In a slinky white rehearsal dress with a slit up to her thigh and enough rhinestones to blind a crowd. She moves with theatrical slowness, as if each step deserves applause. On her arm, there’s some poor groomsman who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
My throat tightens. I flip through the schedule. Nowhere... nowhere is she listed as part of the wedding party.
I cross to Meredith, who’s blinking rapidly. She mouths “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I’ve got it.”
Meredith comes closer and whispers, “She just showed up. Something about my dad owing a favor or something. Political crap. I didn’t ask for this.”
“You don’t need to explain,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”
And I will.
I make my way to Cassandra, keeping my expression cool and unreadable.
“Cassandra. I wasn’t aware you were joining the processional today.”
She smiles like she’s posing for a fragrance ad. “Oh, didn’t Meredith tell you? Her father and my father go way back. He insisted. You know how it is. Politics.”
I nod once. “Ah. Of course.”
She loops her arm through the groomsman’s again and leans close enough to whisper — loudly — “It’s kind of tragic the bride didn’t ask me herself. But I’m used to being underestimated.”
It’s too early to explode. I breathe in through my nose, out through my teeth. “Let’s begin the run-through,” I announce to the crowd.
The first processional starts. Bridesmaids move down the aisle, coordinated, elegant. Meredith beams from the back.
Then Cassandra steps forward.
She slows to a glide, hips swaying, eyes locked on the non-existent cameras, her bouquet held like a scepter. She stops short, strikes a pose — a pose! — and flashes a smile that screams, This is my stage now!
Several guests cough awkwardly. One of the groomsmen actually mutters, “Yikes.”
Meredith’s face falls.
But Cassandra is oblivious.
“I just think we should rethink the formation,” Cassandra calls mid-walkthrough. “I look better on Meredith’s left side.”
Meredith’s grip on her bouquet tightens.
Then Cassandra winks at a photographer and says, “Make sure you get my good side.”
My clipboard shakes in my hand. I count to three. I shouldn’t cause a scene. I shouldn’t give anyone more to whisper about.
But this isn’t about me. It’s about Meredith. And I’ve let fear rule too many moments already.
Not today.
“Pause,” I say, stepping onto the grass with just enough command to freeze the scene. All heads turn toward me.
“I’d like to clarify something before we go further.” I look directly at Cassandra. “A rehearsal isn’t a fashion show. It’s not an audition. And it’s certainly not a moment to steal attention from the person whose day this is.”
She blinks at me, feigning confusion.
“This event is about Meredith,” I continue calmly. “Every person involved — family, friends, wedding party, staff — has one job: to help the bride shine. Not distract. Not compete. Support.”
Cassandra scoffs, waving a hand. “Don’t be so dramatic. I was just walking.”
