Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I laughed, adjusting my camera strap as I climbed another winding staircase in Ashworth Castle. I had my phone connected to one earbud so I could use both hands on my camera. "Maggie, the perfect photo happens at the perfect moment in the perfect light. I can't just wing it."
"Yes, you absolutely can," my best friend said. "That's literally what candid photography is."
"This isn't just photography," I argued, pausing to peek into yet another room that definitely wasn't the one I needed. "This is my chance. My big break. If I nail this wedding, I go from 'Oh, you do weddings?' to 'Oh my god, you're the Emma Marshall.'"
There was a slight pause. “You’re not still working on that secret wedding Pinterest board are you? The one you claim is just for ‘research’ and definitely not all about your own dream wedding?”
I gasped in mock outrage. "You promised never to mention… The Board."
"The fact that you say it with that weird emphasis like it’s a holic relic is concerning. I can almost hear the capital letters.”
"I'm hanging up now."
"Wait!" Maggie's voice turned serious. "How are you really doing? And don't give me the 'I'm fine' bullshit."
I sighed, leaning against a stone wall. "Honestly? I'm terrified. This is a massive wedding. The venue is incredible. The couple is gorgeous. Everything needs to be perfect."
"You always make everything perfect."
"Yeah, well, easier said than done in a castle that apparently rearranges itself when I'm not looking." I pushed off the wall and continued my search. "I swear I've passed this same suit of armor four times."
"Maybe it's following you."
"Not helping." I checked my watch, then gave the suit of armor a nervous look over my shoulder. "Look, I need to find the west tower before I lose the light. Apparently, there's this amazing view of the sunset that would be perfect for—"
"For the Golden Hour shots, I know." Maggie sighed dramatically. "You're hopeless. A total wedding junkie."
"Says the woman who cried at a toilet paper commercial because the puppy was 'wearing a tiny bow tie like a little gentleman.'"
"That puppy was adorable and you know it."
I rounded another corner, hoping to see something—anything—familiar. "I might be lost."
"Might be?"
"Okay, I'm definitely lost. And I really have to pee."
"Of course you do. You always have to pee when you're lost."
"It's a nervous bladder thing!" I protested, then lowered my voice as the sound echoed off the stone walls. "Oh god, what if I can't find my way back? What if I have to live in this castle forever, surviving off of tourist water bottles and wedding mints?"
"Emma."
"I'll become a legend. The Phantom of the Wedding. Haunting halls with my fantastic, minty breath and critiquing flower arrangements—"
"Emma!"
"What?"
"Stop catastrophizing and find a bathroom. You always think better with an empty bladder."
She had a point. "Fine. But if I'm not back to civilization in twenty minutes, send a search party. With snacks."
"Deal. Love you, crazy."
"Love you too."
I hung up and surveyed my surroundings. The castle's corridors stretched out in three directions, each one looking equally medieval and impossible to navigate.
That's when I saw it—a small wooden sign with a universal stick figure that had never looked so beautiful.
I broke into what could generously be called a jog, my camera bag bouncing against my hip as I followed the signs. When I finally reached the bathroom, I nearly cried.
Out of order.
"No, no, no," I muttered, doing what my sister calls the 'pee pee dance.' "This isn't happening."
Then I saw it—the men's room. I glanced around. I pushed open the door, my bravery fueled only by how badly I needed to pee.
“Yoo hoo! Anybody in there?”
No answer.
"Desperate times," I whispered, then made a break for it.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open further, wincing at its dramatic creak. The men's room was small but clean—well, clean-ish. Medieval castle standards were different from modern ones, I supposed.
One lonely stall occupied the far wall, flanked by two urinals. I approached the stall with hope in my heart and a prayer on my lips.
That hope died a quick, brutal death when I saw the toilet. It looked like it had survived several wars, a plague, and possibly an exorcism. There was no way any part of me was getting anywhere near that thing. It wasn’t even suitable for a hover-pee-style attack.
Nope.
That meant I was left with the urinals, those strange, bafflingly not private things I sometimes thought only existed in movies and not real life.
I stared at them, hands on hips, weighing my options. "Okay, Emma," I muttered. "Cowgirl or reverse cowgirl?"
The porcelain gleamed mockingly in the dim light. I'd need good aim, a steady stance, and ice in my heart to pull this off. And if anybody walked in while I was mid-stream? Yeah. It was better not to think about that.
"Reverse it is." I hiked up my dress, grabbed some paper towels, and started my awkward backward approach. Just as I was perfecting my stance and mentally preparing for the feat of engineering I was about to attempt, the door creaked open.