As Jessica stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene, she felt an odd sense of detachment . . . almost as though she were a guest at someone else’s wedding. Every detail was flawless. It all looked exactly as she had envisioned, and for a control freak, there could be no sweeter triumph. If only she’d been the wedding planner instead of the bride. Then, at least, she could take some professional satisfaction in the planning and aesthetic instinct that had led to this moment of event-planning perfection. Unfortunately, she was the bride. The jilted bride, she reminded herself, fighting the urge to turn and flee. At least she wasn’t wearing her wedding gown anymore. She’d changed into the blue silk dress she’d planned to wear tomorrow, when she and Tom were supposed to leave for their honeymoon. Once people saw her standing there, it was too late to run. She stiffened her spine, lifted her chin, and took a deep breath. There were a surprising number of people here, all things considered.
