Page 31
Story: Daddy's Naughty Bridesmaid
He grins. “Oh, sweetheart. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He takes my hand again, leading me off the dance floor like a man who has every intention of keeping every promise he just made.
And me? I follow, willingly. Because this time, I’m not walking into the unknown alone.
I’m walking into it with a Daddy who seesallof me and apparently is attracted to every inch.
As we walk off the dance floor, a commotion near the entrance to the ballroom catches my attention. Raised voices, a flash of movement, hotel security moving purposefully toward the disturbance. Professional instincts override personal distraction immediately. "Something's wrong," I tell Matt. "I need to check what's happening."
"I'll come with you."
Together we move toward the source of the disruption, my mind already calculating potential problems and solutions. I’ve dealt with intoxicated guests, vendor disputes, and medical issues requiring discrete intervention.
What I don't expect, what never enters my realm of possibilities, is the sight that greets us at the entrance to the ballroom: a slender blonde woman in a slightly rumpled cocktail dress arguing with hotel security, her voice rising with indignation.
"I'm not crashing! I'm Megan Roberts. I’m Catherine's best friend! This is absurd! I have every right to be here!"
My blood runs cold, professional panic setting in with crystalline clarity. Megan. Catherine'sactualbest friend and former maid of honor, whose confession of feelings for Greg created the vacancy I was hired to fill. The woman whose existence throws my entire presence here into question.
Beside me, I feel Matt go very still, his posture shifting subtly from relaxed to alert. Before I can decide how to handle this development, Catherine appears, her face draining of color as she spots her former friend.
"Megan? What are you doing here?"
Greg materializes at his new wife's side, his expression hardening as he recognizes the source of the disturbance. "You shouldn't be here," he says firmly. "You need to leave."
"I came to apologize!" Megan exclaims, her voice carrying despite security's attempts to usher her away discreetly. "To explain! You wouldn't answer my calls or texts, so what choice did I have?"
"Not showing up drunk at my wedding reception would have been a good start," Catherine replies, her voice tight with controlled anger. "This is completely inappropriate, Megan."
"Inappropriate?" Megan's laugh holds a bitter edge. "You know what's inappropriate? Replacing your best friend of fifteen years with—" her gaze lands on me, narrowing with recognition and resentment, "—with some hired stranger pretending to be your BFF! Yes, I know exactly who she is, Catherine. Aprofessional bridesmaid you found online when you decided to erase me from your life!"
The accusation lands like a physical blow, silence expanding in its wake as nearby guests process this unexpected drama. I maintain my professional expression through sheer force of will, though internally I'm calculating damage control scenarios with the detached efficiency that crisis situations tend to trigger in me.
Before I can decide how to respond, Matt steps forward, his voice carrying the calm authority that seems to come naturally to him in crisis situations.
"This is hardly the time or place for this conversation," he says, addressing the security staff rather than the principal players in the unfolding drama. "Perhaps we could move this discussion somewhere more private?"
Security nods in agreement and guides Megan towards a small room off the main ballroom. Catherine follows, visibly distressed, with Greg close behind, his expression a complex mixture of confusion and concern.
As I move to join them, Matt's hand catches my arm, his touch gentle but grounding.
"Do you want me there?" he asks quietly, his focus entirely on my needs.
The simple offer of support, the acknowledgment that this situation is professionally and personally challenging for me, creates a lump in my throat. "Yes," I admit, finding strength in honesty. "Please."
He nods once, his hand moving from my arm to the small of my back as we follow the others into the private room, his steady presence beside me more comforting than it has any right to be given how recently he's entered my life.
Inside the room, tension radiates from all parties. Megan perched on the edge of a chair looking simultaneously defiantand miserable, Catherine standing with arms crossed and posture rigid, Greg hovering beside his new wife with protective concern, hotel security positioned discreetly near the door.
"I think," Matt says into the awkward silence, "some explanations would be beneficial for everyone involved."
His calm statement serves as permission for the floodgates to open, Megan launching into a tearful, slightly disjointed explanation of her side of the story. She explains how her confession to Greg had been misinterpreted, how she'd been drunk and emotional after a bad breakup, how she never intended to create problems but simply needed to be honest with her friends.
"I didn't try to 'steal' Greg," she insists, looking pleadingly at Catherine. "I just... I was in a bad place, and I've always admired your relationship, and it came out all wrong. But cutting me out completely? Hiring someone to pretend to be your best friend?" Her voice breaks on the last words, genuine hurt evident beneath the indignation.
Catherine's rigid posture softens slightly, though wariness remains in her expression. "You told my fiancé—now husband—that you'd 'always had feelings for him' and 'wondered what might have happened if you'd met him first,'" she says, the words clearly painful to repeat. "Right before our wedding. What was I supposed to think?"
"That I was a mess! That I needed my best friend!" Megan wipes at her eyes, mascara smudging beneath her fingers. "Not that you'd replace me with—" she gestures toward me with a dismissive wave, "—with some fat stand-in."