“Now you’ll never marry my son!” my mother-in-law laughed, setting my wedding dress on fire. I wiped my tears, smiled coldly, and said, “Enjoy destroying that dress, because the wedding was never the real trap.” Her face went completely pale when I made one quick phone call…

manifesting Plan B.

“Melody,” I snapped, slipping seamlessly into project-director mode. “Access your memory banks. That bridal editorial we shot last month for Cleveland Bride magazine. Call Eliza’s boutique right now. Find out if the ivory silk-crepe sheath with the plunging lace back is still on the showroom floor.”

Melody already had her phone pressed continue reading …