I try to protest, but she’s already yanking me forward.
The cake sits at the center of the reception hall, a towering masterpiece of sugar and gold leaf. At its base, ribbons thread through the layers, each tied to a hidden charm. A fortune. A glimpse at what’s to come.
“Go on.” Mackenzie nudges me toward the cake and the other bridesmaids. “You have to. It’s tradition.”
I groan and playfully bump her hip with mine.
“Loveyouuuuu!” She shouts as the wedding planner whisks her to the front of the gathering crowd of guests.
Alex clears her throat and glances at Mackenzie, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “Rememberlast fall at Sophie’s wedding? I got a money charm. And then, boom! Three new clients.”
“Yeah, well, I hope this pull actually works.” Kendall, Thing 2 to Alex’s Thing 1, snorts, her fingers twirling around her ribbon. “I could use some serious love luck right now.”
Love.
The word burns through my thoughts along with visions of Alder. I shoot back the rest of my gin and tonic, wincing as it goes down rough.
Mackenzie drunkenly raises her arms like a race starter about to set us off. “On the count of three, you’ll pull together!”
I grab a ribbon. The moment I do, a shock zips through me. It’s static electricity but with a strange undertone—a tingling sensation that travels up my arm and settles in my chest.
“What the hell?” I mutter, shaking off the buzzing sting and flexing my fingers. The other bridesmaids don’t seem to notice, too caught up in their own excitement, playfully elbowing each other, ready to see what their futures hold.
“Three, two, one—pull!”
A chorus of cheers rings out from the gathered crowd as we tug on our ribbons. The others glide out of the cake effortlessly, glinting at the end of their satin strings. Bridesmaids squeal and joyous gasps pop from the gathered attendees as their attention shifts to Mackenzie, her dark curls bouncing as she wiggles in the middle of a group hug.
But my ribbon stays stuck.
I pull again, harder this time. The satin catches, hungup somewhere deep inside the cake. I tug again. Nothing. Finally, I use both hands and yank on the string like my life depends on it.
The ribbon jerks free, and I stumble backward. A blob of frosting flies through the air, and something heavier than a charm lands with a wet slap directly onto my overflowing cleavage.
I glance down, my pulse whooshing in my ears, embarrassment rushing hot through my veins.
It’s not a charm.
It’s a card.
The frosting-covered card clings to my skin, smearing a sticky splotch of buttercream across the pale-yellow satin of my dress.
The din around me swells, laughter and giddy shrieks as the other bridesmaids compare their charms—tiny sparkling beacons of hope for their future. A tiny baby carriage for motherhood. A ring for an upcoming proposal. A four-leaf clover for good fortune.
I peel the card from my chest, my fingers tacky with buttercream.
This is wrong.
I catch Mackenzie’s gaze across the cake table. She claps her hands, eyes still bright with alcohol and post-pull euphoria. As I step toward her and she sees the mess on my dress, her expression shifts. Her nose wrinkles.
“What’s that?” she asks, tilting her head.
At the same time, I blurt, “What’s this?”
Her eyes flick to the card in my hand. I hold it up, swallowing hard.
“It was in the cake,” I say. “It’s my charm.”
Mackenzie blinks, trying to focus through the fog of champagne. She grabs my wrist and leans in to inspect the card.
