The Wedding Crasher

La Intrusa de Bodas

I had a system. Big weddings, confident entrance, never stay past the third dance.

"You're not on the list," she said, checking her clipboard.

"I'm with the groom's cousin. Third cousin. Once removed."

"Name?"

"Maria. Very common name. You won't find me specifically but—"

"You're crashing."

She was the wedding planner. Tall, sharp, and absolutely not buying my story.

"I could call security," she said.

"But you won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I've seen three weddings you've planned. You always look exhausted by this point. Kicking me out means extra work."

She almost smiled. "You've seen three of my weddings?"

She let me stay. Watched me all night with suspicious eyes.

"You're good at this," she admitted when I successfully mingled.

"Practice."

"How many weddings have you crashed?"

"Thirty-seven. This is thirty-eight."

"Why?"

"Free food. Open bar. The illusion of belonging somewhere."

She found me on the balcony during the slow dances.

"Why do you really do this?" she asked.

"I told you. Free food."

"You're sad when you watch the couples. I've noticed." She sat beside me. "This isn't about food."

I told her the truth. The wedding I was supposed to have. The fiancé who left. The way I'd spent two years attending other people's happy endings because mine never happened.

"That's... very sad," she said.

"It's pathetic."

"It's human." She took my hand. "But crashing other people's weddings won't fix what happened to yours."

"What would?"

"Time. Therapy. Maybe meeting someone who doesn't leave."

"Are you volunteering?"

"I'm observing." But she didn't let go of my hand.

She started inviting me to weddings. Officially, as "staff."

"This is weird," I said.

"This is a job. You help me; I pay you; you stop committing minor fraud."

"And if I want more than a job?"

"Then you ask like a normal person instead of crashing my events."

I asked. She said yes.

"You know this is a rom-com plot," she said on our first date.

"I prefer to think of it as destiny with a detour."

We married eventually. She planned the whole thing.

"No crashers," she warned. "I've tightened security."

"I'm a reformed woman."

"Are you though?"

"For you? Completely."

The wedding crasher—where uninvited guests find exactly where they belong.