The night before my wedding, I realized the women in the next hotel room were not my friends.
It happened shortly after midnight at the historic Lakeview Hotel in Newport, Rhode Island, where my bridesmaids and I had reserved a block of rooms before the ceremony. I couldn’t sleep. My wedding dress hung from the wardrobe in a white garment bag, my vow cards were stacked neatly on the nightstand, and every few minutes I picked up my phone to reread the last message from my fiancé, Ethan: See you at the altar tomorrow, beautiful.
I had just switched off the lamp when laughter drifted through the wall.
At first, I ignored it. Then I heard my maid of honor, Vanessa, unmistakably clear.
“Spill wine on her dress, lose the rings, whatever it takes,” she said. “She doesn’t deserve him.”
Another voice—Kendra, one of my college bridesmaids—snorted. “You’re evil.”
Vanessa laughed. “I’ve been working on him for months.”
A chill ran through my entire body.
