Slowly. Loudly. “One… two… three… four…”
By 20, a few heads turned.
By 50, people started giggling. By 80, an entire crowd had gathered. “Ninety-eight.
Ninety-nine. One hundred!” I slapped the last bill down with a flourish. “There you go, Em.
Payment complete.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Emily’s face went from porcelain white to tomato red. “Olivia!
What are you doing?”
“Just making sure I fulfill my financial obligations,” I said sweetly. “You wouldn’t want anyone thinking I skipped a payment.”
Even her groom, Robert, was fighting a losing battle with a smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly wishing he could vanish.
The rest of the evening was deliciously awkward. Guests whispered behind their napkins, a few even joking about “upgrading” their meal packages. Every time Emily walked past, people stifled laughter.
By the time dessert rolled around, the tension was so thick you could’ve sliced it with a butter knife. Emily had managed to plaster a smile on her face again, but I could tell she was barely holding it together. Every time someone chuckled or whispered, her jaw tightened.
I, on the other hand, was having a fabulous time. I’d eaten my “tier-approved” dinner, taken my “Sister’s Selfie,” and politely endured small talk with relatives who clearly thought I’d lost my mind. Tina and I were sipping champagne when the DJ announced the bouquet toss.
“Next up, ladies! The bride invites all unmarried women to join her for the bouquet toss!”
I nearly snorted into my glass. The bouquet toss was one of the “premium experiences” on Emily’s list.
I half-expected her to charge admission at the dance floor. But I wasn’t done yet. Oh no, the grand finale was still to come.
As the reception wound down and the guests began to gather for final speeches, I stood up, tapped my champagne glass with a fork, and cleared my throat. “Excuse me,” I said, raising my voice just enough to carry through the tent. “I need to speak to the vendor.”
The chatter died down.
Heads turned. Even the string quartet stopped mid-note. Emily froze, still holding her bouquet.
“Vendor?” she echoed, confused. “Yes,” I said brightly. “The one responsible for the wedding packages.
I have a few issues with my purchase.”
Tina nearly spit out her drink. Emily blinked. “Olivia, this is not the time—”
“Oh, but it is,” I interrupted, holding up my phone like I was reading off a customer service complaint.
“According to my Sister’s Selfie Package, I was promised a genuine smile from the bride. I regret to inform you, the smile was not delivered as advertised.”
A ripple of laughter broke out. I continued, pretending to check imaginary notes.
“Additionally, my dinner was cold, my chair wobbled, and my ‘engraved guestbook name’ appears to have been… misplaced. Therefore, I’d like to formally request a refund.”
That was it. The crowd lost it.
Laughter erupted across the tent. Even a few of the bridesmaids couldn’t hide their giggles. Someone shouted, “Give the lady her refund!”
Emily’s face was bright red.
“You’re ruining my wedding!” she hissed, gripping her bouquet like she wanted to throw that at me instead. “No, Emily,” I said calmly, setting my glass down. “You ruined it when you turned it into a cash grab.
You made love something to buy and sell. I just paid the bill.”
Robert, the groom, covered his face with one hand. “Emily,” he muttered, “maybe we should just—”
She spun on him.
“Don’t you dare side with her!”
Guests started whispering again, and not quietly. I caught snippets like, “Did she really charge for dinner seats?” and “My invite said $150 for a champagne upgrade!”
Emily’s own greed had come back to haunt her in front of every single person she wanted to impress. I gave a polite smile and added, “But don’t worry, sis.
I’m generous. You can keep the ones. Consider it a tip for poor service.”
More laughter.
Even Grandma June, sitting near the front, leaned over to whisper, “Finally, someone gave that girl a dose of reality.”
Emily stormed off, her veil flying behind her. Robert trailed after her, looking equal parts embarrassed and relieved. My parents looked horrified, mouths tight, eyes darting between me and the guests as if deciding which of us they were more ashamed of.
I sat back down beside Tina, heart still pounding but weirdly light. “That,” Tina whispered, still laughing, “was legendary. You know this is going to end up on the internet, right?”
“Oh, it already is,” I said, glancing at her phone.
She’d been recording the whole thing. By morning, the clip had hit social media. Someone posted it under the caption “Sister Requests Refund at Pay-to-Play Wedding”.
Within hours, it went viral. Thousands of comments poured in. Half cheering, half in disbelief.
“She deserved that refund.”
“Who sells selfies at their own wedding?”
“I’d pay good money to see that bride’s face.”
Emily’s little “luxury event” had turned into a global punchline. She called me two days later and screamed through the phone. “You humiliated me, Olivia!
How dare you! Do you have any idea how many people saw that video?”
“Yes,” I said evenly. “And maybe now they’ll think twice before monetizing their relatives.”
“You’re unbelievable,” she snapped and hung up.
My parents were furious for a while, too, insisting I “went too far.” But even they couldn’t ignore how ridiculous her stunt had been once Grandma June started retelling the story at every family gathering. “I always knew that girl would learn the hard way,” Grandma would say, sipping her tea. “Bless Olivia for speeding up the process.”
A few weeks later, I got a small envelope in the mail with no return address.
But the handwriting was unmistakable. Inside was a single dollar bill and a note:
“Refund issued. Congratulations!
You finally got your money’s worth. — Emily.”
I laughed out loud. Maybe she was still angry, and maybe she’d finally learned something.
Either way, I got what I wanted. I got closure and a story worth every penny. Because if you treat your family like customers, don’t be shocked when they start asking for refunds.
And sometimes, the best way to teach someone about love and generosity… is to make them pay for it first.
