My Groom’s Mother Slapped Me at the Wedding, Not Realizing I Was the Bride

“Where is that incompetent girl?” she barked at no one in particular.

“The coordinator, the bride, anyone with half a brain.” I approached with my clipboard clutched like armor.

“Mrs. Blackthornne, I’m filling in for the coordinator. How can I help?”

She looked right through me—not at me, through me—like I was furniture.

“Finally, someone who might actually be useful. Unlike that gold digging nobody my son insists on marrying.” She laughed, and her friends tittered along like trained birds.

“I’ve been telling everyone she’s after the family money. Vietnamese, you know. They’re all looking for green cards and bank accounts.” My hands gripped the clipboard so tight I thought it might snap, but I kept my voice steady, professional.

“I’m sure your son loves her very much.”

“Love?” Victoria scoffed.

“Love doesn’t pay mortgages, dear. That’s why I’ve arranged a little surprise. Cassandra found out the girl has been stealing from Marcus already. We have proof—well, manufactured proof, but who’s going to question it when I present it during the ceremony?”

One of her friends, a woman with a face pulled so tight she looked permanently surprised, gasped with delight.

“Victoria, you’re so clever! But what if Marcus gets angry?”

“Oh, please. My son always comes back to mother. Always has, always will. Once he sees what kind of trash he almost married, he’ll thank me.”

I excused myself to the bathroom and texted Jenny everything. She responded with a string of emojis that would have made a sailor blush.

Then she added: “Cassandra is trying to seduce Tom right now, Marcus’ best man, in the coat closet.”

This was turning into a soap opera, and we hadn’t even started the ceremony yet. When I returned to the main hall, Victoria had moved on to showing her friends a list—an actual laminated list titled “Requirements for a Blackthornne Bride.”

It had items like “must have attended an Ivy League school” and “must be able to trace ancestry to the Mayflower.” And my personal favorite: “must know the difference between shrimp forks and oyster forks.”

I almost laughed—almost. Instead, I watched as she mistook one of the guests, a blonde woman in an expensive suit, for me and started her approach.

The poor woman looked confused as Victoria began grilling her about her intentions with Marcus. Playing the role of coordinator gave me a front-row seat to Victoria’s increasing desperation as the ceremony time approached.

She couldn’t understand why the bride hadn’t appeared yet. The blonde woman had fled after Victoria accused her of being a social climbing impostor, which, in fairness, was half-right, since she was an impostor, just not the one Victoria was looking for.

“Where is she?” Victoria hissed at me for the 10th time.

“The ceremony starts in 30 minutes.”

“I’ll check the bridal suite,” I offered, hiding my smile.

But first, I stopped by the coat closet where Jenny had reported the Cassandra situation. Sure enough, there she was, pressed against Tom like a discount romance novel cover, her hands where they definitely shouldn’t be on her brother’s best man.