The wrong bride

Tatiana’s POV

‘This must be some kind of tasteless prank, right?’ I thought, trying to figure out how my name isn’t on the guest list of my best friend's bachelorette party.

I was about to ask the bouncer, whose large muscular build covered the only entrance to the party, to check the list again, but he cut me off before the words could leave my mouth.

“Young lady, don't even think of asking me to check the guest list. Your name isn’t on it. Just go away, please.”

I blinked up at him, detecting some sass in his tone, which seemed out of place coming from a man this huge. Just then the entrance door opened a little, and loud techno music poured out from the tiny space. And it just made me wish I was inside with Lena, dancing and drinking, instead of standing here staring at this bouncer’s pissed-off face.

“Sir, can you just check the list again?” I asked, trying real hard not to lose it.  “Or at least ask Lena Hartwell. She is the celebrant of this party, and I’m her best."

The bouncer cut me off again, which had me boiling. “It doesn’t matter who you claim to be. If you’re not on the list, I can’t let you in. Please take your cheap-ass self out of here.”

“I’m Lena’s best friend, you sassy queen,” I yelled before I could stop myself. “She would want me here. Just tell her Tatiana Romanoff is outside.”

He looked down at me, his nose flared. “I am not disrupting the party because of some lowlife. Get the hell out of here, or I will make you.”  There was this finality in his tone that made me wish I was from a rich family and not a lowlife like he just called me. Someone who can afford to buy designer clothes and not go broke. The smug expression on his face only added salt to injury.

I opened my mouth to plead with him, but then, what was the point?

And then it hit me: of course I wasn’t on the guest list; the party was being thrown by Camilla Westbrook, Lena’s stuck-up friend from boarding school. Camilla is the worst rich person I have ever met. From the very second Lena introduced us, she hated me instantly.

Feeling defeated, I turned around to leave.

Just then I heard the door open, and a familiar voice cut through the beat of the music:

“Tatiana?”

I turned and saw Lena standing by the doorway, in a satin slip dress that definitely cost more than my rent. Her hair was pinned in effortless waves, her makeup was done perfectly.For someone who was supposed to be getting married to one of the richest, most sought-after men in the city, her eyes looked dull, almost dead, and it made my stomach twist.

“Why didn’t you text me?” she said, squeezing me in this hug that felt tighter than usual.

“You’re freezing. Wait! Have you been out here for long?”

“My phone died, and that sassy giant over there wouldn’t let me in,” I said, staring at the bouncer who began fidgeting behind Lena. “He said I wasn’t on the list.”

Lena’s face darkened as she turned back to face him. At that moment, Camilla came outside, a glass of champagne in one hand, with a smile on her face that quickly died out like a candlelight in the wind when she saw me and Lena.

“I asked you to add her name,” Lena said. “Why did you not do that?”

Camilla blinked, obviously trying to come up with an excuse for her deliberate actions. “Oh no! I must have forgotten. I hope the bouncer didn't give you any trouble? I must’ve… God, that’s my bad. This is purely a mistake, babe.”

Lena’s tone went cold. “Don’t do that again.”

“Of course not. I promise,” Camilla said, but I saw through it.

Lena slipped her arm through mine and ushered me inside before I could say a word. I caught the way Camilla’s eyes lingered on me; she was pissed off and I loved it

***********

The second half of the night turned out great. I hate Camilla, but she sure knows how to throw a party. The champagne never stopped flowing, and the music had everyone dancing, even me.

But even as I tried to enjoy myself and forget my interaction with the bouncer, I couldn’t.

Because Lena didn't seem like her normal self.

She danced, laughed, and posed for photos, but she wasn’t fooling me at all. She wasn’t the girl who used to get drunk with me in our pajamas and paint on the huge canvas in her room. Not the friend who snorted when she laughed and always went barefoot no matter where we were.

This version of her was lifeless.

I watched her clink glasses with all of us, and we all giggled about how lucky she was to be getting married to Andrew Steele, one of the richest men in the country. Everybody else was grinning and raising their glasses, but I saw it. Her smile didn’t touch her eyes. Those blue eyes looked empty, and she kept sneaking glances at the door like she was waiting for somebody, anybody, to walk in and pull her out of this mess.

‘What is going on with her?’ I pondered.

So I went after her when she ducked off to the bathroom. She was just standing there, staring at herself in the mirror, both hands pressed on the counter like she needed it to stay upright.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She jumped, then forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… a little tipsy.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve had one drink all night.” I crossed my arms. “You’ve been weird since I got here. Actually, you’ve been weird for weeks now, but tonight is way worse.”

She didn’t say a word.

“Lena,” I said gently, stepping closer. “Do you even want to get married?”

That made her laugh, but it was a brittle, hollow sound.

“You think I’d be at this party if I didn’t?”

“Yes,” I said simply. “If someone like Camilla threw it for you, and you didn’t know how to say no.”

Her eyes flicked to mine. Something trembled there, something fragile and buried. But it vanished just as quickly.

“I’m fine, Tatiana. Really, there's nothing to worry about.”

I wanted to believe her, but I couldn’t. I just couldn't.

Her face and demeanor didn't convince me not to worry.

We went back to the party, and somebody stood up with a glass, making a toast to Lena and Andrew’s “bright future.” I forced myself to clap at the right time, but every word made my stomach twist.

By midnight half the room were drunk, slurring congratulations, and couples were slow dancing under the lights. I just stood off to the side, glass empty, watching Lena spin around with some cousin she didn’t even know that well, her smile barely hanging on.

She looked like she wanted to disappear.

When the music finally quieted and the rooftop started emptying out, I walked her to this hotel down the street. She’d booked a suite already, like she knew she might not wanna go home tonight. That was Lena, always planning for the what-ifs, always a step ahead.

It’s one of the things I loved about her.

She pulled me into one last hug, long and tight, as we got to the front door of her suite.

“I’m glad you came,” she said into my ear.

“I almost didn’t make it,” I replied. “Your stuck-up friend tried to keep me out, remember?”

“I’ll handle Camilla,” she muttered. “She’s just,”

“A bitch?” I offered.

Lena laughed, but it caught in her throat. “Yeah.”

I wanted to say more. I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, scream that something was wrong, that she didn’t have to marry Andrew Steele if she didn’t want to.

But I didn’t.

Like a coward, I let her go.

I watched the elevator doors close behind her, my heart aching in a way I couldn’t explain.

************

The next morning at the gallery, the smell of coffee and wet paint hit me the second I walked in. It stuck in my nose, the kind of smell I’d gotten so used to it felt like part of me now.

“Tatiana,” Manuel, my colleague and only male friend, says as he walks in with a pretzel and a raised eyebrow, “you look like you didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. “You look great as always.”

He laughed and twirled. “Thank you. So… how bad was the party?”

I start to say it was fine, but then I remember the uncertainty in Lena’s eyes and how lifeless she was, and I let the truth slip out.

“It was bad, but I don't want to get into it.”

He nods, chewing. “Rich people are exhausting.”

We spent the whole day dragging paintings from one wall to another, acting like we didn’t see those fake art people walking around, judging everything except the actual art. I kept grabbing my phone every few minutes like some obsessed idiot, waiting for a text from Lena. She goes quiet sometimes when she’s stressed, but this… this felt off.

By the time we closed and I got no text from her, I knew something was wrong.

I was locking up when my phone rang. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the name on the screen.

Eleanor Hartwell. She had never called me before; I only saved her number in case I needed to call her as it regards her daughter.

“Tatiana?” Her voice is tight and shaking. “Have you seen Lena?”

“What? No, I left her at the party. Why?”

“She’s missing. She didn't come home. Her phone’s off. The hotel cameras show her leaving alone after midnight, and then nothing. No one’s seen her. Andrew is furious. The wedding’s tomorrow. Tatiana, please. You’re her best friend. Where is my daughter?”

The world spins.

I grip the doorframe. My hands are cold.

“I… I don’t know,” I whisper.