"Maureen, where'd you go? Why would you just leave without paying? How am I supposed to cover a forty-eight-thousand-dollar tab? You know I don't have a cent to my name after paying for this whole wedding, don't you?"
"Oh, I wasn't feeling well. Bad stomach cramps, so I came to the ER. Peter, I really didn't want to ruin your fun, so I came by myself. Why don't you come keep me company? And bring some money while you're at it?"
"But Gayle's drunk. How am I supposed to leave? Just transfer me some money, quick."
"I've hit my daily limit, and everything went to the final payment on the gown. I really don't have any left. Peter, my stomach hurts so much, won't you come sit with me?"
"Ugh."
Peter let out a low, furious growl, Gayle tucked against him on one side while he had to deal with me on the other. In the end he pretended the signal was bad and hung up, swallowed his losses, and paid the forty-eight thousand himself.
After he'd paid, he even sent me a screenshot, telling me that once the wedding was over the next day I was to hand over my gift-envelope money to pay him back.
"See, Maureen? These are all expenses I ran up for the sake of marrying you. You should shoulder some of it with me."
Reading it made me sick. I could already picture what it would be like once he married me: bleeding me dry, cleaning out every last thing my family had.
I slept a few hours, and then it was morning.
The wedding was about to start, but the makeup artist still hadn't shown up. One phone call in and I found out Peter had snatched her away first.
Gayle's insufferable voice came through the phone. She really did think she was the star of the show.
"Sorry, Maureen. Peter had the makeup artist come do my face first. Hurry over, we're all waiting for you!"
By the time I got to the venue, Gayle was already done up, and she'd put on the reception dress I'd had custom-made.
Their whole crowd of friends had gotten their faces done and dressed up specially, standing around the venue trying to look effortlessly cool as they showed off, leaving the makeup artist completely bewildered.
Peter played the part of Gayle's groom, letting her hang all over him however she liked.
When Gayle wanted her skirt lifted, Peter helped tug it up from the bodice. When she needed the restroom, he trailed after her holding her train, not the least bit shy about it.
And I, the actual bride, might as well have been some random guest who'd wandered in. I couldn't even claim center stage.
An hour later, the guests began to arrive.
Gayle, gathering her skirt, was busier than I was, staying at Peter's side the whole time to greet everyone.
They'd grown up together, and they knew each other's families.
Everyone assumed it was Peter and Gayle's wedding, offering them their blessings one after another and handing all their gift money to Gayle.
Once she'd shown off to her heart's content, Gayle came over, skirt in hand, and offered me a phony apology.
"Maureen, don't take it the wrong way. They're all my own friends and family, and I didn't want to tire you out, so I just helped greet them for you."
She handed me a stack of empty envelopes, every bit of gift money already gone.
"This is the gift money from friends and family. The names are all written on the envelopes. Peter says you should keep a record so you can return the favors later."
Wow. The nerve had reached a whole new level.
They'd cleaned out the gift money, and I was supposed to be the one repaying the favors?
"Ha."
I let out a cold snort. I was running very low on patience.
"Did I or did I not tell you not to call me your sister? Are you trying to make me slap you in front of all these people?"
"You— don't push it too far! I apologized to you in good faith, gave you a respectful title, and this is how you treat me?"
"That's nothing. I've got a much better trick saved up for you. Want to see it?"
