~Wednesday, 21:00, 61 hours until the wedding~

"You should tell him."

"See, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you!"

"Technically, you didn't tell me, I figured it out," Patrick pointed out from his seat on your hotel bed, watching you as you removed your make-up in the bathroom.

"Whatever," you waved a hand dismissively in Patrick's direction, "But now that you know, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't constantly try to coax me into telling Pete like (Y/B/F) does. Lord knows I have enough to deal with already," you mumbled.

"(Y/N), you can't just let him marry that fucking awful woman when he'd be way better off being with you instead!"

"He's happy with her. That's what's important. Not how we feel about her."

Patrick collapsed onto the bed and groaned in frustration. "You're unbelievable!"

"So I've been told."

~Thursday, 12:00, 46 hours until the wedding~

"That's perfect. I'll be there at around 6 to add all the trimmings. Okay. Alright, see you then. Thank you so much." You hung up the call with the manager of the restaurant you'd booked for one of the locations for Meagan's bachelorette party and plopped down onto one of the plush chairs.

"All good?" Patrick asked, setting a mojito down in front of you.

"So far," you replied, reaching for your drink and holding it up, "Here's hoping it stays like that."

You clinked glasses with Patrick and took a sip, relishing in the coolness of the liquid.

"How're your plans coming along?" you questioned.

"Great, actually. Everyone really pulled through to make sure it'll be a awesome evening," Patrick gushed excitedly.

"Must be nice," you grumbled, "I had to do everything by myself."

"I'm not surprised. In fact, I'm 99.9% sure that the bridesmaids aren't even real people. They're drones that Meagan had made in a lab for the sole purpose of following her around and cackling like a pack of hyenas."

"That actually makes way too much sense for it not to be true," you chuckled as your phone lit up, signalling that you had just received a text. Scanning over it, you started to rise from your seat. "Gotta go, babe. The t-shirts I ordered are ready."

"You ordered t-shirts?" Patrick asked, awestruck.

"And goodie-bags, and I ordered a limo, and booked VIP tables at the best restaurant in the area as well as two different clubs."

"I'm starting to think that you've been compromised."

"Please," you rolled your eyes, grabbing your purse and stuffing your cell inside, "Can you imagine what would happen if Meagan's bachelorette party isn't 'totes ah-mazing'?"

"I see your point," Patrick nodded, sipping his drink.

"Later, loser."

~Thursday, 18:25, 39 hours and 35 minutes until the wedding~

"Everything looks wonderful, ma'am."

"Thank you, Michael. Let's just hope it's to the bride's liking."

"I'm sure it will be."

"Don't be. You never know with this one," you exhaled, running a hand through your hair.

"So, we have a bridezilla on our hands, hm?" Michael brought two fingers to his lips and whistled, immediately gaining the attention of the waiters scattered around the room. "We have a code 2 tonight, everyone. All hands on deck."

Everyone instantly began to move at a pace that was five times faster than their usual one while you stood stunned by the level of organization and the manner in which every single waiter melted together to form one perfectly meshing machine.

"Code 2?" you questioned, turning to face Michael, "What's code 1 and 3?"

"3 is a robbery and 1 is any other kind of life or death situation."

"Wait, so a bridezilla is a higher up on the list than a robbery?"

"Women can be crazy, ma'am."

"Believe me, I know," you chuckled before averting your attention back to the amazing workers in front of you. "Michael?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Is there any chance of hiring them to take over the rest of my Maid of Honour duties?"

~Thursday, 21:00, 37 hours until the wedding~

Sitting at the hotel bar with your head rested on one hand, you thought about what horrible thing you must've done to deserve this much bad karma.

Even though you worked your ass off planning what you thought was an incredible bachelorette party, it hadn't been good enough for Meagan.

She found fault with everything.

First, it was the limo. Apparently, it was too vintage and not modern enough. She also didn't like the font on the shirts you had made. Then, she got upset because the restaurant only had wine from 1970 onwards and not 1969, and hated the appetizers prepared by the world-renowned chef. When you got to the first club, she complained that the VIP table was in the corner of the club instead of the middle, which then resulted in her forcing the entire group to leave early and move on to the next club. But, your booking at the second club was only for 21:30, meaning you ended up back at the hotel bar. You, searching for your will to live at the bottom of a whiskey glass, and the Barbie squad on the couches in the middle room, well on their way to being wasted.

Just as you downed the last of the brown liquid in the glass, a noticeably anxious Patrick came running over to you.

"(Y/N)! Thank God!" he sighed, out of breath.

"'Trick, what's wrong?" you questioned worriedly; concerned that something serious had happened.

"Can we combine the parties for the rest of the night?"

"What? Why? I thought you had everything planned."

"We did! But then...," he removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes before sitting down next to you. "Okay, so, we were supposed to start the night off at Marcus's place, y'know, cause he lives close by. And obviously, you know about how – by poetic coincidence - he's going through a divorce while being a groomsman at a wedding."

"Uh huh."

"Right, so, when we all arrived at his place, we found him sitting on the living room floor. On the floor, because, you see, there wasn't any furniture. His wife had come while he was here at the hotel and cleaned out the house. Like, thoroughly out. No furniture. No glasses in the kitchen. No curtains. She left his clothes, still folded, in the place where the dresser used to be. In the closet, his clothes were on the floor because she'd taken the hangers. The booze he'd stocked up for the party? All gone. Except for one empty bottle that she left in the otherwise barren fridge. She took the mustard, even. So, for the next little while, he sat on the floor, shell-shocked and stunned. Occasionally, he'd answer a question in monotone grunts. Joe had brought a couple of six-packs with him, so we all sat on the floor with Marcus, drinking and tossing bottle caps at an empty bottle in the centre of the room. As you can imagine, it was extremely fun. Then, Pete found a deck of cards in a pile of random stuff she'd decided she didn't want and had thrown into a corner. We threw those at the target for a while, until Andy made a discovery: she'd taken all the hearts, and left only the spades, clubs and diamonds. Marcus started crying. The next hour was spent largely trying to convince him that he was better off without her while he shook his head at Pete and wailed 'Don't do it, man. It isn't worth it" over and over. So, yeah, good times."

"Wow. I, uh... I don't know how to respond to that."

"You can start by saying that we can come with to the next club," Patrick said, hopefully.

"Are we sure that's a good idea?" you questioned uncertainly, glancing over at the Barbie squad who were giggling uncontrollably, "I mean, poor Pete needs some time away from that."

Patrick sighed. "I know, I know. But we don't have a plan B and we can't just not do anything."

"Fine," you groaned, Patrick smiling, "But I have a strong feeling that we're both seriously gonna regret this."

~Thursday, 21:45, 36 hours and 15 minutes until the wedding~

"See, Patrick? There are reasons bachelor and bachelorette parties are usually held separately from each other, and this is one of them!" you fumed, gesturing at the scene unfolding in front of everyone.

The club you were at had separate sections for male and female strippers and entertainment, so when everyone arrived, you and Patrick split up the group up once again and each headed to the respective sections. The only problem was that Meagan, being Meagan, got extremely jealous of the strippers dancing around Pete and decided to march up onto the stage instead, dancing and removing her clothes, much to Pete's dismay.

"How was I supposed to know that this would happen?" Patrick asked frantically, gesturing to Meagan, who was still going and showed no sign of stopping any time soon.

"This has to stop," you said, making your way onto the stage too, dragging Meagan off of it and back to your designated table.

"(Y/N), get your hands off of me!" Meagan struggled against your iron grip. "I honestly can't believe you! It's like you get more and more jealous which each passing second!"

"I'm not jealous," you said, "I'm just trying to save you from embarrassing yourself even further."

"Embarrassing myself?" she scoffed, "Listen here-" she leaned forward, and as she did so, the candle on the table lit her hair on fire, prompting a blood-curdling scream from her.

All the hairspray in her hair fed the flames, and so did the vodka tonic she threw on herself in an attempt to put out the flames. Luckily, a neighbouring table threw a bucket of ice on her hair, and it was only her extensions that suffered damage.

"Taxi!"

~Thursday, 23:00, 35 hours until the wedding~

"I'm never gonna hear the fucking end of this," you groaned, your head falling into your hands.

"It wasn't your fault, (Y/N)," (Y/B/F) tried to comfort you, stroking your hair.

"Tell that to Meagan."

"Everyone knows how insane she is," Patrick spoke up, "No one takes anything she says literally. They all know how much she exaggerates everything."

"Doesn't stop it from being annoying as fuck, though. You know," you got up and started pacing around your hotel room, "I'm so done. Honestly. I don't know how much more of it I can take."

"(Y/N/N), talk to Pete," (Y/B/F) said, "You need to tell him."

The sound of the door closing sounded throughout the room.

"Tell me what?"

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Thank you for reading x