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“I understand you are drunk and upset, but you will not talk to my girl like that,” Matt says, stepping forward.

“Your what?” Catherine asks before turning to me. “Did you seduce the best man?”

The accusation stings.

“No.” Matt says. “She did not. If anything, I seduced her. She was the epitome of professionalism and turned me down.”

“You know how stubborn Matt can be,” Greg says.

Throughout this exchange, I maintain careful neutrality, years of navigating wedding drama allowing me to project calm despite my central role in the conflict.

After a moment, Catherine turns to me, genuine regret in her expression. "I'm sorry you've been put in this position, Jackie. This isn't what I hired you for."

"Wedding dynamics are complex, and my role is to support you through whatever situations arise, including unexpected confrontations."

"I think," Matt says, addressing the room with quiet authority, "that what we have here is a situation where hurt feelings and miscommunications have created complications for everyone involved. Including," he adds with a significant glance at the security staff, "hotel personnel who are simply trying to maintain appropriate decorum at a wedding reception."

The gentle reminder that this drama is unfolding in the middle of what should be a joyous celebration seems to penetrate the emotional fog surrounding both Catherine and Megan.

"You're right," Catherine acknowledges, visibly collecting herself. "This isn't the time or place for this conversation." She turns to Megan with mixed emotions evident in her expression. "We need to talk but not tonight. Not in the middle of my wedding reception."

Megan's posture deflates slightly, belligerence giving way to resignation. "I just wanted to apologize," she says, voice smaller now. "To explain. To fix things."

"I know," Catherine says, softening further. "And we will talk. Soon. But right now..."

"Right now you should be celebrating with your husband," Megan finishes for her, a hint of her former role as supportive friend emerging through the drama. "I'll go. I'm sorry for crashing in like this. And I’m sorry for calling you fat. I’m feeling all the things seeing you stand where I was supposed to."

I accept her apology with a nod and security escorts Megan out through a side entrance. Catherine takes a moment to compose herself with Greg's supportive arm around her waist, before they return to enjoy the little time left of the reception.

As I prepare to return to the reception, Matt pulls me gently aside. "You okay?" he asks simply, his focus entirely on my wellbeing. The genuine concern in his voice and the prioritization of my emotional state creates a lump in my throat that makes speaking difficult. I nod, not trusting my voice immediately.

"Yes," I say. “I’m fine. I’m just about ready to go but…”

“But, first you have a job to finish," he completes for me, understanding evident in his expression. "I know, Sunshine. Go be brilliant at what you do. I'll be waiting when you're done."

"Thank you," I say simply, meaning it more than the words can convey.

When the reception finally concludes and the bride and groom depart amid sparklers and cheers, guests dispersing to their rooms or after-parties, vendors begin the careful breakdown of décor and equipment. I find myself momentarily alone in the partially dismantled ballroom, I realize my professional responsibilities are complete but my personal reckoning was still to come. Can I do this? Can I step out and take a chance on a Daddy of my own? Move from my books to real life? I think about RJ and Jess and how they definitely found their own fairytale Daddies… and I want that, too.

"You did it," comes Matt's voice from behind me, quiet in the relative emptiness of the space. "Perfect wedding,crisis managed, bride and groom departed happy. Professional bridesmaid mission accomplished."

I turn to find him leaning against a pillar, jacket discarded, tie loosened, looking both exhausted and alert in that particular way special events tend to leave people. "It's what I do," I say simply, too emotionally drained for pretense or deflection.

"You do it exceptionally well," he acknowledges. He studies me for a moment, those perceptive eyes taking in my appearance, my posture, my likely exhaustion after hours of emotional and professional high-wire acts. "My place or yours?" he asks finally.

"Yours," I decide after brief consideration. "There’s no one on the other side of the wall like in the hotel.”

He nods understanding, extending his hand in silent invitation. After a momentary hesitation, not reluctance but acknowledgment of the threshold I'm crossing, I place my hand in his, allowing him to lead me from the ballroom toward whatever conversation and consequences await us.

CHAPTER 9

Matt’s house is quiet when we arrive, dark except for the soft glow of a lamp near the entryway and the flicker of lightning bugs just beyond the porch. I toe off my heels near the door and sigh in relief as my feet touch the cool hardwood. Behind me, Matt locks the door with a firmclick, then steps in close.

“You still with me, Sunshine?” he murmurs, resting his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “More than I probably should be.”

His fingers slide down my arms before he turns me gently to face him. “No such thing as ‘should’ right now. Just you and me, being honest with each other.”