Ivy never expects to be left out of her best friend’s wedding until she crashes it and learns the shocking truth. The groom? Someone she’s known all her life.
The betrayal?
Unforgivable. As her past collides with her present, Ivy must decide: walk away for good or confront the groom.
The first time someone mentioned Amber’s wedding, I laughed.
“Wait, Amber who?” I asked, sipping my coffee and being completely distracted by the huge slice of cheesecake in front of me.
The table went silent.
Four pairs of eyes blinked at me like I’d just confessed to murder.
“Are you serious, Ivy?” Lauren finally asked. “Amber Amber.
Our Amber.”
My stomach dipped.
“No, she would have told me.
Surely! You guys are just making fun of me!”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, almost knocking his coffee over.
“Ivy, she… she sent the invitations weeks ago.
Like almost a month,” he said.
I nearly dropped my coffee.
My invitation never came.
At first, I told myself it was a mistake. Maybe it got lost in the mail?
Or maybe she was waiting to tell me in person?
But it didn’t make sense!
When we were growing up, we always spoke about being each other’s bridesmaids… so what was this?
The weeks passed. More invitations were sent.
I saw some of my other friends posting on socials and tagging her, all excited that they were going to share Amber’s big day with her.
We can’t wait to celebrate you!
You’re going to be the most beautiful bride, Amber!
Bachelorette party!!
Dresses were bought.
“I got this beautiful midnight blue dress, Ives,” Lauren told me over the phone. “And my grandmother’s earrings will finish the look perfectly.
Have you decided what you’re going to wear?”
“Lauren, she still hasn’t invited me,” I said.
“So…”
I didn’t ask Amber why. I waited. And I gave her every opportunity to tell me.
But she never did.
Not even when we went to get our nails done.
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to spend time with her, but I wanted to see if she would tell me the truth. Or anything about her wedding, for that matter.
And if I’m being honest, I was so surprised that she had agreed to come with me.
“I’m going with a neutral nail,” Amber said, beaming at me.
When I glanced down at her hand, she wasn’t even wearing her engagement ring.
“Beautiful,” I said. “I’m going with a fiery red.”
What had I done to her that she was willing to keep this big secret from me?
Had I hurt her in any way?
Did she think that I was going to stop her wedding and run off with her groom?
What the hell?
But something wasn’t right, and I knew it deep down in my bones.
Amber was avoiding me, and I needed to know why.
So, on the day of the wedding, I crashed it.
I hadn’t spoken to Amber since that nail appointment, and not since the wedding talk was getting out of hand. She had even blocked me on socials, with Lauren sharing screenshots of her posts with me.
“Sorry, Ives,” she said one afternoon when we were sitting in the park and eating ice cream. “I don’t know what’s gotten into this girl.
Have you tried talking to her?”
“We got our nails done a few weeks ago,” I confessed.
“But I didn’t straight-out ask her. She wasn’t wearing a ring or anything.
I guess she really just doesn’t want me there.”
But now, I was standing in front of the venue, watching guests file inside, laughter bubbling on their lips and happy chatter filling the air. I felt so out of place.
I knew most of the people there.
Amber and I had been friends for so long that her family was also close to me.
She would have told me. She should have told me.
But why didn’t she?
I thought back to the last time we had spoken before there was any mention of a wedding, whether from our friends or Amber’s social media.
We had been at her apartment, sitting on the floor, splitting a bottle of wine between us. Wedding magazines were spread out between us, and I had circled a dress that I knew she would love.
She had been quiet that night.
Tense.
I had brushed it off, assuming she was stressed with work.
“Why do you have so many wedding magazines, anyway?” I had asked.
“Because it’s the next project I’m working on,” she said carefully. “Designing a wedding dress, and making it too.
If I get this right, Ivy, I’ll get more clients. I know it.”
Had she been lying?
Had she been planning her wedding then too?
Now, I replayed her expression, her hands gripping her wine glass a little too tight when I asked her questions about her own dream wedding dress.
It got even worse when I asked her about her dream groom.
“We’ve grown up from wanting movie stars as our grooms,” I laughed. “So, do you have a visual when you think about it?”
“You live in your head too much, Ivy,” she said, brushing me off.
I should have known then that something was wrong.
I didn’t sneak in like some dramatic movie scene. I just walked through the doors with an air of confidence, trying to make it seem like I was supposed to be there.
Even when I was deciding what to wear, I didn’t want to stand out.
I wanted to blend in, to just look beautiful enough for the occasion, but not to draw any attention.
The venue was stunning, all soft golden lights and elegant décor.
It was perfect. It had Amber’s stamp all over it.
She had poured herself into her wedding.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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