Page 78 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Yay!” Paige throws her arms around me. “Thank you. Thank you!”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” I pat Paige’s back before pulling away. “Wait. Dad will know I’m pretending to be the bride.”

“I’ll let him in on it.” Skye taps something into her phone. “And Zach. And the show’s producers.” She puts a finger up. “And we need to put out an announcement that Eva has food poisoning and will be missing the ceremony.”

“Swell.” I close my eyes.

“I’ll be up there with you, Eva. Skye and I will be your pit crew,” West offers.

“Great,” I say. “Thanks, West.” Of course he’s still here for me, like always.

But after everything, being my sister in her own wedding is going to be the end of me—I feel it.

40

Kat Out of the Bag

EVA

Since I’m now the coordinator and the bride, I have exactly negative fifty-three minutes left to make this happen, which means it’s impossible. I’m in the ballroom, knee-deep in a sea of peonies and place cards, orchestrating tonight’s wedding reception décor. My phone buzzes with a stream of texts from the florist asking if we’re aiming for “whimsical wonderland” or “Victorian charm.” I type back, “Whimsical wonderland,” and hit send before realizing that isn’t even a thing.

“Make sure Aunt Myrna is as far from the speakers as possible,” I remind the hotel staffer, pointing at the seating chart that’s been meticulously crafted. “Her hearing aids will pick up alien signals if we don’t.”

Juggling the chaos, I spot her—Kat. And she’s wearing the hotel’s house cleaning outfit! Worse, she’s keeping her face shielded from me as she’s speaking to the manager.

What the actual hell?

We all knew there was something up with her! I’ve got to tail her before she pulls off whatever wedding wrecking stunt she’s plotting.

“Okay, breathe,” I whisper to myself as I follow her out of the room. I’ve handled worse. Nothing can top last night’s rehearsal dinner, right? Except maybe whatever Kat is planning.

With my heart tap-dancing in my chest, I trail her, hell-bent on catching this bitch who’s sabotaging all the hard work that’s gone into this wedding.

I whip out my phone, and with fingers flying over the screen, I punch “MARSHMALLOW” to West. Then I add a few extra “MARSHMALLOWS” to drive home the point.

Seconds tick by, each one dragging longer than the last. Then my phone buzzes. West’s reply is swift: “On my way. What’s up?”

“Tell Skye. Kat’s disguised as hotel staff,” I text back, watching her disappear around a corner.

My sneakers squeak on that damn marble floor as I follow her from a safe distance. She’s got no stealth—overly cautious head turns, unnecessary tiptoeing. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so damned worrying.

She slips through a door marked “Staff Only.”

Not that I didn’t know this already, but Kat’s up to no good. Maybe for this evening’s wedding, she’s upgrading her sabotaging game to have Paige—now me—attacked by pigeons. Or have me stand in a sinkhole!

God, if she causes me bodily injury, I will go after her. I update West on our location, and relief floods me as I see him striding toward me, Skye behind him.

They both shoot me wide-eyed looks, and we watch as Kat punches the down key on a staff elevator.

Shit! Skye nods toward the stairwell, and we follow her through the door and down the set of creepy cement stairs.

“What is she doing?” West whispers.

“The utilities are down here,” I say. “I bet she’s going to mess with the air conditioner!”

We step out of the stairwell just as the elevator dings and Kat steps out. Bingo.

We skulk after her, making our way down the dark corridor. The air grows cooler, damper, reminding us that we’re deep in the bowels of the hotel now.

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