And her entourage of bridesmaids would agree. They’re all fluttering around her, spilling saccharine words at how wonderful she looks.
But while their words might be true, something about them is as genuine as imitation sugar.
“Kate, don’t you think that Victoria looks like an angel?” Tiffany asks me.
“Absolutely, her groom is a lucky man.” I walk over to where everyone is fawning over Victoria. A couple of birds sing sweetly in a nearby tree, not at all bothered by the high afternoon heat.
From the moment I joined Victoria and her bridesmaids at her parents’ mansion this morning, I’d been made to feel like an outsider.
I don’t think they meant to do it intentionally. They were just being themselves. I just didn’t notice it until now—until after I got to know people in Copper Creek.
“Could you please stop doing that?” Victoria says, tone as sharp as a rusty pitchfork. To my surprise, it’s directed at me.
“Doing what?”
“Limping.”
Scattered titters from the flock of bridesmaids set me slightly on edge. I do my best to ignore them. “I can’t help that I limp.”
“Sure you can. Just don’t do it. It’s as simple as that.”
One bridesmaid tosses me a sympathetic look and mouthsBridezilla.
The corners of my mouth twitch despite my attempts to fight off a grin. Victoria spots this with eagle-eyed clarity and directs her scowl to the flock of bridesmaids. The one in question flashes her an innocent expression, and it’s all I can do not to laugh.
Tiffany pushes her way through the flock to join me.
“She doesn’t seriously expect my limp to vanish just because she commanded it to be so, does she?” I ask my best friend, my voice low so Victoria can’t hear me.
“She just doesn’t want you to upstage her on her big day.”
“How would my limping possibly upstage her? I could understand it if I somehow managed to knock over one of the wedding cakes. But that would be me making a scene, not upstaging her.”
And then it hits me like two tons of horse manure. “She didn’t originally ask me to be a bridesmaid because I limp. True or false?”
Tiffany squirms.
Oh.
Wow, she must have really been desperate to have me fill in for the other bridesmaid.
What did the woman have? A common cold that made her look like Rudolf—and no matter what she did, her nose would be bright red for the wedding?
“Well, I’ll do my best not to limp.”
Tiffany gives me a small smile. “That’s all we’re asking.”
We?
The wedding planner steps outside like a May storm cloud with a clipboard. “All right, ladies. The handsome groom is eager to get started. Places, everyone.”
The flock squawks and rushes into position. Once we’re ready, the wedding planner says through her headset, “The bird is ready to roost. I repeat. The bird is ready to roost.” I barely keep from laughing out loud.
She opens the door, the music starts, and one by one, we’re directed to walk down the aisle.
Once upon a time, I loved to be the center of attention like most of my friends. We thrived on it. But now nerves pummel me like a tsunami at the thought of making a fool of myself and upsetting Victoria.
And right on cue, my leg stiffens. It doesn’t help that I have to wear stilettos like the rest of the bridesmaids. I used to live in shoes like that before the accident. But ever since then, I’ve had to avoid them because they’re too difficult for me to walk in. My balance is off-kilter in them because of my limp.
