting, and if you didn’t capture them, they would be gone forever.

I tried not to think about my own fleeting youth and the chance of having my own perfect wedding someday. I was twenty-eight, and nearing prehistoric age as far as being the perfect bride was concerned.

“Oh,” Sarah said, eyes flicking to me in the mirror. “I didn’t see you there, Emma. You’re quiet as a ghost.”

"Everything's set," I told her, pushing thoughts of James aside and forcing a smile. "The flowers are perfect, the musicians are in place, and the lighting will hit exactly right during the ceremony."

Sarah's eyes met mine in the mirror. "And Michael? Is he ready?"

"The groom is with his groomsmen. Everything's on schedule."

She nodded, but something in her expression made me pause. Was that doubt in her eyes? Pre-wedding jitters were normal, but...

No. Focus, Emma. Details. That's what you're good at.

I gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulders, careful not to mess up her hair or dress. “Tonight is your day. Everything is going to be amazing. I promise.”

Sarah smiled, looking slightly more relaxed as I left to check on everything else.

I spent the next hour coordinating last-minute adjustments. The flower girl needed her sash retied. One of the groomsmen lost his boutonnière. A guest with a nut allergy wanted me to double check with the kitchen to know the cake was safe.

Through it all, I kept catching glimpses of James. He moved through the crowd like a shadow, speaking quietly to various guests. Each time I saw him, that uneasy feeling in my stomach grew stronger. Worse, he was either magically oblivious to my presence today or actively ignoring me.

I wasn’t sure which was more hurtful.

Last night felt like a dream now—the wine cellar, his hands on my skin, the way he'd made me feel both reckless and safe at the same time.

I pushed the thoughts away. I was a professional. This was my moment.

Finally, it was time. The guests were seated, the music swelled, and Sarah began her walk down the aisle. She was stunning in her custom gown, which caught the golden hour light exactly as I'd planned.

I allowed myself a small smile as I snapped pictures from my carefully selected place. I was already mentally running through the schedule—thinking about how I’d need to usher the bride, groom, and their family to the spots I’d mapped out in the castle to catch the light at the right times.

But so far, everything was going according to plan.

I spotted James in the third row, his face unreadable. He hadn't so much as glanced my way, but I forced myself not to care. This wasn't about me or my ill-advised hookup. This was about Sarah and Michael.

The ceremony proceeded beautifully. Sarah and Michael reached their vows, and I felt that familiar warmth in my chest.

Sarah's voice shook slightly as she promised to love Michael forever. Was she nervous? Emotional? I studied her face, trying to read the subtle signs I'd learned to recognize over years of watching brides.

"If anyone knows any reason why these two should not be wed," the officiant intoned, "speak now or forever hold your peace."

James stood up.

No.

My heart stopped as he stepped into the aisle, that envelope from earlier in his hand.

No, no, no.

"There’s something everybody here needs to know," he said, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent courtyard. "Michael has been cheating on Sarah."

The ground felt like it fell away beneath my feet. Gasps echoed through the crowd as James approached the altar.

"I was hired by the bride's father to investigate concerns about Mr. Harrison's fidelity," James continued, his professional tone a stark contrast to the way he'd whispered my name last night. "What I found was a pattern of infidelity spanning the last year, documented through texts, emails, and hotel receipts. Anyone who doubts it is free to come look through my evidence."

Sarah made a sound like she'd been punched. Her father moved to comfort her, but she pushed him away.

"Is it true?" she demanded, turning to Michael.

His silence was answer enough.

Chaos erupted .

Guests started talking all at once. Sarah's mother was shouting. Someone knocked over a flower arrangement I'd spent an hour perfecting.

And all I could do was stand there, watching my perfect wedding implode. All those months of planning, all those tiny details I'd obsessed over—none of it mattered now. But worst of all, my heart broke for Sarah.

One of my favorite parts of working in this business was bringing the bride’s fantasy to life. This was her dream day—the day she’d spent her childhood imagining. And now it was all going up in flames.

Sarah came storming toward me through the madness, dress hiked up and mascara streaming down her face. “You promised,” she said, voice thick with emotion.

“I—I didn’t know—” I stammered.

“You didn’t know?” she laughed. “You planned everything down to the last detail, and yet you just happened to miss the fact that this man was at my wedding? That my husband was cheating on me? Did he cheat with you, too? You’re definitely his type. I bet?—”

“Sarah,” Mr. McNamara said, cutting in with a hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t her fault. I’m the one who hired the wedding wrecker. I made sure he wouldn’t stand out on the guest list, just like he instructed.”

“Why?” she said, turning to face him.

But their words drifted into background noise as I watched the wedding continue to implode.

The groom looking grim as he hurried out of the courtyard with his father berating him.

Guests looking confused and shocked as they got up and left, several with phones in hands and fingers typing furiously.

Sarah and her father walked away, leaving me standing there as my carefully built reputation seemed to crumble with each whispered comment. I could already imagine the reviews, the social media posts, the industry gossip.

I realized I now understood James’ cryptic warning from last night. Now I knew why he'd looked so guilty.

He'd known he was going to ruin my career-making moment. He kissed me, touched me, and made me feel things I’d never felt before. And then he realized I was the wedding planner, and the experience we shared wasn’t enough to stop him.

That was why he’d looked so grim. He knew he was still going to go through with it. He hadn’t given a shit what it would mean to me or the bride.

I felt a decision form in my heart at that moment. I would keep planning weddings, if I could. I’d keep making magic happen. But I would never, ever let myself believe in the fairytale again—the childish idea that my work was part of what would set couples up for a happy, amazing future… That belief withered up and died.

Because some things couldn’t be fixed with the perfect flowers or the proper lighting.

Things like love were beyond my control.

I saw James standing in the middle of the chaos like a tall, dark grim reaper. He looked like the prince of fucking darkness, and for a moment, I almost walked up to thank him for showing me the truth. Instead, I turned my back on him and left, hoping I'd never see his stupid face again.