Vanessa’s million-dollar wedding was the only thing standing between me and foreclosure. She demanded perfection, but I never met the groom. Then the limousine arrived, the announcer welcomed “Adrian”… and my unemployed husband stepped out! Then the bride revealed the real reason she’d hired me.
At 12:04 a.m., the woman paying enough to save my house called to complain that her ivory napkins looked yellow.
I’d worked as an event planner for years, but I’d never encountered a bridezilla quite like Vanessa.
I closed my eyes.
“I’ll have three new options by morning.”
“Good. You know, if you make even one mistake, I’ll end your career,” Vanessa said sweetly.
I’d never encountered a bridezilla quite like Vanessa.
Upstairs, my unemployed husband was sleeping.
He’d had another job interview earlier that day.
Eight years of marriage.
Twelve years building a planning business from a folding table in a rented studio.
