She Slept in My Wedding Bed, So I Gave Away the Groom

The night before my wedding, my fianc Nathan Henson threw me out of the fifty-million-dollar bridal suite and sent me off to the shabbiest motel in the area.

I was lying on the bed, scrolling, when I came across a post from Millie Gilbert, the woman Nathan called one of the guys. A selfie of her in a racy nightgown, in bed.

The background was the bridal suite I had designed. The caption read: Today I'm the bridal-suite tester. New experience unlocked~

My hands shook. I called Nathan ninety-nine times. No one picked up.

I didn't sleep all night. At four in the morning the makeup artist kicked the door open, cursing, "You messing with me? Who gets married and books a dump like this!"

My mother called at the same moment. "We're already at the bridal suite, so where are you? You were the one who insisted on getting married, and now you pull a runaway-bride stunt?"

I looked at the chaos in front of me and had no idea how to explain any of it.

Nathan called then too. "Millie's a bridal-suite tester. She wanted to try the suite out, and since we're getting married anyway, I just helped her hit a work quota. Don't be upset. She'll be at the wedding. She's a little sensitive, so don't give her any attitude."

"The two of us are heading to the wedding now. Just grab a cab and come over yourself."

Tears ran down my face. When I said nothing, Nathan didn't wait either. He hung up.

I gripped the phone, my chest tightening, and closed my eyes for a moment.

Ever since Millie showed up, Nathan had waited on her like hired help. Let her try on the wedding dress first. Let her pick the venue.

And now even the bridal suite. He let her sleep in it the first night.

The makeup artist stood where she was, and said awkwardly, "Do you... do you still want the makeup done?"

I lifted my eyes and smiled. "Yes. But I'm switching grooms."

...

The powder puff slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a soft clap, rolling twice. She opened her mouth, closed it, and finally managed, "Miss, what did you just say?"

I didn't repeat it. I just pressed the phone screen dark and shoved it under the pillow.

"Do it. When you're done, I'm going to the funeral home," I said. "Make it pretty."

She hesitated, then bent to pick up the puff, wiped it with a tissue, and leaned in toward my face.

I closed my eyes and heard her mutter under her breath, "This foundation's gone all clumpy, and the light in here is terrible..." But her hands didn't stop. Twenty-five minutes. She stepped back, studied me for a moment, and said quietly, "Done."

I opened my eyes.

The woman in the mirror wore last night's wrinkled satin robe, but her face was flawless, finished, perfect.

"Thank you."

I pulled the robe tighter, walked to the door, and looked back at her. "The deposit's three hundred. Check me out of the room, would you?"

I ordered a rideshare. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and said nothing, probably assuming I was some girl coming off a shift at a club.

I gave him the funeral home's address, and his foot noticeably eased off the gas.

"They've got... business over there this early?" he asked carefully.

"Yes," I said. "I've got a nine o'clock appointment."

He didn't ask anything more, just quietly turned up the heat. I leaned against the window and watched the streetlights slide past one by one. My phone buzzed in my pocket again. This time it was Nathan.

I answered.

"You still at the motel?" His voice was rough with sleep. In the background, Millie's laugh chimed like a little bell, far off, something like, "Who's calling this early?"

Nathan lowered his voice. "Millie's picking the bouquet. Do you like lilies or roses? She says roses are tacky. Lilies, then?"

"Lilies," I said.

"Fine, lilies it is." He sounded relieved. "Did you order a car? Want me to send the driver back for you? Though the ceremony's about to start..."

"No need," I said. "I'll get there myself."

He went quiet for a couple of seconds, probably not expecting me to be this calm.

Millie called out to him again, her voice sweet to the point of cloying, "Nathan, isn't this lisianthus pretty?" He answered her in a hurry, then spoke fast into the phone. "Then move quick, don't miss the good hour. Oh, right, Millie says she wants to sit at the head table, so when you get here you'll"

"That's fine," I said.

He froze.

"I said it's fine." I repeated it, my tone as steady as if I were reading off a menu. "She can sit at the head table. She can sit right next to me, for all I care."

There was a silence on his end, and then Nathan's voice turned hesitant. "...Why are you being so agreeable today?"

I didn't answer, because the iron gates of the funeral home had already come into view.

I had the driver stop at the curb, paid, and pushed the door open.

Cold air folded around me, carrying the smell of burnt paper and chrysanthemums.

The phone was still at my ear. Nathan was still going. "Hello? You there? Call me when you arrive, I'll have the makeup artist wait for you at the door"

"No need," I said, stepping up onto the stairs in front of the funeral home as the iron gates creaked open before me. "I've already got my makeup done."

"Oh, good. Right, Millie says"

I hung up.

The funeral home's reception hall was very quiet.

The attendant on duty was a young man in glasses, flipping through a registry. He looked up, saw me, and paused, probably having never seen anyone show up to a place like this in bridal shoes and full makeup.

"Hello," he said, standing, professionally swallowing his surprise. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No. But I wanted to ask. If I add a wedding on short notice, how soon can it be done?"

He blinked. "...A wedding?"

"Yes." I smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "A wedding. Use the farewell hall for the venue, nothing big, seating for thirty is enough. White chrysanthemums for the flowers, the piano version of Canon for the music. I'll officiate myself."

The attendant stood there with his mouth open, and it took him a long moment to find his voice. "You... you want to get married here?"

"Mm."

I glanced down at my phone. Nathan had called twice more. I didn't answer. A new post from Millie popped up on my feed, nine photos in a grid, the one in the center of her in my wedding dress, spinning in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bridal suite. The caption: My best friend's wedding dress is way too gorgeous, so I'm trying it on for her today. See you at the wedding~

I let out a soft laugh and turned the phone face-down on the counter.

"Sorry to trouble you," I said to the attendant, my voice low but strangely clear. "I think I'm going to need a groom. Do you have... one available here?"

The staff member's eyes went wide first. He pushed his glasses up, and his gaze bounced between my bridal shoes and my made-up face a few times before it settled on my face, as if he were checking whether I was serious.

"Ready-made" He repeated the word, his voice thin. "Here, the ready-made ones are all all the deceased."

"I know," I said.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and seemed to be searching for the right words. Just then the side door of the hall pushed open, and a man in a black jacket walked in carrying a steaming glass of milk. He saw me, and his step halted.

"What's going on?" he asked the staff member, his voice low.

"This young lady says" The man fumbled for the words. "Says she wants to hold a wedding here, and she's asking whether we have a ready-made groom."

The man raised an eyebrow. "A ready-made groom. Think I'll do?"

I looked at that familiar face.

Blake Matthews was my childhood friend, but because of the family's line of work, my parents never accepted the idea of me marrying him.

He'd kept at it, refusing to give up, offering himself to my family more than ten times, and still I chose someone else.

"Would you get married?" I asked.

"Depends who to," he said.

I lowered my head and smiled a little, then picked my phone up off the counter. Nathan's missed calls had already piled up to thirty-seven, the group chat had blown up, and my mother had sent more than a dozen voice messages. The last one was only three seconds long. I opened it and heard her sigh, then say, "What on earth are you doing?"

Under that post of Millie's, more than twenty comments had already come in from mutual friends. One asked, "Isn't that your best friend's wedding gown?" Someone answered with a laughing-behind-the-hand emoji, and another wrote, "So envious of a friendship like this, it's goals."

I closed the app, opened my contacts, scrolled to Nathan's name, and let my thumb hover over "Block" for a second before I pressed down.

The hall went quiet. Blake stood where he was, brushed the dust off his jacket, then held out his hand to me.

"So, when do I come for you?"

I looked at the hand he'd reached out, and I took it. "Five hours from now."

The phone in my pocket went completely silent. Nathan had probably finally noticed that red "Block" mark, and finally understood that some doors, once shut, could never be pushed open again.

I drove home, took the elevator up to the twenty-sixth floor, and out in the hallway I could already hear my family's voices. I pushed the door open, and in the living room three heads turned at once.

My mother was sitting on the arm of the sofa clutching half a cup of cold tea, her eyes rimmed red. My father stood in the doorway to the balcony, his lips moving before pressing shut again. Nathan stood in the middle of the room, his white suit crisp, his bow tie straight.

On the rug at his feet, Millie was taking selfies, wrapped in my wedding gown.

The air froze for three seconds. Millie was the first to lift her phone and wave it at me. "Bianca, you're back. Look at this lighting"

Nathan cut her off.

"Bianca, you don't answer your phone, and now you finally come home. Millie's just trying the gown on. What's the rush? Didn't I explain last night's thing to you? Her job is a bridal-suite tester. So she slept a night in the wedding bed, so what? Don't be so petty."

My mother stood up from the sofa, tugged at my sleeve, and lowered her voice. "Bibi, what is going on with you? Why did you stay at a motel last night? What did he say to you?"

I didn't answer her. I walked to the edge of the rug and looked down at Millie. "Take it off."

Millie blinked twice and looked up at Nathan. Nathan immediately crouched to help her, undoing the back ties as he spoke. "Bianca, what's with the attitude? Millie just wanted to get a feel for the wedding today, so what? Over one gown, is it worth it?"

As Millie wriggled out of the gown, her hand "slipped," and the mass of white fabric dropped to the floor. She let out a little cry and bent to pick it up, but Nathan was faster, scooping it up, brushing off the dust, and holding it out to me.

"All right, here. The wedding's about to start. Hurry up and change, don't make things hard for Millie."

I took the crumpled gown.

Millie stood up in the slip underneath, sidled over to Nathan and hooked her arm through his, resting her chin on his shoulder and murmuring, "Nathan, don't be mean to her. I won't sit at the main table, okay? I'll sit with the bridesmaids. Bianca, don't be upset."

Nathan patted the back of her hand and looked up at me, his tone softening into a weary, coaxing note. "You hear that? She's the one backing down. And you? You didn't answer the phone last night, and today you pull a disappearing act. Look how worked up you've got your mom."

Beside me, my mother drew a deep breath. "Bibi, tell your mom the truth. Why did he send you off to a motel?"

The living room went quiet. Nathan's gaze rested on my face for two seconds, then his brow furrowed slightly. "That's enough, Bianca, stop making a scene. I'll have the makeup artist come touch you up right away. Go to the bedroom and put the gown on, the car's waiting downstairs, don't miss the lucky hour." He pulled out his phone to dial, his finger already pressing the screen.

I didn't take that mass of gown. I set it on the floor at my feet, my movements gentle as I bent to put it down.

"I'm not changing."

Nathan's finger froze above the screen. Millie lifted her face off his shoulder.

I straightened and looked at him. "The wedding goes ahead as planned. But the bride is me, and the groom isn't you."

My mother's cup of iced tea tilted in her hand. My father came in from the balcony door and stood behind me without a word.

Nathan stared at me, the phone lowering from his ear. "Bianca, say that again."

I didn't. I turned, walked into the bedroom, and shut the door. Just before it closed I heard Nathan shout my full name from the living room, his voice raw, and then the sound of a chair being kicked over.

Millie's crying threaded in, thin and small. "Nathan, don't be like this, you're scaring me..."

I closed the door, took the backup white dress from the closet, changed into it, pulled up the zipper, and smoothed my hair in the mirror.

Outside the pounding on the door grew more frantic, and Nathan's voice came through the wood, hoarse. "Open the door! You can't do this to Millie! She didn't do anything wrong!"

I ignored it. I opened the door and walked out.

In the living room my mother looked at the white dress on me, tears not yet dry, her lips trembling with nothing to say. My father stood half a step in front of me, like he meant to block something. Millie was curled in the corner of the couch, nails digging into the armrest, a flash of panic bright in her eyes before she pressed it down.

Nathan stood by the door, his bow tie crooked, his eyes rimmed red. He looked at the white dress on me. "Bianca," he said, hoarse, "where are you going... in that?"

I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my robe and turned the screen toward him. The lock screen was still the photo of the two of us from his birthday three months ago. He didn't look at the picture. He stared at my face.

"The funeral home," I said. "Hall Three, eleven o'clock. Come or don't, it's up to you."

Then I stepped sideways past him, my heels crossing the pile of wedding gown scattered across the entryway.

As the elevator doors closed, I saw him still standing there, not moving, Millie running over from the couch to pull at his sleeve, shouting something, her voice cut off by the metal doors.

The elevator dropped to the lower level, and the instant the doors opened, my mother's call came through.

I answered. Before I could speak, she was already talking, low and rushed. "Bibi, Millie just ran out, she said she's going to that Hall Three of yours. Nathan drove off after her. What in the world are you two"

"Mom." I cut her off, my voice quiet. "Leave it. Take Dad home first."

There were two seconds of silence on the line, and then her breathing turned heavy. "Bibi, Mom doesn't care who you marry, but you have to tell medo you really not want him anymore? You've been together three years..."

"Three years." I repeated the word. "Mom, the night he told me to go stay at a hotel was our three-year engagement anniversary."

She said nothing after that.

I hung up and slid the phone into my pocket. Blake had already pulled the car around. I didn't take the front seat; I opened the back door, got in, leaned against the seat, and closed my eyes for a moment.

We'd been driving about ten minutes when the phone buzzed again. Blake picked it up off the passenger seat and passed it back to me. On the screen was a text from an unknown number, no saved name, but one look at the content and I knew who it was.

"Bianca, don't blame Nathan, this is all my fault. I already told him I won't come, you two should go ahead with your wedding. I really don't want you fighting because of me. I'm leaving. I wish you happiness. Millie."

I read the line twice, then set the phone face down on the seat. In the rearview mirror Blake caught the corner of my mouth twitch. "What's funny?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Somebody's retreating to advance."

The car drove another five minutes and got stuck two intersections short of the funeral home. A black van sat crosswise up ahead, its nose wedged into the side road, blocking half the lane.

Nathan stood beside it, bent at the waist, talking to whoever was inside, one hand braced on the door, his whole posture jittery.

I recognized the woman in the passenger seat of that van. Millie hadn't left. She was sitting inside, the window rolled halfway down, showing a profile on the verge of tears, her face tilted up at Nathan, her lips moving over something. When she finished, he reached in through the window and smoothed her hair, a gesture so familiar he could have done it a thousand times.

Then he straightened, and his gaze traveled over the traffic and landed on my silver SUV.

He paused for a second, let go of the door, and strode toward us. Blake glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I gave a small nod. He eased the car to the curb and stopped without cutting the engine.

Nathan came up to the back window and rapped the glass twice. I didn't move. He knocked again, harder this time. "Bianca. Open the door."

I rolled the window halfway down and looked at him through the gap.

"Millie says she wants to go to the station." He was talking fast, out of breath. "I've talked her into it, she agreed to leave, but she wants me to drive her. Bianca, get out first, let me drop her off"

"Drop her off?" I cut in.

Nathan choked on the words. His eyes flickered. "She's got nowhere to go out here on her own, crying like that. What do you expect her to do?"

"She's sitting in your car crying," I said, "in my jacket." I pointed at the light gray blazer draped over Millie in the passenger seat, the one I'd bought for Nathan.

Nathan glanced down. His brow creased, then smoothed just as fast. "That's she rushed out today, I put it over her shoulders." He leaned in closer to the window and dropped his voice. "Bianca, listen to me. I'll take her to the station and come right back. We'll deal with the wedding after. Go on ahead to the venue. I'll be quick."

"You'll be quick to what?" I looked at him through the gap in the glass, my voice level. "Quick to come back and carry on with the wedding? Nathan, this morning you called and told me not to give Millie any attitude. Last night you threw me out of the bridal suite so she could sleep in our bed. The day before, you let her pick the wedding venue. The day before that, you had her try on my wedding dress first. Now here you are, standing in front of me in the suit for the wedding, telling me you have to take her away first."

Nathan's expression shifted. His lips pressed into a thin line. He reached for the door handle. Blake had already locked the doors. It clicked and didn't budge.

"Bianca." His hand pressed against the window frame, knuckles pale. "Can you not be like this? There's really nothing between me and Millie. She's just"

"Just what?" I asked.

He had no answer. Behind him, the door of the black van opened and Millie climbed out. She was wearing that oversized men's blazer, barefoot, having apparently slipped off her heels in the car, and she stepped onto the asphalt and walked over to stand behind Nathan, reaching out to catch the back hem of his jacket.

"Nathan," she said, her voice thin, thick with tears, "don't fight with Bianca. I'll just go, really. I'll get my own cab to the station. Don't let it be about me"

The tears spilled over as she spoke, two fat drops sliding down her cheeks. She lifted her hand to wipe them, but the sleeve was too long and covered half her face, leaving only a pair of red-rimmed eyes showing.

Nathan turned around and steadied her by the shoulders. "You're dressed like this, how are you supposed to go alone? You don't even have shoes on. Get in. I'll take you."

He turned back to me. The panic in his eyes had drained away, replaced by an impatient kind of weariness. "Bianca, you see how she is. You want me to dump her by the side of the road like this? Are you really this heartless, or just pretending?"

I wasn't looking at Nathan. I was looking at Millie. Half her face showed above the sleeve, tears still clinging to her lashes, but the corner of her mouth held the faintest curve.

Then she let go of the back of Nathan's jacket and stepped back half a pace, her sobbing suddenly easing off. "Never mind, Nathan. I'll go on my own. Don't make this hard on yourself, really." She turned toward the van as she said it, walking barefoot across the pavement, and two steps in her left ankle rolled hard and she pitched toward the ground.

Nathan lunged over in a few quick steps and caught her, scooping her into his arms. She fisted the fabric of his jacket over his chest, buried her face against him, and cried in muffled sobs, her shoulders trembling. His arm clamped tight around her back, his chin resting on the top of her head, his whole face set like stone.

He looked up at me. "Bianca." His voice came out cracked raw. "You're really going to keep pushing her like this? She's twisted her ankle and you're just standing there watching? Can't you even"

"No," I said.

Nathan's lips quivered.

I rolled the window up, the glass closing an inch at a time, sealing his angry, panicked face out on the other side.

I turned my gaze away and leaned back into the seat.

Before long the iron gate of the funeral home came into view ahead, and I walked into Hall Three.

The mismatched bouquet sat on the white-draped table, the piano lid was up, and I went over and sat down at the piano, laid my fingers on the keys, and pressed a middle C.

The door was open. Down the corridor came Blake's footsteps, layered over another set. Dress shoes striking the marble floor, closer and closer.

The third note wouldn't come. Someone was standing in the doorway, breathing hard, the rise and fall of his chest audible across the whole hall.

Nathan's voice came from behind me, rasping like sandpaper dragged over sheet metal. "Bianca. She's gone. I let her go."

My fingers stayed still on the keys.

"Come down." His steps closed in fast, dress shoes echoing dull against the aisle floor. "Come back with me. The wedding's at the hotel, the car's waiting outside. You can wear that dress, it's fine, all of it's fine. Just stop making a scene here, all right?"

His hand settled on my shoulder. I finally turned around, looked at the lipstick print on his chest, then lifted my eyes to meet his.

"She's gone. So when is she coming back?"

Nathan's hand slid off my shoulder.

His mouth worked, and the words scraped out through his teeth. She's not coming back. I put her in a cab and sent her off. Bianca, did you hear me? She's gone!

I looked at the lipstick print on his chest and said nothing. I stood up from the piano bench, went around him, and headed for the door. He spun and grabbed my wrist, hard enough that his thumb dug into the bone. Where are you going? I told you to come back with me!

Let go. I said.

He didn't. He gripped tighter. His other hand went for his phone, the fingerprint unlock chirped once, the screen lit up, and he dialed fast, pressed it to his ear, and lowered his voice into the receiver. Millie? Are you there yet? Tell her. Tell her you're fine.

Millie's voice came through, a little distorted by the speaker, but that sweet, soft tone was perfectly clear. Nathan, I'm in the cab now, my foot hurts so much, but it's okay Is Bianca all right? Don't fight, please, it's all my fault

Nathan let out a breath and glanced at me, as if to say, See? She's so reasonable. He pushed the phone half an inch toward my face, telling me to listen for myself. I didn't take it. I only glanced down at the watch on his wrist. Ten thirty-seven. Twenty-three minutes until the eleven o'clock slot I'd booked.

Nathan, I said, my voice so calm it felt strange even to me, for three years you've taken her calls. Every single one. Whether we were eating dinner, watching a movie, doing a wedding-dress fitting, or it was three in the morning. You set a special ringtone for her, didn't you. That four-second piano intro.

His fingers stiffened. The phone screen was still lit, and Millie's voice broke through in pieces. Nathan? Are you listening?

I looked at his face, the blood draining out of it all at once, and pulled my own phone from my pocket, unlocked it, opened the photo album, and held it out to him. He hesitated a moment, then took it, and swiped down with his thumb.

The first photo. Three months ago, in a hotel hallway, holding Millie. She was in a bathrobe, ankles bare, his chin resting on the top of her head.

The second, a month ago, in the car, him snapping her as she tried on a wedding ring. She held up her ring finger for the camera, smiling, the lit sign of the ring counter behind her. The photo was taken on the Friday night he'd told me he was working late.

The third, five days ago, the one Millie posted to her feed and deleted seconds later. Nathan sat bare-chested on a hotel bed scrolling his phone, the covers bunched at his waist, and she lay in the crook of his arm holding up the phone for a selfie. The caption read, Being a suite tester is such exhausting work.

Nathan's hand started to shake. The phone slipped through his fingers and cracked against the marble floor.

I bent down and picked it up. The screen was cracked. I swiped to the original of that photo, opened the file details, and there it all was, the date, the time, the GPS location. The location was the bedroom of my fifty-million-dollar wedding home.

She posted online that she's a 'wedding-home suite tester,' I turned the screen to his face, but a suite tester works nine to five. The contract states, in writing, no overnight stays. Nathan, you're her client. You know that better than I do.

His head jerked up, a film of tears rising in his eyes. You investigated her?

I didn't investigate her, I put my phone away. I investigated you. In the past three months, you booked hotel rooms seventeen times on her membership app, bought her six nightgowns and three camisoles online, and had food delivery sent to the same hotel room, late at night, thirty-one times. You forwarded the statements for the supplementary card I gave you straight to my email. Did you ever think I'd look?

The color went out of Nathan's face completely. His mouth hung open. She's she's the little sister of a good buddy of mine, I promised I'd look after her

You promised to look after her, I said, you didn't promise to sleep with her.

I turned and walked toward the door of Hall Three. At the doorway I stopped, my hand on the frame, and didn't look back.

Do you know why I chose this place?

Behind me there was only the sound of him choking back sobs.

Our first date, that movie you took me to. Departures. When it let out, you told me on the street that when you got married someday, you didn't want one of those loud hotel ceremonies. You said you wanted somewhere quiet, that the mood of a memorial hall was just right. White flowers, a white dress, one piano piece, only the people closest to you. I laughed at you for being strange, but I remembered.

Three years, Nathan. I remembered every single thing you ever said. But you forgot.

I stepped over the threshold, and the light from the corridor fell across my shoulders. Behind me came his hoarse shout, thick and nasal. Bianca! Bianca! Come back

I didn't stop.

At the end of the corridor, Blake leaned against the wall, two registration forms in his hand. He glanced past me, asked nothing, and held one out. Fill this in. I left the groom's line blank. Waiting for you to fill it.

I took the pen and wrote three words in the box marked Groom's Name.

Then I pushed the form back and looked at him. Let's go. It's time.

Blake looked down at the name on the form, paused, then the corner of his mouth curved up. He folded the form and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

I walked into Hall Three. The white chrysanthemums had been swapped for champagne roses, and a small bunch of lisianthus lay on the closed piano lid.

I didn't look back.