Daniela
It’s been six months since the absolute mess my friends and I got ourselves into.
We still can’t believe we crashed a wedding—and at the wrong church, no less. I’m still cursing that darn Uber driver because it was his fault for taking us to the wrong place.
I sigh and stretch, going through my meditation and yoga routine to release all the negative energy.
Emma still has nightmares about it. She says she feels guilty for ruining the ceremony and that because of us, a happy couple couldn’t tie the knot.
I remember when we bolted out of the church, both she and Valentina were standing in the middle of the street, looking around cluelessly since there wasn’t a single car in sight. When I caught up, I had no choice but to steal the bride’s getaway car.
As if things couldn’t get any worse.
There was no driver, and the keys were in the ignition, so I had no option but to threaten the girls to hop in before the groom and his posse caught up to us—they were hot on our heels.
I can still picture us piling into that gorgeous vintage convertible, decked out with flowers. When I started the engine, I couldn’t help but let out a little moan at the sound of it roaring to life.
“What are you doing?” Valentina screamed in panic from the backseat. “Drive!”
“Where to, ladies?” I teased, adjusting my sunglasses and the rearview mirror, taking my sweet time.
“Damn it, just drive!”
“They’re coming!” Emma cried, pointing at the group of men surrounding the car.
Well, the bride and groom’s car, technically.
Before one of them could grab me over the side of the car, I floored it, accidentally running over one guy’s foot. He let out a howl of pain.
“Sorry!” My hat flew off, and I glanced in the rearview mirror to see the others chasing after us. The groom stopped in the middle of the street, fists clenched, chest heaving.
Oops? My bad?
I thought to myself, as if he could hear me.
Not only did we ruin a wedding, but we also stole the newlyweds’ car and drove as far away as we could. We only stopped at a gas station to ditch the car and grab another ride. When we got out, something deep inside me nagged at me to check the trunk. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the fact that I’d lost my jack months ago, but the little devil on my shoulder told me to take advantage of the moment and look for one. Judging by the car, the owner clearly had money, so I figured they wouldn’t miss a “borrowed”—or, well, stolen—tool. After all, we’d already caused so much chaos; one more misdeed wouldn’t make a difference. So, I went to the trunk to take a peek and grab what I needed before we hightailed it out of there, ignoring my friends’ nervous protests about getting caught. When I popped open the trunk, my biggest surprise wasn’t finding a jack—it was discovering several boxes of imported liquor.
One more crime to add to the list.
We couldn’t just leave those boxes abandoned in that dark, empty place, waiting for someone to find the car. So, we took them home. After all, there wouldn’t be a wedding anymore, no one would drink it, and it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.
Valentina and Emma calmed down when they saw the liquor, staring into the trunk with gleaming, adoring eyes. It was like we’d stumbled upon a treasure chest full of jewels and gold. In the end, they didn’t say a word—just helped carry our heavenly gift.
The liquor helped drown out the voices of our conscience for ruining two people’s lives. We nearly drank ourselves into a coma with all that booze.
A few days later, Emma came across an article about the wedding. It detailed how it was ruined by three unknown women. Some called it a cruel prank, others claimed the groom had cheated on the bride and that his real mistress showed up to stop the wedding. There was even talk that the bride had confessed to her own infidelity right at the altar.
The tabloids turned the story into a complete circus. The last thing I read was that the bride had to leave the country, while the groom barely showed his face and was hounded by the press.
I did feel bad for them, but then I remembered the bride’s confession about sleeping with her cousin. In the end, I figured the groom should be grateful—we might’ve saved him from a disastrous marriage.
I couldn’t help but notice the groom, though. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of man whose presence makes your knees weak. That day, I didn’t get a good look at him because I was too furious, thinking he was the one who’d hurt my friend. Plus, he’d been punched, and his hair was a mess from running his hands through it in frustration.
A striking man who made you want to comfort him.
As for the real jerk who hurt Emma, we’ve been plotting our revenge.
After some serious digging, we found out the creep married the boss’s daughter. Even after tying the knot, he’s still a cheating dog, flirting and sleeping with every woman he can get his hands on. The worst part? His wife is so naive and clueless that she has no idea who she married.
The girls and I have gotten close to his wife through one of the cooking classes she takes. The poor thing is so innocent and a bit dim—it makes me want to shake her and slap some sense into her. She doesn’t even care that her idiot husband is using her money and her father’s wealth, not to mention that he’s not just unfaithful but a total freeloader.
The more I learned about this guy, the angrier I got at Emma for letting herself be fooled by such a repulsive creep.
“You ready?” Valentina asks, coming up beside me.
“What?” I sit down on the grass and look around, realizing I’m the last one here. I didn’t even notice the class had ended.
“That meditation really took you to another plane,” she teases as I stand up and start gathering my things.
One of the things I love most is breathing in fresh air and listening to the sounds of nature. That’s why I always come to these yoga sessions in the park.
You truly connect with your inner self when you find peace in meditation—something that’s impossible when you’re cooped up in the four walls of your apartment, suffocating from the lack of fresh air, the pollution, the noise of cars, or the neighbors’ drama.
“You know how it is,” I say as we start walking from the center of the park, where there’s a lake surrounded by people jogging and exercising. “Where’s Emma?” Valentina nods toward the hot dog stand. “Isn’t she supposed to be on a diet?”
“That’s what she claims,” Valentina mocks. “I don’t get why she comes to the park to ‘burn calories’ if she just gains them back at the food stalls.”
While I do my exercises with the group, the girls jog around until I’m done, and then we head home together.
“Want some?” Emma asks with her mouth full, holding out a hot dog.
“Screw the diet.” I grab the hot dog and moan at the first bite.
“How you doing, girls?” Edgar, the hot dog vendor, asks.
“Good, and you?” I reply, mouth full, making him roll his eyes.
“Fantastic.”
“Does your wife know you’re into sausages?” I quip, and he lets out a booming laugh, his huge belly bouncing up and down.
That’s where the unsold merchandise ends up.
“She loves sausages too,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, earning a grimace of disgust from me.
I doubt his wife can even find his sausage under that massive Buddha belly.
“Thanks!” We say goodbye and start walking while eating.
“Lucia called. She agreed to a girls’ night out tonight,” Valentina says, earning a grin from me.
“Tonight, we sacrifice the virgin,” I murmur before taking another bite.
“She’s not a virgin,” Emma huffs, sounding almost jealous.
“Doesn’t matter if she’s not a virgin. She hasn’t met a real man who can truly open her eyes,” I smirk. “Maybe it’s time she meets our friend Viking.” Emma chokes on her food.
“Are you insane?” Valentina says. “She’ll end up in a wheelchair.”
“She’s the one who’s going to lose her mind,” I reply. “I know her type. They seem innocent on the outside, but they’re wild beasts on the inside. All she needs is a little push to break out of her shell.”
I’m going to turn her into a wild woman before showing her the proof of the scoundrel she married.
I’ll make that man regret ever playing with women.
Viking is the perfect guy for the job. It’s no coincidence he’s got that nickname. He’s nearly 6’7”, with muscles on top of muscles, and we’ve seen… well, let’s just say his equipment hangs impressively low. He’s a total freak of nature and the most popular guy at the strip club the girls and I frequent. Not to mention, he’s gorgeous and decent. I’m sure she’ll be head over heels for this stallion. Plus, he looks a lot like the actor from Aquaman, just with blond hair.
“Come on, it’s time for the next plan,” I tell the girls. As we’re about to cross the street, a car speeds by, nearly hitting us. “You jerk!” I yell, throwing the rest of my hot dog at the back of the car. It doesn’t even slow down and just keeps going.
My killer instinct kicks in, and I memorize the license plate in case I ever cross paths with them again.