I scanned some of the comments and there were haters who were using it as evidence that Sadie was a fake because she’d hired a bridesmaid and didn’t have real friends, and some of her true-blue fans were upset that Sadie’s life wasn’t as perfect as they’d imagined it to be. Someone had nicknamed me “the Bloody Bridesmaid” and that was how they referred to me.
Then I saw my name. Rachel Vinson, the Bloody Bridesmaid. Owner of Something Borrowed. Over and over again.
The video already had over half a million views, and I watched as the numbers continued to climb every few seconds.
This was so, so bad.
It was like everything inside me just emptied out, leaving me cold and numb. I had to apologize to Sadie the first chance I got and see what I could do to try to make things right. I recognized that realistically there wasn’t a whole lot, and despite my no-refund policy I could at least give back the fee she’d paid us as I’d failed so miserably in my duties.
But there was no time to deal with that right now, or how far it might have spread on social media. I gave Desiree back her phone. “We’ve got a wedding to fix. What’s going on?”
She pointed back at the church. “Listen.”
I could hear a woman screaming. “This is off-white when I very specifically said I wanted pure white bunting! Why is that so hard? You are literally ruining my wedding day!”
“It’s been like this for the last couple of weeks,” Desiree whispered to me. “Amber seemed so normal when we met her. But she’s turned into this frothing, rabid nightmare and I don’t even know what to do. No wonder none of her friends wanted to be a bridesmaid.”
“Her husband sounds like a lucky guy,” I murmured back, following her to the room where the bridal party was getting ready.
I was sorely lacking in my regular confidence but decided to do my best to fake it. My one hope was that muscle memory would take over and I’d find a way to soothe this bride.
We walked into the room where a very pretty redhead was still screaming about colors being wrong, but stopped short when she saw me. I waved to my employee Melissa, who was cowering in one of the corners and probably rethinking her decision in accepting employment with us.
“What are you doing here?” the bride asked.
Amber and I had never actually met; Desiree had set up this wedding. I was about to introduce myself when she held up one hand. “I don’t need you to say anything. I know exactly who you are. The Bloody Bridesmaid. You promised that nobody would know that I had to hire professional bridesmaids.”
I looked around at the wedding party, wanting to say that she was the one who had just revealed it. “Nobody did know.”
She made a buzzer sound. “Wrong! The entire world knows. There are a thousand different memes about you and the wedding you just botched and how you overcharged that other couple. I can’t believe you came here. Were you trying to humiliate me?”
“I’m sorry that—”
The bride stopped me. “I’m suing you for breach of contract. Take your bridesmaids and go. No one wants you here.”
I nodded to my employees, Desiree and Melissa grabbed their purses, and we made a hasty exit. There was no point in trying to argue with the very upset bride. Maybe if all the stuff with Sadie and her reception going viral hadn’t happened, I would have been able to find a way to talk Amber down. But I was doubting myself and my skills, and honestly, I didn’t see the point.
Especially when I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to my company and if I could fix things. My phone beeped again, with more texts. I glanced and saw that there were ten missed phone calls from my mother this morning alone. But I didn’t call her back. I had no idea what I would even say. To her or to anyone else.
I didn’t know how it was possible, but everything was so much worse than I’d initially imagined.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When I got home, I immediately started unpacking. The ritual of emptying out my bags, putting my stuff away, made me feel more like myself again.
Until I came across my bridesmaid dress. I sat down on the edge of my bed, half-heartedly wishing I’d tossed it in the trash when I’d had the chance. I ran my finger across the silky material, remembering why I hadn’t been able to do it then and why I wouldn’t do it now. I stuck it in my dry-cleaning bag, hoping they could get the bloodstains out.
I’d been operating at a no-feelings level, where I pushed everything aside and forged ahead with what I had to do, but that dress had made everything come rushing back and my sadness was like a weight crushing my chest, making it impossible for me to move or breathe.