Holy Matri-Moly!: Scheming Bridesmaids

Lily LaBeau stands before the tall mirror, her white satin dress catching every bit of light. Three bridesmaids linger in silk and lace: Karina, full-figured with a cascade of dark hair; Ivy, petite, pale skin glowing against emerald fabric; Octavia, striking in copper waves, her generous curves straining the low neckline. One by one, they pull Lily aside. Karina draws her into the dressing room, whispers praise, fingers grazing the small of Lily’s back. Ivy catches her in the hallway, breath warm against her ear, hinting at favors. Octavia corners her by the window, offering a slower kiss. Each wants the same prize—maid of honor. When the others notice, tension snaps. Voices rise, accusations fly. Lily watches, amused, until she lifts a hand. The room stills. “There’s only one way to settle this,” she says, slipping the straps from her shoulders. The dress drops. “Whoever makes me come hardest wins.”