CHAPTER TWO
781 Words
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CHAPTER TWO
The Calls Begin
The first sign of trouble came at 7:42 a.m.
Lila was still half-asleep, hair in a messy bun that could’ve frightened small children, when her phone vibrated violently across her nightstand. She squinted at the screen.
Daniel Reyes
Caller ID: Groom #1.
Very responsible. Very punctual. Very unlikely to call before 8 a.m. unless someone was on fire.
She shot upright.
“Hello?” She tried to sound awake. Failed miserably.
“Lila,” Daniel said, voice taut, “I think there’s been a mistake.”
Her stomach dropped so suddenly she almost checked the bed for a hole.
“Mistake?” She forced a laugh. “A… a small one?”
“A huge one,” Daniel corrected. “My Aunt Rosa just called to say she received an invitation addressed to her—okay—but inviting her to Lucas and Maya’s wedding.”
Lila flopped back onto her pillow and covered her face with her free hand.
“Right,” she croaked. “Okay. Okay. I can explain.”
“Please do.”
She couldn’t. Not yet. Not without coffee. Not without oxygen.
“I’m on it,” she managed. “Give me one hour.”
She hung up before he could ask more questions and immediately considered throwing her phone out the window.
It buzzed again before she could.
This time: Maya Rossi
She answered with a tiny whimper. “Hi, Maya.”
“Good morning!” Maya chirped. Too cheerful. Dangerously cheerful. “So, I know we updated the guest list yesterday, but Lucas’s grandma called asking why her invitation says Reed & Reyes on it. Do you think the printer mixed something up?”
Yes. The printer. The trusty, innocent printer.
“It’s… possible,” Lila said weakly.
“Oh dear,” Maya whispered. “Oh no. Is this bad? Does this mean—”
“No!” Lila bolted upright again. “Maya, it’s fine! Just a mix-up. I’ll fix it. I promise.”
A beat of silence. Then Maya said quietly, “We trust you, Lila. Please tell us it’s going to be okay.”
“I swear,” Lila said, though she had absolutely no idea how she was going to make anything okay. “I’ll call you both soon. I just need to… investigate.”
Investigate? What was she, a wedding detective?
She hung up again.
Her phone buzzed a third time.
She glared at it. “Who now?”
Unknown Number
Perfect. Mystery disaster.
She answered.
“Is this Lila Hart?” an older woman demanded.
“Yes?”
“This is Mrs. Valentina Rossi, Maya’s grandmother.”
Grandmother. As in the family matriarch.
The woman whose approval could make or break a wedding.
Lila tensed. “Good morning, Mrs. Rossi.”
“Good morning indeed,” the woman sniffed. “I just wanted to clarify: am I attending my granddaughter’s wedding… or someone named Isabelle’s?”
Lila swallowed. “I—”
“Because I’m not wearing pastel lavender twice in one year,” Mrs. Rossi continued. “I refuse.”
“Of course not,” Lila said quickly. “You won’t need to. There was a mistake—just a minor one—and I’m already working on correcting it.”
“Good,” Mrs. Rossi said. “I like organization. I value competence.”
The universe kicked Lila in the shins.
The call ended.
And that’s when her phone began vibrating nonstop, as if possessed—texts, calls, voicemails, notifications from contacts she didn’t even recognize.
She opened one at random:
Cousin Anthony:
Is this wedding at the garden venue or the hotel? What’s happening??
Aunt Liza:
Sweetheart, I think you mixed weddings. Again.
Unknown:
Who are Isabelle & Daniel and why am I invited to their wedding??
Aunt Rosa:
Call me ASAP. I’m confused.
Lila stared at the wave of chaos unfolding on her screen.
Her business was barely two weeks old.
This was supposed to be her big break.
Her chance to prove she could actually do this.
And now two weddings—two entire families—were furious, confused, or both.
She jumped out of bed, nearly tripping on her slippers, and grabbed clothes at random. She wasn’t entirely sure if the shirt she put on was inside-out. She didn’t care.
She had to get to her office.
She had to fix this.
She sprinted to the kitchen, grabbed her notebook, keys, bag, and a banana that she immediately dropped. The banana rolled under the fridge. She stared at it.
“Stay there,” she muttered. “Join the other dreams.”
Then she ran out the door.
- Writer
