"That's enough! This isn't high school. And you're not the mean girl queen bee anymore."
Virginia shrugs, all calculated indifference. "Just being honest." She glances at me with feigned sympathy. "Sorry if that was harsh. But someone had to say it." Her lips curve. "Who knows? Maybe I'm wrong."
But her words have already found their mark.
Kristal swoops in with borderline manic cheer. "Let's harness that energy for our salutations!" She stretches high with exaggerated grace. "Feel your feminine power rising, radiant and unstoppable, just like the sun! Awaken your inner goddess!"
I'm still reeling from Virginia's words when Delilah—who's spent more time adjusting her matching set than moving—perks up. "Ivy, don't you do, like, actualritualsand stuff? With crystals and moon water? I looked you up on Instagram last night."
"Sometimes," I manage, grateful for the lifeline even if my voice sounds thin. I ease into the pose, using the familiar movement to ground myself.
"That's so cool." Delilah's eyes light up. "Could you do my birth chart?"
"Focus, ladies!" Kristal claps her hands. "Less chatting, more channeling! Virginia, honey, that's not sun salutations, that's . . . are you okay?"
Virginia's response is a muffled groan as she face-plants onto her mat, and I hate that part of me feels vindicated.
"She's fine," Dixie says cheerfully.
"Breathe through your core!" Kristal pirouettes between us, her endless enthusiasm giving me something else to focus on besides the ache in my chest. "Channel that gossip energy into your solar plexus!"
I concentrate on my breathing, trying to pack away Virginia's observations like I pack away everything else about Caleb.
"And now," Kristal announces, "let's try some partner poses."
Virginia makes the sound of a dying whale. "Touch me and die."
The next twenty minutes blur by in a haze of Kristal's increasingly unhinged motivational speeches, and Virginia's creatively profane commentary. Mary maintains a steady stream of passive-aggressive jabs at the bride, while Delilah films between poses, muttering about engagement rates and algorithm gods.
And through it all, Sarah holds her serene smile—though I catch the strain tugging at the corners.
Amelia's going to have a field day with this one. She already spent twenty minutes cackling over my play-by-play of yesterday's lunch from hell, complete with her trademark, "I told you so". Even Vinnie, who usually tries to see the best in everything, agreed this might be more than I bargained for. But what am I supposed to do now? Back out and leave Caleb alone with this crew?
At last, the call for savasana comes, and Virginia weeps with relief.
"Remember," Kristal croons, her voice taking on a soft, floaty lilt, "every challenge is an opportunity for growth. Every breath, a gift. Every hangover is—"
"Whoever thought sunrise yoga was a good idea clearly hasn't been to a real wedding," Virginia grumbles from her corpse pose, casting a thinly veiled glare at Sarah. "Whatever happened to brunch and bottomless mimosas?"
Sarah flinches. Death by a thousand paper cuts, all wrapped in designer activewear and fake smiles.
One of the estate'slarger rooms has been transformed into a fitting area. The other girls' laughter trails down the hall, something about needing "real drinks" before lunch.
"Sarah, you look beautiful!"
Her wedding dress is a work of art, all hand-beaded flowers and gossamer lace. When she moves, thousands of tiny pearls catch the light, making her shimmer.
"You think?" She twirls, the skirt floating around her. "It's not too . . . princess-y?"
"It's perfect. Matt's going to ugly cry when he sees you," I tell her. "Like, full-on sob."
Behind me, the seamstress clicks her tongue, tugging at my dress with all the tenderness of someone gutting a fish. "We'll need to let this out in the hips," she mutters, measuring me for what must be the fortieth time. "The other girls were easier fits."
I try not to wince, but Sarah catches it. "It looks amazing on Ivy," she says firmly.
After final adjustments, we slip into the silk robes Magnolia had monogrammed— 'Bride' in elegant script for Sarah, and 'Bridesmaid' for the rest of us. The seamstress mutters something about 'modern sizing' and 'rush alterations' before slipping out."
As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Sarah's perfect posture crumbles.
