How to Ruin a Wedding

1

Face down, ass up, under a canopy of overgrown bushes in an unkempt corner of the Keos Resort is not how I envisioned spending my Saturday morning.

Sure, I’ve ended up in this position before—usually by choice and on a mattress rather than a patch of itchy, probably poison-ivy-infested grass. This is, pathetically, more action than I’ve had in months.

This secluded clearing is far from the manicured perfection of the main grounds.

Hidden, quiet. The kind of place where people go when they don’t want to be seen—people like the couple currently sitting on a weather-worn bench beneath a stone archway, framed by climbing vines and wildflowers.

I spy them through the dense shrubbery. The woman leans so close that her dark hair veils the man’s shoulder, and their legs tangle with each other.

I’m crouched below the benches, hidden, itchy, and crawling toward what may or may not be the most devastating evidence of infidelity I’ve ever captured.

I know who they are. And I know what this looks like.

James—the groom-to-be. Sammy—his best friend. And if Jennie’s gut is right, his not-so-secret lover.

Jennie, my newest client, has labeled them “the Birds.” Not because they’re sweet or whimsical, but because they call each other Sparrow and Finch—the same names as the doomed lovers in James’s favorite French war film.

A film his fiancée, Eliza, never finished because she thought it was boring.

But Sammy? Sammy knows every line by heart.

You can’t fake that kind of intimacy. And Jennie knows it.

She wrote to me just a week ago, her message panicked and personal: Eliza’s about to marry the wrong person.

James is in love with someone else—Sammy.

I’ve seen it in the way they look at each other when they think no one’s watching.

I tried to tell her, but she thinks I’m jealous.

Please, I need proof. You’re my Hail Mary.

So here I am, hiding in the bushes like a creeper.

I inch forward, knees bruising against the ground, phone angled up for the best shot I can manage. The blue satin of my dress is definitely not camo—it practically glows against the underbrush—but I’ve shoved myself under enough tangled greenery to be mostly hidden.

A branch snaps near my shoulder, sharp against skin. I bite back a curse.

I can hear murmuring, but nothing solid enough to form words. And though I would kill my fiancé if he was wrapped around a woman the way James is right now, they could still claim to just be the best of friends.

Got to get closer.

Slowly, so I don’t make too much of a rustle, I inch forward under the line of bushes, army crawling my way closer to my quarry.

A light tingling crawls around the back of my neck, but I refrain from the instinct to jolt away or make any sudden movements.

I’m sure most of these bugs are harmless—and really, I’d do anything for a paycheck, even risk a skin rash in the most sensitive of areas.

Wedding wrecking isn’t exactly glamorous, but it’s a job.

And five months after my landlord pounded on my door for rent, I’ve learned dignity doesn’t pay the bills.

At this point, I’d look into selling my plasma—well, I have looked, just haven’t quite worked up the nerve to actually go through with it yet.

I pause once I reach the final bench, and gain a better vantage point of James and Sammy. My cheek presses against the ground as I angle my phone up and start recording.

“We’re just friends,” Sammy says, her nose nearly touching James’s. “We always have been.”

James shuts his eyes like he’s in physical pain. “Just friends,” he repeats, like a prayer. “We don’t work any other way?” The last part is framed like a question, a plea. I zoom in, holding my breath as a tickle develops in my throat.

“That was the last time.” Sammy pulls her face back, but her hands grip his thighs and travel up until they reach his crotch.

Jennie, your instincts are so on point.

“We tried before, and—”

“And we almost ruined a good thing.” Sammy pulls away.

James grabs the back of her head before she can establish a distance between them. My heart pounds in my chest. I steady my hands to ensure the camera doesn’t shake.

“Wait,” he says, his eyes on her mouth. “Just one more time.”

“Finch,” Sammy says, breathless.

“Tonight, while everyone is in bed. Come to my room. I’ll be alone,” James tells her. “I need this. I need you.”

This is good. A planned meetup. More opportunity to get evidence.

I’d already knocked on James’s and Sammy’s hotel doors earlier—feigned confusion, pretended I’d taken a wrong turn—but no one answered.

They weren’t at brunch either; the bachelor party was off getting hammered at one of the bars, blissfully oblivious.

The bridal party was holed up at the spa.

I even tried the obvious choreographed moves—asked the concierge with a smile, slipped the bartender a casual question while pretending to order another drink, and scanned the pool cabanas for anything suspicious—and still came up empty.

Sammy shuts her eyes, and their mouths gravitate toward each other.

Someone clears their throat. The Birds jerk away from each other, standing and placing themselves an arm’s length away.

Luckily a new voice masks the sound of my curse.

“Excuse us for interrupting,” a deep, amused voice says. “We thought this area would be unoccupied.” I only catch the tip of his nose from my angle.

“You’re not interrupting,” James says, so smoothly I would have believed him if I hadn’t witnessed what I did. There’s no heat rolling off him, and he stands with slightly slumped shoulders, no worries within him.

My throat tickles again, and I clap a hand over my mouth before a cough escapes.

“Are you thinking about changing locations for your wedding?” another man’s voice says from a body I can’t see at this angle. “We’re set for one of the ballrooms, but my future wife heard there was an Alice in Wonderland–esque plot of land and sent me to check it out.”

Another sneeze attempts to ricochet out of me, so I press my hand hard to my mouth to muffle as much sound as possible, but it’s still audible enough. James and Sammy glance my way, but the deeper voice says, “Ah, squirrels roaming around here. Not the best wedding guests.”

The cheating couple’s attention is drawn away from my hiding spot, and I’d breathe a sigh of relief if I didn’t think it’d send me into another fit of sneezing.

“We heard the same,” James says easily, “but it’s not well maintained. We’ll be off now. You two enjoy your day.” He walks away without checking for Sammy, who follows close behind.

My nerves barely settle as the two men still remain.

“He’s right,” my unknowing savior tells his companion. “There’s no way the staff can do enough maintenance here to be ready for tomorrow. Tell your fiancée she’ll have to live out her wonderland dreams another way.”

“Well, had to try,” the other voice says.

The two walk off, and I wait as long as I can, nearly suffocating myself, measuring out enough time until they’ll be too far to hear me.

Just as my throat feels as if it’ll burst, I remove my hand, and a string of sneezes erupts from me.

Goddamn it, I must be allergic to something here. Great time to figure that out.

I wait until the sneezes slow, but something crawls along the back of my thigh, leaving a pinch of pain and heat in its trail. The sneezes rack my body as I free myself from under the bush of flowers. I mutter curses in between each one, pulling myself to a stand and straightening my dress.

For me, the video is enough. But will it be for Eliza and the people who align themselves with James? Jennie’s hunch went ignored, chalked up to two close friends with a bond that is inexplicable to people outside the bubble.

When it comes to the ones we love, we often can’t see what’s right in front of our faces. A curse of feeling too much and loving too much is that your sense of logic halves itself.

If I’d learned that lesson earlier in life, I wouldn’t have racked up two failed marriages, but that’s a conversation for my therapist . . . whenever I can afford one again. I need to regroup.

A sharp pinch burns into my arm, and I swat at the insect that hitched a ride on my skin. I’ll be finding welts, like the hives already spreading across my side, for days, but it’s fine—temporary pain for something bigger.

Every job I take gets me closer to what I’ve been working toward for years: buying into Save a Paw, the shelter where I started volunteering as a teenager.

The owner’s retiring soon, and I’ve got a narrow window to come up with my share before he hands it off to someone else.

I can’t let that happen. I’ve pictured myself owning part of that place since I was sixteen.

All these inconveniences will fade into forgotten memories soon.

First, I’ll shower and lather myself in lotion to help with the itching.

Then, I’ll check the Excel grid and see where else there’s an opportunity to catch the Birds—extra evidence wouldn’t hurt.

They’re meeting at night, so that’s something, but I’d like to have less risk involved.

Something might happen that means they can’t meet, or whatever evidence I gather won’t be enough.

I’ll try to force as many interactions as I can before the day is up.

“Should I call security?” A voice brushes over my skin, and I yelp, whirling around.

My body stalls. I stand there in shock, half because his rough five o’clock shadow and dark, windswept hair seem so out of place in the delicate richness of where we are. This resort is like a slice of heaven, and he looks like he just sauntered his way through a storm.