Bachelor party

At my bachelorette party, the night before my wedding, I saw my fiancé passionately kissing another woman.

The woman was someone I knew well. She was the same girl who had been moved to tears at our wedding rehearsal when my fiancé and I embraced each other.

"Really? Does comforting her childhood sweetheart require such a sacrifice?"

Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day with James Kushner. According to tradition, we weren't supposed to see each other tonight.

We had agreed to each invite a few close friends and have separate bachelorette and bachelor parties to celebrate our last night of freedom.

We chose the same place for our parties in a weird twist of fate.

Trusting that we would respect each other's space, I didn't think much of it until I had too many drinks and turned around to see James making out with another woman. My first reaction was to slap myself awake, hoping it was just the alcohol.

When the woman's face became clear, I recognized her as James' childhood friend and our wedding planner, Emily Cline.

Suddenly, memories of our wedding rehearsal flashed through my mind. James' tie was crooked, and Emily's lipstick was smudged when she tearfully said, "It's so beautiful. I'm so moved."

No wonder James was so picky about changing planners until Emily was brought on board. No wonder the decorations didn't include his favorite baby blue but a plain sky blue. The floral arch didn't feature the lilies he liked, but common perfume lilies. And when his favorite comedian couldn't be the host, he didn't mind Emily stepping in.

With clarity returning, I pulled out my phone and messaged the bar owner, asking him to save tonight's surveillance footage. I had to thank all the business connections I had made.

When I looked up again, Emily raised her glass in a distant toast to me.

"What nerve she has," I said inwardly.

"Oh, Emily, you should have come back sooner. James has been waiting for you for so long," one of James' friends, now a coworker, said with a smirk.

"Exactly, everyone knew about the beautiful couple from our college days," another chimed in.

"It's a bit of a shame, James' getting married, and the bride isn't Emily," yet another added.

These guys were James' juniors and now worked at the same company. They always respected me before.

Emily smiled gracefully, "Oh, don't say that. I've met the bride, she's beautiful. I wish them all the best in their marriage."

"Wishing us well by making out with my fiancé?" I thought.

The men around her praised her for being gentle and understanding, the ideal type of woman to marry.

One of them, probably a bit too drunk, slurred out complaints about how strict I was with them at work, accusing me of being late, leaving early, and always getting drunk and needing James to drop everything to pick me up.

They didn't know that James' first startup failed because his team was made up of friends, and they were lazy and unproductive. He couldn't bring himself to reprimand them, so the company's work fell to just him and me, the only non-friend assistant he hired. I knew he didn't want to sour relationships, so I took on the role of the "bad guy."

I left work early because I had to network. In this competitive tech industry, deals were often made over dinner and drinks. James had a sensitive stomach, and I didn't want him to suffer, so I would leave early to eat something to prepare for a night of heavy drinking. How had this been twisted into me being aloof, self-serving, and overly demanding?