3. Bridesmaid Duties
brIDESMAID DUTIES
Margot woke to the sound of soft breathing that wasn't her own.
For a disorienting moment, she didn't know where she was. The ceiling was unfamiliar, exposed beams instead of her apartment's smooth white, and there was warmth beside her, a presence she hadn't slept next to in years.
Then she remembered. The cottage. The wedding. Becca.
She turned her head carefully.
At some point during the night, Becca had migrated from her edge of the mattress to the center of the bed.
She was curled on her side, one arm flung across the divide between them, fingertips resting inches from Margot's pillow.
Her face was slack with sleep, curls wild against the white pillowcase.
She made small sounds, not quite snoring, just the soft rhythm of someone deeply unconscious.
She looked younger like this. Unguarded.
Margot studied her longer than she should have.
Last night kept replaying in her mind. Becca's fingertips on her arm, barely anything. Becca leaning in. Margot almost, almost meeting her.
I'm going to shower. We should sleep.
The words had come out on reflex, so deeply ingrained she hadn't noticed herself retreat. She'd stood under the hot water for twenty minutes, hands braced against the tile, trying to remember how to breathe.
This wasn't the plan. The plan was to survive Sophie's wedding without incident, execute her maid of honor duties with precision, and return to New York with her life intact.
The plan did not include developing feelings for a woman who wore cartoon croissant pajamas and looked at Margot like she could see through every wall Margot had ever built.
Walls get lonely.
Margot extracted herself from the bed without waking Becca.
She showered, applied her makeup with methodical precision, and selected her outfit for the day.
White linen pants, a soft blue blouse, sandals that were elegant but practical.
The bridesmaid breakfast was at nine, followed by spa activities: massages, facials, manicures in the wedding colors.
She was reviewing her binder at the small table in the sitting area when Becca emerged from the bedroom.
"Coffee," Becca groaned. "I need coffee. Is there coffee? Please tell me there's coffee."
"The venue has a café. Opens at eight."
Becca squinted at her through sleep-crusted eyes. "What time is it now?"
"Seven forty-five."
"God. How are you already dressed? How are you already conscious? Are you a vampire? Do you not require sleep?"
"I require sleep. I simply require less of it than most people."
"That's not normal." Becca shuffled toward the bathroom. "That's villain behavior. Villains are always the ones who don't need sleep."
The bathroom door closed.
Margot returned to her binder, but she was smiling. Just enough that she made herself stop.
The bridesmaid breakfast was held on the venue's main terrace: a sun-drenched space overlooking the vineyard. Sophie had assembled a bridal party of six: Margot as maid of honor, Becca and four other bridesmaids ranging from childhood friends to college roommates.
Margot knew them all, at least by name. She'd helped Sophie create the seating chart three months ago, had memorized the relevant details.
Priya was Sophie's roommate sophomore year, now a pediatrician in Chicago.
Lena was Sophie's former coworker, recently divorced.
Chen was Sophie's college friend, arrived yesterday from Seattle.
And Tanya was Sophie's neighbor from her first apartment in the city, the one who'd introduced her to Jamie.
They gathered around a long table laden with pastries and fruit and endless carafes of mimosas. Margot took a seat at the head, closest to Sophie, and pulled out her tablet to review the day's schedule.
Becca arrived late, of course, sliding into the empty chair beside Margot with a plate piled high with croissants.
"Sorry, sorry," she said. "Got distracted by the pastry selection. Their croissants are good. Not great, but good. The lamination could be tighter."
"You're critiquing the venue's breakfast pastries?"
"Occupational hazard." Becca bit into a croissant and made a face that was half appreciation, half judgment. "See? Good butter, but they didn't rest the dough long enough. You can tell by the—never mind, you don't care."
"I might care."
Becca looked at her, surprised. "Really?"
"Intellectual curiosity. I like understanding how things work."
"Okay, well." Becca brightened, launching into an explanation of laminated dough that involved hand gestures and butter temperatures and something called 'the fold count.' Margot followed along, genuinely interested, watching Becca's face light up as she talked about her work.
Sophie caught her eye from across the table and smiled knowingly.
Margot looked away.
The spa activities began after breakfast. The bridal party moved to the venue's spa building, a converted barn with treatment rooms and a relaxation lounge, and Margot took charge of herding six women through a series of appointments that had been meticulously scheduled weeks in advance.
"Priya, you're in room three for your massage. Lena, room four. Chen, you're doing the facial first, then switching with Tanya at eleven."
She consulted her tablet, moving through the logistics with the ease of someone who'd spent her career managing much more complicated operations. The women followed her directions without complaint. The pieces clicked into place, the day unfolding according to plan.
Becca, meanwhile, was being Becca.
She'd ended up in the relaxation lounge with Sophie and Priya, all three of them in fluffy robes, faces masked in some kind of green substance, laughing so hard that Margot could hear them from three rooms away.
"And then," Becca was saying when Margot passed by, "the entire cake collapsed. The entire thing. Five tiers of red velvet, just… puddle. On the floor. An hour before the ceremony."
"What did you do?" Priya asked.
"I rebuilt it. From scratch. In forty-five minutes. Smallest five-tier cake in history, more like three regular tiers stacked very aggressively, but it photographed fine. The bride never knew."
"You're a miracle worker," Sophie said.
"I'm a disaster manager. Big difference."
More laughter. Margot lingered in the doorway, watching.
This was what Becca did, Margot was discovering.
She collected people. Drew them in with her warmth and her stories and that smile that promised the world was friendlier than you thought.
Everyone in that room was leaning toward her, physically leaning, bodies curved in her direction like plants toward sunlight.
Margot had never been able to do that. Her connections were earned through competence, through reliability, through being useful. She didn't know how to simply be and have people gather around her.
She envied it. The ease of it. The way Becca took up space without apology.
Sophie noticed her in the doorway. "Margot! Come sit. Your massage isn't for another twenty minutes."
"I should check on the afternoon setup…"
"The afternoon setup is fine. Patricia has it handled. Come. Sit. Be human for a minute."
There was no graceful way to refuse. Margot entered the lounge and took a seat on one of the plush chairs. Immediately out of place among the robed, relaxed women.
Becca handed her a mimosa. "You look like you need this."
"I don't drink before noon."
"It's a spa day. The rules don't apply."
"Rules always apply."
Becca laughed, that full, warm sound. "God, you're exhausting. In a fascinating way. Like watching someone try to organize chaos."
"I don't try. I succeed."
"Of course you do." Becca's eyes were bright over the rim of her glass. "Sophie told me you made partner. That's a huge deal, right? Like, years of work?"
"Seven years."
"Seven years. Jesus. What did you have to sacrifice for that?"
The question landed harder than Becca probably intended. It settled in Margot's chest: the honest answer, the one she never said out loud.
Everything. I sacrificed everything. Sleep and relationships and the version of myself who knew how to be soft.
"Time, mostly," she said instead. "Weekends. Vacations."
"Worth it?"
She kept her face neutral. "It should be."
Becca tilted her head, considering. "That's not a yes."
Margot blinked once. "It's complicated."
"Most things are."
Sophie was studying them again, that knowing smile playing at her lips. Margot refused to look at her.
"I should check my emails," she said, standing. "The brief I mentioned…"
"It's your best friend's wedding weekend," Becca said. "The brief can wait."
"It really can't."
"Margot." Becca reached out, that same gesture from last night. Her fingertips brushed Margot's wrist. "The world won't fall apart if you take a day off. I promise."
The touch was light. Barely anything. And yet it registered everywhere.
She pulled her arm back. "Enjoy your facial."
She was out of the lounge before anyone could stop her.
Priya caught up with her at the water station in the hallway.
"Escaping?" She poured herself a glass without looking at Margot.
"Taking a break."
"Mmm." Priya took a sip. "Sophie talks about you constantly. I've been curious."
"About?"
"Whether you'd live up to the hype." She leaned against the wall, considering Margot the way Margot considered contracts—looking for the fine print. "Jury's still out."
Margot almost laughed. Priya had always been the quiet one in Sophie's college stories, the voice of reason while Sophie and Becca caused chaos. Apparently quiet didn't mean soft.
"Becca's not playing games with you, by the way." Priya said it matter-of-factly. "She doesn't know how. What you see is what you get."
"I didn't think—"
"I know. Just making sure you know too." Priya pushed off the wall. "You're harder to read than she is. But Sophie wouldn't love you this much if there wasn't something worth finding."
She was gone before Margot could figure out how to respond.