Page 4 of The Wedding Wrecker

"The fact that you say it with that weird emphasis like it’s a holic relic is concerning. I can almosthearthe capital letters.”

"I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!" Maggie's voice turned serious. "How are you really doing? And don't give me the 'I'm fine' bullshit."

I sighed, leaning against a stone wall. "Honestly? I'm terrified. This is a massive wedding. The venue is incredible. The couple is gorgeous. Everything needs to be perfect."

"You always make everything perfect."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done in a castle that apparently rearranges itself when I'm not looking." I pushed off the wall and continued my search. "I swear I've passed this same suit of armor four times."

"Maybe it's following you."

"Not helping." I checked my watch, then gave the suit of armor a nervous look over my shoulder. "Look, I need to find the west tower before I lose the light. Apparently, there's this amazing view of the sunset that would be perfect for?—"

"For the Golden Hour shots, I know." Maggie sighed dramatically. "You're hopeless. A total wedding junkie."

"Says the woman who cried at a toilet paper commercial because the puppy was 'wearing a tiny bow tie like a little gentleman.'"

"That puppy was adorable and you know it."

I rounded another corner, hoping to see something—anything—familiar. "I might be lost."

"Might be?"

"Okay, I'm definitely lost. And I really have to pee."

"Of course you do. You always have to pee when you're lost."

"It's a nervous bladder thing!" I protested, then lowered my voice as the sound echoed off the stone walls. "Oh god, what if I can't find my way back? What if I have to live in this castle forever, surviving off of tourist water bottles and wedding mints?"

"Emma."

"I'll become a legend. The Phantom of the Wedding. Haunting halls with my fantastic, minty breath and critiquing flower arrangements?—"

"Emma!"

"What?"

"Stop catastrophizing and find a bathroom. You always think better with an empty bladder."

She had a point. "Fine. But if I'm not back to civilization in twenty minutes, send a search party. With snacks."

"Deal. Love you, crazy."

"Love you too."

I hung up and surveyed my surroundings. The castle's corridors stretched out in three directions, each one looking equally medieval and impossible to navigate.

That's when I saw it—a small wooden sign with a universal stick figure that had never looked so beautiful.

I broke into what could generously be called a jog, my camera bag bouncing against my hip as I followed the signs. When I finally reached the bathroom, I nearly cried.

Out of order.

"No, no, no," I muttered, doing what my sister calls the 'pee pee dance.' "This isn't happening."

Then I saw it—the men's room. I glanced around. I pushed open the door, my bravery fueled only by how badly I needed to pee.

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