What Emily didn’t know was that Victoria’s sharp eyes missed nothing. The older woman had been tracking her all night, expecting trouble. When Emily stepped away to the bathroom, Victoria swiftly swapped the glasses. Emily, who loved cold tea and never bothered with a fresh glass, returned and chugged the drink without a second thought.
The reception was in full swing—kids running around with sparklers, couples laughing under the twinkling lights—when Emily suddenly doubled over. Her face went pale, and she gripped the table, struggling to stand.
- Honey, what’s wrong? Elizabeth cried, rushing to her side, her floral shawl slipping off her shoulders.
- I don’t know, Emily mumbled, her vision swimming. Something’s off. Maybe I ate something bad.
- Bad? Elizabeth frowned, her brow creasing. Everything was fresh, Emily. Look at everyone else—they’re fine, dancing, eating seconds of Victoria’s potato salad. Thank God we had the main party here at the house instead of some shady restaurant.
- But we were at that venue earlier, Emily groaned, clutching her stomach. I ate a ton there, Mom. You know me—I couldn’t resist the appetizers.
The wedding had kicked off at a rented event space downtown for the formal ceremony, where most guests sipped champagne, nibbled on hors d’oeuvres, and left after polite goodbyes. The real celebration was at the Carter home, with Victoria’s spread of pulled pork, coleslaw, and cornbread. Emily, never one to pass up free food, had indulged heavily at both venues. Victoria was annoyed that so much catering went to waste at the event space—except by Emily, whose appetite now seemed to have betrayed her.
Emily insisted she’d be fine, sipping water and waving off her mom’s concern. But the pain worsened, her face clammy and her legs unsteady. The party ground to a halt as guests noticed the commotion. Elizabeth, panicking, called 911, and an ambulance whisked Emily to St. Luke’s Medical Center in downtown Boise. Victoria, watching the scene unfold, felt a chill.
- What did that girl put in Marina’s tea? she thought, her heart pounding. Poor Marina—what would’ve happened if she’d drunk it? Emily’s getting what she deserves, but still…
Victoria didn’t wish Emily harm, but she couldn’t help a twinge of satisfaction. She held off telling Marina, not wanting to spoil what was left of the wedding. Elizabeth spent the night at the hospital, pacing the sterile halls outside Emily’s room, while the reception fizzled out—a bitter victory for Emily, though not the one she’d planned.
Ironically, the tea saved Emily from worse. The laxative she’d meant for Marina caused a miserable night of cramps and embarrassment, but nothing permanent. She’d hoped to ruin Marina and Michael’s wedding night, though the couple, already living together for months, didn’t put much stock in that tradition. Their marriage license was just a formality; their love was already battle-tested.