Page 27 of Wedding Wrecker

We start searching, but booze is nowhere to be seen.

Kayla groans in frustration as precious minutes pass. “Fuck. Maybe we could use the fountain pen?” she points to the desk, but we both freeze at the sound of fast approaching steps.

“Shit,” Kayla mutters before shoving me back, toward a white door. We burst into a large bathroom with a fancy claw-legged tub, and just as Kayla pushes the door almost shut, the door of the suite opens to a loud gaggle of women talking.

“I know, I’m so nervous I should start drinking the vintage soon,” Madison says, and while I can’t see her from where I’m scooting, I would recognize her high-pitched, somewhat nasal, voice anywhere.

“No, you can’t come! Wait downstairs, or maybe just start doing your makeup. I’ll call you,” she says to someone. “Holden will be doing a special pre-wedding photoshoot for me. No one disturb us, or I’ll lose my focus!”

I roll my eyes. Great, just great. I can only hope the photoshoot doesn’t include photos in the bathtub. I take in the large ensuite where we’ve hidden and note that it comes with an open balcony. If push comes to shove, we could hide there and wait until they’re done in the main room.

Kayla scowls at me from behind the tub, but we can either wait or give up and reveal our presence, acting as if we came by for some non-nefarious reason. I weigh both of those possibilities in my mind as the door of the suite clicks, but my thoughts come to an abrupt halt when Holden speaks.

“Thought we’d never get rid of them.”

Madison lets out a chuckle, and I hear a fast rustle of skirts. “Oh, please, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Pretty sure I’ve seen everything that counts.”

She giggles, and a piece of furniture scrapes across the floor in the main room. “Does that mean you don’t care to see it again?”

Kayla makes wide eyes at me, and I can’t believe my ears either when I hear what has to be a kiss.

“Oh, fuck, Madison… I want to see your pussy at least three times a day…” Holden says in a lower voice.

“That can be arranged. I’m in the city a lot,” she murmurs as furniture creaks under someone’s weight.

My head is throbbing with the heat of this discovery.

I guess we really aren’t the villains of this story after all. The bride and groom deserve each other. So much for Madison having a low libido.

I position my phone at the tiny opening left between the door and its frame, and the image of Holden leaning over Madison on the daybed leaves nothing to the imagination. She’s got her arms around his neck, they’re kissing, and his hand is already under her skirt.

I snap a few photos, unsure yet what exactly I should do with them, but I’m going numb.

The world is a place full of selfish assholes. As much as I love Kayla, she did string me along, so did my most recent ex, and even the couple we’ve all gathered to celebrate lack the spines to be honest about their true intentions. They are both just using one another to start a stable family that they can then step out of in secret, and have affairs while maintaining the palatable image of the perfect young couple.

I’m sure Kyle believes that he can stick by his wife and bury his true feelings so deep they’ll never resurface, but he’s lying to himself. And Madison? Selfish as she is, she doesn’t even need to do that. She gets everything she wants in life, and this wedding is no different.

I guess we don’t need to ruin her dresses, but all my scruples toward her evaporate. I was so angry when I found out Kyle made me complicit in his affair, but even that weight has now dropped from my shoulders.

If anything, it’s nice to be back in the comfort of my cynicism, as the development with Madison is confirming everything I believe about relationships. They’re filled with lies. If this is what Kyle wants to sign up for, it’s no longer my business to stop him.

Kayla covers her mouth when we hear Madison moan, and it’s painfully obvious that we can’t pretend our presence here is accidental anymore—we’ve seen and heard too much. When my gaze drifts to the balcony, Kayla shakes her head, but I move outside anyway, because we’re only on the second floor, so there should be a safe way to escape unseen.

I flinch when music starts in the main room, but it should mask what little noise I make so I approach the stone balustrade and glance at the gardens. There’s a stretch of cut grass right below.

I feel like I’m in a disastrous spy movie, and the photos on my phone burn me through my pocket, but with no one in the gardens to spot us, I decide to move first.

“I’ll catch you,” I whisper to Kayla as I put my leg over the balustrade.

I’m tall, so while jumping down might leave my shins aching, lowering myself off the ledge first, isn’t all that hard. All the pull-ups I’ve done come in handy as I hold on to the balustrade, my legs dangling in the air.

And then I let go.

The fall is clumsy, but I’m fine. Nothing broken or twisted.

When I look up at Kayla, I notice she’s filming me and barely holding back her laughter.