sment.
I slow–clapped, drawing everyone’s attention. “Bravo! Let’s all congratulate the happy couple on their affair! What do you say, everyone?”
Dom stared at me in disbelief. In his mind, I should’ve been sobbing in the bridal
suite by now, not standing here calmly directing the circus.
The media had a field day. I’d made sure to invite entertainment reporters from every major outlet–TMZ, People, E! News–all supposedly to cover our “celebrity wedding.”
Cameras flashed non–stop as reporters shouted questions:
“Mr. Reid, what’s your relationship with actress Vanessa Taylor?”
“Is the baby vours? How long has the affair been going on?”
1/2
NOU Z JUI
@ 45%
12
“So it’s the mistress crashing the wedding! This is gold!”
“I always thought Vanessa Taylor was this feminist icon. Turns out she’s sleeping with her married boss? Talk about hypocritical!”
Vanessa suddenly realized things weren’t going according to plan. She switched to damage control mode, crying those perfect tears she’d perfected in acting class. “Please, everyone, let me explain—”
“The homewrecker thinks she has the right to speak? Shameless!” shouted a veteran gossip columnist, flinging her champagne at Vanessa.
Bull’s eye—the pale champagne soaked through Vanessa’s white dress.
“No, you don’t understand,” she wailed, clinging to Dom. “Olivia is the intruder! Dom and I were in love since childhood. She manipulated him away from me. I’m the victim here!”
