Life, for the weird-looking little girl who'd never met her parents' expectations, was finally good.

"You may now kiss the bride," the pastor said.

Thank God. Shaye expelled a relieved rush of breath, her shoulders slumping as her tension melted away. Soon she'd be on a plane, flying home to Cincinnati and her quiet little apartment. No signs of romance to irritate her there. Not even a cat to bother her.

Amid joyous applause, the brow-lifted, cheek-implanted groom laid a sloppy wet one on Shaye's mom. The glowing couple turned and strolled down the aisle, the lyrical thrums of a harp echoing behind them. Shaye inched closer to the water, away from the masses, escape within her grasp now that everyone was filing toward the reception tent.

She'd done her daughterly duty (again), and there was no more reason to stay. Besides, she wanted out of the chafing shell bra and itchy grass skirt ASAP.

"Where are you going, silly?" one of the other bridesmaids said, latching on to her arm with a surprisingly iron grip. "We're supposed to take pictures and serve the guests."

So, the torture wasn't over yet. She groaned.

After an hour of posing for a photographer who finally gave up trying to make her smile, she found herself serving cake to a line of champagne-guzzling guests. Most of them ignored her, merely swiping up their cake and ambling away. Some tried to talk to her, but (she was guessing) found her too abrupt and quickly retreated.

When will this end? I just want to go home. But the line had stopped moving, prolonging her torment. Grrr. She glanced up. A man had claimed his dessert, but hadn't stepped out of the way. Instead he watched her, studied her.