Once dressed—the same sweats as the day before—I meandered down to the second floor to check on the staff's progress. I purposely avoided Violet's room, and texted Chi to meet me ASAP. Axel was on the phone, his tone grave, when I was ready; he'd gestured at me to go on without him, mouthing I'll be there in a bit.

Clutching my clipboard to my chest, my arms shaky, I entered the restaurant first, assuming it would be the best place to start. The staff had tables ready to transport to the ballroom after the ceremony, using the same cloths, candles, and flowers as the night before. I inspected the displays, spoke with the chef about rearrangements for the menu, and noticed the reserves of alcohol were lower than I'd hoped.

"I doubt we'd be able to get more bottles brought in from town, correct?" I jotted down a number on my paper as I conversed with the chef in French.

"You'll have to ask the boss," said the chef—a young woman with bright purple hair and tattoos covering her arms. Were I in any other mood, I'd have found her quite attractive and tempting; but I had too much on my plate to think about sex.

And in any case, whenever I did think about sex, my thoughts went straight to Axel.

With nothing else to do at the restaurant—as much as I wanted to tour the kitchens and look over the sous-chefs shoulders—I made my way to the ballroom, gritting my teeth as I pushed the doors open. I knew it'd be a mess. Though it had accommodated most guests fine for the cocktail party, I worried there wouldn't be enough space for all the wedding guests. If all the wedding guests could make it.

To my pleasant surprise, the hotel staff was in full gear. Chairs had been set up in the semi-circular pattern Violet had requested, but they were mismatching, I could tell. Though they were all covered in rose-gold draperies, I spotted the discrepancies and took large, soothing breaths as I moved on to the next issue: flowers. Or more like, the lack thereof.

"Most of them are in the restaurant, saved for the buffet after the ceremony," said one staff member, installing a makeshift cloth carpet to use as an aisle.

"We need most of them to be here for the ceremony," I said, gesturing at the areas where Violet and I had discussed rows of flowers. "If need be, we can hunt down more for later, but the ceremony is my focus for now."

The staff member acquiesced my command and flurried out of the ballroom.

I spotted the podium at the rear of the room, where the officiant would wed the bride and groom, and next to which the DJ booth was set up. We'd gotten lucky the equipment was being stored upstairs, but the DJ...was staying in town. And so was the officiant. So were the florist, the photographer, the videographer—

"Shit," I said, pulling out my phone and frantically searching for numbers I'd saved. "I need to get straight answers. Axel said they wouldn't make it, but I need to be positive. To know who can make it, who won't, who will try."

A flood of texts came in after I sent out all my messages. The DJ said he'd try his best to get in, as he had some contacts in town with access to the proper kind of vehicles. But the officiant was on the opposite end of the city, blocked in. The florist had their own damages to handle due to the flooding. And the photographer and videographer weren't picking up their phones.

I was on the verge of calling the local authorities to beg them for help as Axel arrived, still on the phone, parading into the room with the dignity and poise his position afforded him. He wore relaxed fitting jeans and a polo shirt, but carried himself as if he wore a designer suit with the most expensive loafers in the world.

He sighted me and, finishing his sentence, hung up the call as he approached me. "This is a shit-show," he said, low-voiced, his tone peppered with annoyance. "Volunteers are on their way, but the roads will take longer to clear than I'd expected. And that winding, isolated path to get here is partially flooded, like I suspected."

After sliding my phone back into my sweatpants' pocket, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "And we have no flowers, no photographer, no videographer. The DJ is a possibility, if they can find a truck, and the officiant is stuck in their own location. I haven't been able to reach hair and makeup, who were lodging on site, last I checked. But if they were partying with the rest of the crew last night..." I closed my eyes and inhaled, exhaled, before remembering something else. "Oh! And our alcohol reserves are scarily low. So, yes, this is indeed a shit-show."

Axel rubbed the back of his neck. "Well," he glanced at his phone, "great. I'm gonna have to call in some favors that I didn't want to." He swept his fingers across the screen and lifted the receiver to his ear. "Hold down the fort here. I have an idea, but it's going to take some coordination." He started to take off, before flipping around walking backwards. "Talk to Violet, would you? She texted me in a panic, because everyone is hungover or sick, and she doesn't have help getting ready."

I groaned, and began a text to Chi just as Chi showed up, slouching, wearing a pair of sweats quite similar to mine.

"Where the fuck have you been?" I snagged their wrist and dragged them out of the ballroom. "I messaged you ages ago to get down here and help me."

Chi winced. "Don't talk so loud."

"Wonderful," I said, nudging them towards the stairs up to the third floor. "You're hungover too, I presume?"

"Something like that." Chi took the steps as slowly as humanly feasible, making me reconsider my options.

"I need you," I grabbed Chi's shoulder, "to," I shook them, "wake the hell up. The makeup artist and hairdresser aren't answering their phones, and we need to start recruiting help from the hotel guests. I need you to go knock on doors, beg for assistance, offer payment—whatever is necessary."

"I can do makeup," they said, fighting a yawn. "Hair is a different story. Where is the hairdresser staying?"

I checked my clipboard, but of course, I hadn't grabbed information on room assignments in yesterday's chaos. "I'm not sure, but most likely down on the second floor. We also need," I cringed, "a DJ, an officiant, and anyone who has experience taking photos and filming and might have some professional equipment with them."

Chi's demeanor shifted into one of determination, their shoulders squaring as they cracked their knuckles. Despite the bags under their eyes, they gave me a nod of acknowledgment. "On it. But I'd better get a mimosa or fifteen if we ever pull this off."

I sneered at them as they sauntered off to start knocking on doors. It was nine o'clock, a more than appropriate time to disturb guests; and in any case, I was desperate and didn't care much about decency.

When I made it to the third floor bridal suite, Violet was pacing back and forth, and Maisie curled in a ball on the bed moaning about a migraine and a stomach ache. I didn't give a crap about her lamentations. I'd had enough of Maisie's selfishness, and threw Tylenol tablets at her, forcing her to down a big glass of water.

"Get your ass in gear and take care of the bride," I whispered to her, no longer caring about how the woman would perceive me. "Your role is to be there for her, and you've done nothing but be there for yourself."

Maisie's eyebrows lurched up and her jaw dropped, but I didn't bother to apologize—I was finished.

"And you," I softened my tone as I took Violet's hands in hers, "take deep breaths and brace yourself. Things are going to be different from all our plans, but your brother and I are working as hard as we can to make your wedding as beautiful as you'd envisioned. I'm so, so sorry."

Violet's eyes, loaded with tears, grew red and wide as she squeezed my hands. "You're not to blame for any of this," she sucked in a deep inhale, "bullshit. But it's a lot, it's a lot, and I can't stop hyperventilating, and my girls are useless—"

I narrowed my gaze. "I spoke with Maisie." I side-glared at Maisie, who was scrubbing her face and moaning in complaint. "And I'll go fetch your other girls as soon as I leave this room. You," I guided Violet to a seat by the window, with a view of the washed-up beach, "sit tight, rest, meditate. Chi will come do your makeup soon, and we're recruiting a hairdresser—"

"—recruiting?" Violet refused to sit down. "Where is my hairdresser? Where is my makeup girl?"

I chewed the insides of my cheeks. "Not answering their phones. I need to find back-ups, to be safe. I'm not sure how everything will go this afternoon, and I don't know what your brother is plotting...but you, you stay calm and let us handle everything."

True to her word, I pounded on the bridesmaids' room doors, demanding that they get up, get dressed, and go support Violet.

"You signed on to be her bridesmaids," I said, dragging one of them out from under the covers, "not her buddies going on a fancy French trip with her. You're here for her, to assist her, be there for her on her big day. And she needs you pretty badly right now. There was a storm last night, in case you forgot, and everything she had planned is no longer happening."

As I thundered across the hall, towards the groomsmen's suites, I nearly bumped into Reece. The poor boy was pallid, holding on to his abdomen as if he were about to puke, but was knocking on his friends' door with as much energy as he could muster.

"I got them," he said, motioning at the door, behind which I recalled the best man was staying. "How is she?"

I gulped. "Hyperventilating." Reece's face grew alarmed, but I set a hand to his arm and shook my head. "It's being taken care of, don't worry. I finally told her bi—" I stopped myself before she said bitchy, "told her friends that they needed to step in and do their jobs as bridesmaids."

Reece shrank in relief. "Thank you. Seriously, I wondered if anyone would ever put them in their place. They are," he smirked as he lowered his voice, "absolutely bitches."

Later, sitting on one of the lounge chairs near the stairs, I noticed fifteen missed calls on my phone, all from unknown numbers. Vendors, guests—they were leaving me voicemails informing me they wouldn't make it. That they'd try their best, but everything was blocked off and the hotel was too isolated and no one wanted to take the risk of getting them there.

My face overheated, a cold sweat accumulating on my neck. Needing a breath of fresh air, I crept towards the third floor balcony, avoiding Mr. and Mrs. White as they wandered about seeking some way to help, something to do to salvage the situation. They were too eager, and as much as I appreciated their efforts, I was too exhausted and stressed to listen to their nasally voices.

Outside, I drank in the fresh, cool air, the scent of rain still smeared over the grass, the sand. The patio was awash with water, some of it overflowing from the pool. Chairs and tables and parasols were drenched, but the morning sun blared down to hopefully dry them off. The gardens were soaked, but I noticed a slope upward towards the rear of the yard, keeping the water from going any further and damaging the edges of the property.

The damage wasn't as extensive as it could have been, but it was still a substantial amount to clean, to fix. Axel would have no trouble covering all the costs, but the stress of it all was getting to me more than it got to him. He was so calm as he went about reassigning staff, rearranging tasks; meanwhile I was bordering on a nervous breakdown.

And Violet. Poor Violet, the bride, who was spoiled and wealthy and tantrum-prone, but she didn't deserve this. She hadn't signed up for this. She'd made the mistake of surrounding herself with people who only cared about her money and status, and ditched her the second issues came up.

As I was about to reenter the hotel and track down Estelle, who'd been a great help with her sister in all the turmoil, a sound pricked my ears, causing me to turn to the balcony railing and look out towards the back-end of the property. A sound of rotating blades, like the chop-chop of a helicopter—and it came from beyond the slope I'd been fixated on moments before.

I vaguely remembered being told by a staff member that there was a helipad on the far right side of the area, belonging to the hotel, for flying tours of St. Tropez. And I watched as, sure enough, a helicopter lifted up from a spot I couldn't see, concealed behind clusters of trees. The machine soared to the left, then zoomed forward, becoming a tiny speck in the sky.

"What the fuck?" I squinted, wondering why the helicopter would be in use right now, when all the guests were stuck inside due to the flood. And also; how was anyone able to access it? Any pathways through the garden were flowing with a good inch of water. "Who the hell booked a tour under these circumstances? And why would Axel or anyone else working here allow it?"

I drew in a significant gulp of air before reentering the hotel and reanimating my never-ending headache.

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