22. For the Bride
FOR THE brIDE
Addison
I wake up stiff, my hands scratched, hair still faintly smelling like orchard smoke and rain. For a second, I forget where I am — until the aching reminder of fairy lights and crisis management hits me like a delayed hangover.
I reach for my phone, half-bracing for fallout. No client texts. No cancellations. One missed message.
Meredith.
Thank you. For everything. Can’t wait to walk down the aisle today, even if it’s just rehearsal.
I breathe out. It’s going to be okay. Maybe more than okay.
I get out of bed in need of a caffeine fix.
It’s finally rehearsal day. Impressive that it’s happening given the previous night’s events. I barely got a couple hours of sleep after the chaos of last night, but I’ve got to get this show on the road.
I take a quick shower before getting dressed.
I zip the back of my navy-blue jumpsuit, smooth a wrinkle from the collar, and stare down my reflection like I’m about to walk into a deposition. Professional. Unflappable. Not the woman who nearly bailed on her own event less than twenty-four hours ago.
My fingers hesitate at the edge of my makeup bag. Concealer or not? I decide on a dab under each eye, just enough to say ‘well-rested’ and not screaming ‘emotional breakdown narrowly avoided.’ I swipe on tinted lip balm, twist my curls into a sleek low bun, and step back.
Addison Bennett, wedding planner. Not rumor magnet. Not runaway. Ready.
I grab my binder and phone from the kitchen table just as it buzzes with a text.
Dylan.
Morning, boss lady. You got this. P.S. Don’t forget to breathe.
I smile despite myself, thumb a reply with one hand while holding my coffee in the other.
I never forget to breathe. I just occasionally forget not to cry in my car in the rain. I’m good. Focused. Mostly. Please tell me the arch still stands.
Sturdier than my self-control when you walk into a room. You’ll kill it today. And if you don’t, I’ll distract them with glitter and baked goods.
I roll my eyes, cheeks warming. The man is impossible. Also, unfairly good at pep talks. And making me feel like a teenage girl.
You’ll be around?
Going to make some final checks and be there in case changes are needed.
Got it. See you at the orchard.
I set the phone down and take one last look around my home — quiet, neat, my safe space. I don’t feel entirely steady, but I’m still showing up. That has to count for something.
* * *
I take a slow lap around the outer edge of the orchard before joining the others. The arch still stands, proud and glimmering, its replacement keystone catching the sun. There’s a scuff mark at its base, a small imperfection, and somehow that makes it more beautiful.
The orchard looks different in daylight — less like a war zone, more like a Pinterest board that survived a minor apocalypse.
Chairs are reset and ribbons adjusted. The arch still glows soft gold, its keystone bird slightly uneven but charming.
Dylan and his crew worked literal magic overnight. We did.
Vendors mill quietly. A florist checks her notes. The DJ is already testing sound, “Canon in D” trickling from portable speakers. Meredith stands near the arch, talking with the officiant, looking calm — a minor miracle.
Then she walks in.
Cassandra Langford.
In a slinky white rehearsal dress with a slit up to her thigh and enough rhinestones to blind a crowd. She moves with theatrical slowness, as if each step deserves applause. On her arm, there’s some poor groomsman who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
My throat tightens. I flip through the schedule. Nowhere... nowhere is she listed as part of the wedding party.
I cross to Meredith, who’s blinking rapidly. She mouths “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I’ve got it.”
Meredith comes closer and whispers, “She just showed up. Something about my dad owing a favor or something. Political crap. I didn’t ask for this.”
“You don’t need to explain,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”
And I will.
I make my way to Cassandra, keeping my expression cool and unreadable.
“Cassandra. I wasn’t aware you were joining the processional today.”
She smiles like she’s posing for a fragrance ad. “Oh, didn’t Meredith tell you? Her father and my father go way back. He insisted. You know how it is. Politics.”
I nod once. “Ah. Of course.”
She loops her arm through the groomsman’s again and leans close enough to whisper — loudly — “It’s kind of tragic the bride didn’t ask me herself. But I’m used to being underestimated.”
It’s too early to explode. I breathe in through my nose, out through my teeth. “Let’s begin the run-through,” I announce to the crowd.
The first processional starts. Bridesmaids move down the aisle, coordinated, elegant. Meredith beams from the back.
Then Cassandra steps forward.
She slows to a glide, hips swaying, eyes locked on the non-existent cameras, her bouquet held like a scepter. She stops short, strikes a pose — a pose! — and flashes a smile that screams, This is my stage now!
Several guests cough awkwardly. One of the groomsmen actually mutters, “Yikes.”
Meredith’s face falls.
But Cassandra is oblivious.
“I just think we should rethink the formation,” Cassandra calls mid-walkthrough. “I look better on Meredith’s left side.”
Meredith’s grip on her bouquet tightens.
Then Cassandra winks at a photographer and says, “Make sure you get my good side.”
My clipboard shakes in my hand. I count to three. I shouldn’t cause a scene. I shouldn’t give anyone more to whisper about.
But this isn’t about me. It’s about Meredith. And I’ve let fear rule too many moments already.
Not today.
“Pause,” I say, stepping onto the grass with just enough command to freeze the scene. All heads turn toward me.
“I’d like to clarify something before we go further.” I look directly at Cassandra. “A rehearsal isn’t a fashion show. It’s not an audition. And it’s certainly not a moment to steal attention from the person whose day this is.”
She blinks at me, feigning confusion.
“This event is about Meredith,” I continue calmly. “Every person involved — family, friends, wedding party, staff — has one job: to help the bride shine. Not distract. Not compete. Support . ”
Cassandra scoffs, waving a hand. “Don’t be so dramatic. I was just walking.”
Meredith’s mother crosses her arms. Her father shifts uncomfortably. Gina doesn’t even jump in to defend her.
“You’re welcome to stay and rehearse,” I add. “But if you continue to perform instead of participate, I’ll ask you to sit this out. Politics or not.”
Cassandra opens her mouth, then clearly thinks better of it. She slinks back to her spot with a dramatic sigh.
The next run-through is smoother. Meredith walks with grace and confidence, her fiancé Evan catching her hand at the arch with a grin. Everyone breathes easier. Even the DJ seems to relax.
After the final walkthrough, Meredith hugs me tightly.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I couldn’t have said that. Not with them watching.”
“You didn’t need to I’m the planner. I’m supposed to take the heat.”
Mr Langford walks over next, hands behind his back.
“Well-managed,” he says, with a clipped nod. “My apologies for any disruption. Some things… fall outside the itinerary.”
I smile politely. “That’s why I carry a red pen.”
He almost smiles.
As the crowd disperses, Dylan appears at my side, coffee in one hand, toolbelt still strapped to his waist. He offers me the cup wordlessly. It’s exactly how I take it.
“I watched the whole thing,” he says quietly. “You didn’t even raise your voice.”
“I didn’t need to.”
He nudges my shoulder. “That was hot.”
I laugh, the tension finally loosening, and blush a little. “She tried to hijack the bride’s moment. I couldn’t let her.”
“I know. You handled it like a boss.”
We walk in silence for a few moments, taking in the orchard, the calm after the storm — literal and otherwise.
“You really okay?” he asks.
I look at him, and I don’t deflect. “I think so. Last night. I had the keys in the ignition…”
“But you didn’t go. That’s what matters.”
I stare at the orchard. “I didn’t think I’d have the courage to face all this again.”
“You didn’t need courage,” he says. “You just needed to remember who you are.”
I lean against him for a moment. “Who I am?”
“The woman who made this happen — storm, scandal, and all.”
I chuckle.
He leans in closer. “But you don’t have to do everything by yourself.”
And I believe him.
For the first time in a long time, I really believe it.