Page 13 of How to Ruin a Wedding

I shout, instinctively jumping away, but I lose balance and fall back—towardall the broken glass.

Arms grip my hips, pulling me back from the potential damage.

My savior yanks off his long blazer as he passes me, smacking it over the flame until it’s smothered. Once it is, he turns on his heel, and I freeze.

This close, nose to nose, my vision is good enough to make out a face. It’s the man from the garden.

Flashes of memory blink through my head in rapid clicks. Giggling as Anders pulled me away from making water angels in a fountain out in the gardens. Tossing french fries into each other’s mouths from way too far a distance to ever make it. Getting a piggyback ride through the halls. Fingers cupping my chin as Anders held a bottle of water to my dry lips.

“Anders!” I say at the same time he says, “Lucinda!”

Even with my haphazardly-put-together disguise, he recognized me.

My throat desperately needs a gallon of water. I tear my attention off him, and several people lift the arch while someone pulls the pastor up.

Most everyone is on their feet now, and it sounds like the beginning of a concert, with all the chatter and buzzing of movement. Anticipation is pounding through the bottoms of their shoes, causing the floor to shiver.

James is shouting at Eliza, gesturing toward me, screaming that he has no idea who I am. Eliza turns to face me, pulling up her dress and stomping over.

The veil catches around her face, and she yanks it away and snaps, “Whoareyou?”

With the veil and my lack of sight, I didn’t see her well enough, but this close, her features become clear. Her nose isn’t supposed to be as straight and pointed as it is right now. It’s supposed to be rounded, and lower. And her skin should be riddled with enough freckles, no amount of foundation could cover them all, unlike the tan, clear skin I see. Her lips should be thinner, her jaw rounder, not full and sharp.

I never understood the phrasetime stood still. Not for my two weddings, not when Taina got married and I walked her down the aisle, and not when I got my first client. Not until right now, when I realize thisisn’tthe best friend of the woman I ran the background check on. This bride isn’t Eliza.

I slap my hand to my mouth.

My thoughts all come too quickly yet too slowly. If I stop pressing my hand against my mouth, bile will spill from it.

How could this have happened?I’m sure this was the time for Eliza’s wedding. I triple checked the times and dates.

A shadow pours over me.

“Lucinda, what’s going on?” Anders asks, and somehow, he seems less accusatory and more concerned with my well-being. “You said this wasn’t the wedding.”

I swallow down a lump of bile. Every word that comes out stutters into something incoherent. I wonder if I can begin speaking Spanish and pretend I don’t understand a thing. Sure, they heard me speak fluent English already, but I can gaslight over fifty people. I’ve done it before.

The bride takes another step toward me. I move back into Anders’s body.

He waves a hand in my face. “Lucinda?”

Is it too late to pass out and hope everyone just leaves me to die?

“Oh my God,” I whisper, removing my hand from my mouth, speaking to the bride. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know your fiancé, this is—I’m just—” How the hell do you explain something like this? There are no words. I want to find the nearest body of water and fling myself into it. “I’m sorry.”

As fast as my feet will take me, I sprint down the aisle, ignoring all the stares and the shouts. My bad foot half drags as I push through the double doors. The other doorway is wide open when I make it to the opposite side of the hall.

People file out, smiling, chatting, forming two lines.

Eliza and herhusbandwalk through them, hand in hand. As I approach them, I can see that Jennie is dragging behind, a tight smile on her face as she follows the couple. Because I went to the wrong hall, and I didn’t stop her best friend’s doomed-to-fail marriage.

Oh God.

I keep moving until I’m at the end of one of the lines. James high-fives and fist-bumps the people as he goes, like a football player getting praised after a touchdown. Eliza presses kisses on cheeks, nods along the way, but coldly. Like the royals greeting people they consider peasants. Not like the great Princess Diana.

Then Jennie spots me.

Her green gown glides behind her, making her appear to float as she approaches. Her blond hair is pinned in a delicate bun, pearls like the ones sewed on to her gown clipped all around it. She looks absolutely stunning.