The Wedding Party

My brother is getting married tomorrow.

I should be happy for him. I should be sleeping peacefully in my hotel room, resting up for best man duties.

Instead, I'm staring at the ceiling at midnight, wondering how I ended up with his bride, her mother, and her maid of honor all crying on my bed.

It started at the rehearsal dinner.

The bride—Jessica—kept looking at me. Not at my brother Kevin, who was making a toast about love and forever. At me.

We have history, Jessica and I. A single night, three years ago, before she ever met Kevin. A mistake we both swore to forget.

But she hasn't forgotten. I could see it in her eyes.

Neither have I.

Her mother Margaret sat at my table.

Fifty-four. Recently divorced. Big in that soft, maternal way—two-sixty, maybe more, with breasts that strained against her tasteful mother-of-the-bride dress. She'd been drinking since the appetizers.

"You're the brother." She leaned too close. Wine on her breath. "The handsome one."

"Kevin's the groom."

"Kevin's the safe choice." Her hand found my thigh under the table. "Jessica told me about you. About what happened before."

I went cold. "She told you?"

"She tells me everything." Margaret's fingers squeezed. "I think she's making a mistake. I think she knows it too."

Then there was Chloe.

Maid of honor. Jessica's best friend since college. Twenty-eight years old, two-twenty pounds of aggressive curves barely contained by a bridesmaid dress two sizes too small.

She cornered me at the bar after dinner.

"I know about you and Jess." Her voice was low, furious. "That night before she met your brother."

"It was a mistake."

"Was it?" She stepped closer. "Because she still talks about it. Still compares Kevin to you. Still wonders if she chose wrong."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know." Her eyes dropped to my lips. "But I think you should figure it out. Before tomorrow."

I went back to my room at 11 PM.

Ordered a whiskey from room service. Tried to sleep.

The knock came at midnight.

Jessica was alone.

Still in her rehearsal dinner dress—white, elegant, straining against curves that had grown since I last saw her. She'd always been big. She was bigger now. Thicker. Softer.

"I can't do this." Her eyes were red. "I can't marry him."

"Jess—"

"I've been thinking about you for three years." She stepped into my room. "Comparing him to you. Wondering what would have happened if I'd stayed that night instead of running."

"You're getting married tomorrow."

"I know." She grabbed my shirt. "That's why I need to know. One more time. Before I promise myself to someone else."

I should have said no.

I should have walked her back to her room, called Kevin, done anything except what I did.

But she was kissing me before I could think. And my hands remembered her body. And I was pulling her dress down before either of us could stop.

She was magnificent.

Bigger than three years ago—softer, rounder, more of everything. Her breasts spilled out of her bra, massive and heavy. Her belly curved out, pressing against mine. Her thighs were thick enough to trap me between them.

"I missed this." She pulled me onto the bed. "Missed you."

"Jess—"

"Don't talk." She wrapped her legs around me. "Just show me. Show me I'm making the right choice."

I was inside her when the door opened.

We'd forgotten to lock it. Housekeeping, maybe, or—

Margaret stood in the doorway.

Jessica screamed. Tried to cover herself. Margaret just stared—at her daughter, at me, at the obvious evidence of what we'd been doing.

"Mom—I can explain—"

"Don't." Margaret stepped inside. Closed the door. Locked it. "I had a feeling you'd be here."

"This isn't what it looks like."

"It looks like you're fucking your fiancé's brother the night before your wedding." Margaret walked to the bed. "Which is exactly what I expected."

I tried to pull out.

Margaret's hand stopped me.

"Don't," she said. "Finish what you started."

"Mrs.—Margaret—"

"I told you at dinner. She's making a mistake." Margaret sat on the edge of the bed. Her hand found Jessica's face. "Kevin is wrong for you, sweetheart. I've known it from the beginning."

"Then why didn't you say something?"

"Because I wanted to see if you'd figure it out yourself." Margaret looked at me. "Clearly, you have."

What happened next defies explanation.

Margaret's dress came off. She climbed onto the bed beside her daughter—two massive bodies, mother and daughter, both naked, both looking at me.

"This is insane," I said.

"This is honesty." Margaret pulled me toward her. "For the first time in years."

I fucked them both that night.

Jessica first—finishing what we started. Then Margaret—bigger, softer, hungrier. Then both of them, taking turns, while the other watched and touched and encouraged.

The second knock came at 2 AM.

Chloe's voice through the door: "Jess? Are you in there? Your mom's not answering her phone and—"

Jessica opened the door.

She was naked. Covered in sweat. Obviously well-fucked.

Chloe stared. "What the—"

Margaret appeared behind Jessica. Also naked. Also obvious.

"Come in," Margaret said. "And close the door."

Chloe closed the door.

Stood frozen while her eyes adjusted. Saw me on the bed. Saw the tangled sheets. Put the pieces together.

"You're fucking him." Her voice was hollow. "Both of you."

"Yes." Jessica walked back to the bed. "And I think you should join us."

"Join you? Jess, you're getting married tomorrow—"

"No, she's not." Margaret guided Chloe further into the room. "The wedding is off. The only question is what happens now."

Chloe looked at me. Something shifted in her expression.

"I've wanted you," she admitted. "Since I saw you at the engagement party. I've been jealous of Jess for months."

"Then stop being jealous." Jessica patted the bed. "And share."

Three women.

Bride, mother, maid of honor. All of them on my bed, all of them naked, all of them wanting.

Chloe was the wildest—aggressive, demanding, making up for lost time. Margaret was the most experienced—guiding, teaching, showing the younger women how to share. Jessica was the most emotional—crying and laughing and coming, all at once.

I lost count of positions. Of orgasms. Of the ways they used me and each other.

By dawn, we were all exhausted. All tangled together. All wondering what the hell came next.

The morning of what was supposed to be the wedding

I woke to someone knocking.

Kevin's voice through the door: "Hey, have you seen Jessica? She's not in her room and—"

Silence in our room. Four people holding their breath.

"—and Mom's freaking out because the bride's missing and—"

Jessica got out of bed. Walked to the door. Wrapped a sheet around herself.

"Jess?" She opened it a crack. "What are you—why are you in my brother's room?"

"Kevin." Her voice was gentle. "We need to talk."

The wedding was cancelled.

Not at the altar—Jessica had more decency than that. She told Kevin the truth. Not all of it—not the details, not the foursome—but the core: she couldn't marry him. She didn't love him. Not the way he deserved.

He blamed me, of course. Punched me in the lobby, called me every name he could think of.

I let him.

I deserved it.

Six months later

Margaret and Jessica moved to the city.

An apartment together—healing, they called it. Rebuilding their relationship after years of distance.

They invite me over every few weeks. Chloe too, when she can make it.

We don't talk about the wedding. Don't talk about Kevin, who still won't return my calls.

We talk about the future. About what we're building together.

"This is unconventional," Margaret said one night, the four of us tangled in her king-size bed.

"This is honest," Chloe countered.

"This is ours," Jessica finished. "Whatever it is."

I held them all.

The wedding party had ended.

But what came after was just beginning.