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It Happened at the Wedding

It Happened at the Wedding

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It Happened at the Wedding

4.5/5 (16 Bewertungen)
88 Seiten
1 Stunde
Aug 22, 2020


Live out the heart-soaring highs of wedding season with this collection of contemporary romance short stories...Romance blooms between old friends at a Halloween-themed wedding of pop culture lovers; a skeptical dressmaker learns to enjoy dancing with a partner she meets at a ceremony; a steely-hearted event caterer discovers that maybe weddings (and marriage) aren't so bad after all; an unfulfilled office worker and a wedding-crashing con man hit it off; and two former enemies become first friends, then lovers, at a long-time mutual friend's nuptials.
Featuring stories by Wendy Dalrymple, Lydia Westing, Rachel Bowdler, Riley E. Smith, and Rachel Bowdler.

Aug 22, 2020

Über den Autor

Wendy Dalrymple crafts highly consumable, short and sweet romances inspired by everyday people. When she’s not writing happily-ever-afters, you can find her camping with her family, painting (bad) wall art, and trying to grow as many pineapples as possible. Keep up with Wendy at!

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It Happened at the Wedding - Wendy Dalrymple


I Don’t Feel Like Dancing

by Lydia Westing

I make fairy tales happen for people every day, even on Mondays. Even on Mondays when I’m hungover. Honestly, it’s exhausting to live in one of the most special days of someone’s life every day.

The women I fit for wedding dresses are always glowing. They feel like they’ve accomplished something, won some long game that men and women have played since caveman times.

I didn’t want to design wedding dresses. I’ve never been a wedding person. Honestly, I wish I was bad at it. I wish it didn’t pay so well. I really do, because I don’t believe in marriage, I’m not sure I even believe in love.

Those glowing brides that come to see me often return in five or ten years, still glowing but needing a little more support stitched into their bodice this time. The weight of two point five souls brought into this world on their ribs.

Then in another couple of years, sometimes they’re back again with a twenty-two-year-old CrossFit instructor asking for a dress that’s young and funky. They’re healthy and happy and trying again, but why? Aren’t they exhausted?

I’m exhausted by men, and I’ve never even been married. My family likes to tell people that I’m married to my work, but that’s not even true. I have plenty of time to date, and I spend most of it watching Netflix instead.

Usually, I’ve avoided weddings at all costs unless one of my sisters is getting married. I have five, so it’s happened fairly often. But soon, it was down to me and my youngest sister Magdalene. I’d figured that once I got her wedding out of the way, I’d be wedding-free for a while at least.

I wasn’t that salty about having to attend Mags’s wedding. There was a time not so long ago when she and her girlfriend Vishi wouldn’t have been able to get married at all, let alone in the big blowout wedding Vishi’s parents were throwing. I was, however, not happy with the wedding job I’d been given.

Mags is twelve years younger than me, so we were never super close, and with three sisters plus friends to include in the bridal party, I was quickly booted out by the bridesmaid selection committee. They must have scrambled to find some helpful little task for me to do so I could be included in the festivities, and somehow what they landed on was selling tickets to dance with the brides.

It’s a cute, modern, tradition that’s replacing dancing for dollars at lots of high-end weddings. Guests pay a dollar apiece for raffle tickets, and each bridesmaid will draw one lucky winner towards the end of the night for a dance with them.

This wedding was also sort of a fundraiser to help Vishi and Mags start their new life together in Boston, where Vishi would be completing her residency in oncology. Mags had a nursing job at the same hospital Vishi would be working in. They were the very definition of the modern power couple. I was proud to be her sister.

So I was willing to be stuck on the dance floor all night, hocking tickets, but I refused to dance. That was where I drew the line. I just stood perfectly still, tickets in hand, waiting for the wedding guests to come to me.

Hey, Selena, do you think you could maybe dance a little bit while you’re selling the tickets? I think people are a little freaked out that you’re just standing there on the dance floor. Mags had snuck up behind me. She looked beautiful in the dress I had designed for her, of course. I still wasn’t going to dance.

That guy isn’t dancing either, I said, pointing to a man in a well-tailored navy blue suit and maroon tie.

Yeah, that’s Vishi’s brother Ram. He’s hopeless.

Well, when he dances, I’ll dance, I replied.

Someone tugged Mag’s shoulder, and she was swallowed into a crowd of excited aunts pummeling her with praise. I sold a few tickets to some of Vishi’s work friends before I felt a firm tap on my shoulder. It was Ram.

He was super cute up close, like a guy who could be in a car commercial; not for something luxurious, but something rugged where he was throwing logs around and wiping his brow a lot. His short dark hair had just the right amount of gel in it, and his beard was carefully close cut. The gorgeous sepia tone of his skin worked perfectly with the navy suit.

Why are you blowing up my spot with my sister? he said. His tone was gentle, mocking. I thought we had a good thing going, the two of us out here not dancing together.

I smiled, I’m sorry you were caught in the crossfire between my sister and me, I replied. I’m Selena, Mag’s sister. She made me stand here and sell these tickets, and I guess I’m now expected to also dance while I do it. Sorry, but I’m not that well-trained.

Vishi did the same thing. She told me to come out here and keep an eye on DJ. The guy they wanted to book backed out so they got this dude at the last minute and he’s a little more into the open bar than doing his job.

Well, maybe if we stand and talk, they’ll be less annoyed about us not dancing, I offered.

Vishi literally said to me it’s not called a talk floor.

I sighed, God, I wish it was.

Right, that would be way better than a dance floor. I’ll have to suggest it to one of my clients.

Oh, you make wedding dresses. I remember Vishi telling me that. You must be really into weddings, he said. This is an assumption plenty of people make, but I hate it every time.

No, I’m just really into being able to pay my rent. I would love to design streetwear, but if you don’t have a manufacturing infrastructure, it’s pretty much impossible to make a living that way. If you want to make it as a designer, you either have to make stuff rich people like or make things regular people are willing to spend a lot of money on, like wedding dresses. In practice, what I end up doing is making the same rich women dresses over and over again as they tear through new husbands like they go out of season with the dress.

Hm. So in a way, you and I are in the same business, he mused.

What do you do? I asked.

Divorce lawyer, he replied.

Shhh I cautioned. "Saying divorce at a

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