Before I knew it, my wedding day had arrived. I hoped someday my real wedding day would be as perfect. Warm, but with a light breeze. The flowers arrived on time and were lovely, the caterer had my menu under control, the photographer couldn't get over how sublime the light was hitting my bridal party. And I looked beautiful. It sounds immodest, I know, but truly, people couldn't take their eyes off me.

Everything was perfect. Famous last words.

I floated through the ceremony in a dreamlike state, until the minister said the traditional line: "If any person objects to the union of this man and this woman, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." Half a heartbeat didn't go by before an old man stood at the opposite end of the aisle and hollered, "Stop!" with all the vehemence of a judge, jury, and executioner. For a moment it was quiet enough to hear the grapes growing on the vines around us. And then it really hit the fan.

A panting, wrinkled woman who I knew to be Alistair's grandmother, rushed from behind him and charged me. "Give me my ring back, you floozy!" She was surprisingly strong and twisted my ring finger like it was a jammed doorknob. I whacked her with my bouquet and screamed for Alistair. "Get your bat-shit crazy grandma OFF me!" He reached for her, but far too gently. When I looked at him to encourage more muscle, my eyes landed on Jake. Alistair's best man. My boyfriend.

He was bent in half like a flimsy piece of paper, laughing. And I knew. My fist went limp, allowing the old hag to slip the massive ring off my finger. She waved it in my face. "Shame on you! Shame!" She stormed back down the aisle, replaced by her husband and a flock of other Winchesters, in attack formation. Alistair stepped behind me. Coward.

Jake stepped up to deliver the blow. "Oh man," he began, "you should see your face!" He stuck his finger in my perfectly made-up face, howling like a coyote over its kill. "And yours!" He shoved me aside to reveal Alistair, whose ears were red little flames jutting out from his extremely pale face. "You two thought I'd just sit back and let you make bank? It was all, 'Jake, make dinner! Jake, give Macaroni her enema! Jake, kiss my hairy ass!' Well, Jake's freakin' fed up with you. You think you're the only one who needs money, Payton? I have bills too. And a little dignity left, believe it or not. All it took was one quick phone call to the esteemed Mr. and Mrs. Winchester." He paused to exchange a respectful nod with Alistair's grandparents.

"Naturally they didn't want to believe their grandson would dupe them like this, so we had to go on with the wedding to prove you were one-hundred percent committed to screwing them over."

Mrs. Winchester, ring back on her finger as though it never left, interjected. "I should have known the moment you kicked our Cleo!"

Confusion must have played across my face because she yelled, "Cleo is our dog!"

Murmurs danced over the crowd, "She doesn't even know the dog's name?" "Seems like she'd know Cleo!" "How can she not know Cleo?" Good grief. A stupid name for a stupid dog, if you ask me.

His grandfather continued, "As it turns out, Jake is a bright young man and a solid negotiator." He beamed at Jake, while Alistair stood with his stupid mouth hanging open. "As a reward for his very helpful information, he will receive half of your trust effective immediately, Alistair." Alistair whimpered, but his grandfather continued, "But we aren't monsters, Alistair. We understand you were under a villainous influence." The entire guest list glared at me. "So, you will be eligible for the other half of your trust in fifteen years. Perhaps by then you will be mature enough to handle the financial responsibility."

The harpist struck a series of evil sounding chords. Cheeky, I thought, but it snapped me out of inertia. "No!" I cried. "No! You're.... mistaken. I love Alistair. I love him." Maybe we could still make Jake out to be the liar. I followed the crowd's eyes to Alistair's face. It was twisted as though the very thought of us being in love knotted his bowels. Charming. Thanks for the help, Groom.

"Is he telling the truth?!" I accused Alistair. "Did you really use me to get to your trust fund?!" Alistair moved from gastrointestinal face to dumb-as-a-slab-of-wood face. "I didn't know anything about this!" I cried to his grandparents. "I wasn't in on any scheme!" Nobody looked like they were buying what I was selling.

"Let her have it," Mrs. Winchester said with a sigh. If a sigh could sound delighted.

"Sorry Pay-Pay. But the cat's out of the bag." Jake cackled as he reached for Macaroni, who was lounging at the feet of the flower girl. He removed her glorious collar and plucked a diamond off. Except it wasn't a diamond. He pressed it and to my horror my voice screeched out of it. The crowd could not have been quieter. As much as I loved the sunshine and light breeze before, I hated it now. A thunderstorm straight from the depths of hell would have served me much better today. Instead, all that thundered was my voice through the faux diamond.

"I splurged on a new collar for you, 'Roni! It looks like we're actually going to pull this off! It turns out just because people are rich, doesn't mean they're smart. I have to tell you the old Mr. and Mrs. Winchester are practically senile and they smell like band-aids. Are you judging me, Macaroni? Listen, I deserve that money. Do you know how much I have to put up with? I get calls every day with opinions on the food, the seating chart, the cake topper... And don't even get me started on their disgusting dog! It's the nastiest butt-licker I've ever seen. It's so ugly somebody needs to put it out of its misery and honestly Macaroni? I'd be happy to volunteer."

When my rant finally ended every wedding guest looked ready to strangle me with my own veil. "This whole thing wasn't even my idea!" I said, but I sounded whiny, even to myself. "Okay, fine! I won't marry Alistair! You guys win!" I choked on a little sob that came with the remembrance of my enormous debt.

Except Jake wasn't done with me yet. He stepped within an inch of my face. It occurred to me he was extremely handsome when he was being devious. "Time to pay, Pay-Pay," he growled. He whirled around to the crowd. "I don't think she should get off scot-free, do you?" He prodded the crowd. If I didn't know better, I'd say Jake was charismatic in this moment. Where was this take charge attitude the past several years?! Cooked pasta had more backbone than the Jake I knew! What was happening?

Jake roused the guests like a receiver playing to the fans after a touchdown. If pitchforks were our party favors, they'd be an official mob. But rather than pitchforks, they had... cake?

While I was busy back-pedaling my story and marveling at Jake's sudden chutzpah, it seemed Alistair's sisters had been busy serving plates of wedding cake to our guests. The raspberry ganache glistened in the sun.

It glistened in the hands of our five hundred guests.

It glistened as it flew through the air.

It glistened as I ran screaming, while chunks of delicious, sticky, uber-expensive wedding cake hit my head and slid down my back. It oozed in my shoes, and plugged my ears. It stuck in my armpits and my cleavage.

A glutton forpunishment, I turned one last time and saw Mrs. Winchester lick raspberry offher finger. "Sorry honey!" She cackled after me, "But you can't have your cakeand eat it too!"

The End.