Chapter 3: Booze and Bad Decisions
VANESSA BELMONT
Smirking, the Evil Twins sauntered into the venue. I eyed the guards. Then I walked straight to the life-sized photo of me and Nathan in a we’re-getting-married embrace. I pointed to my own face. "I’m the bride-to-be."
The guards studied the wedding portrait for way too long. Then they looked at me. Both shook their heads. "Nah," said the shorter one. "You’re not her."
"What? Are you kidding me?" I planted myself next to life-sized Vanessa. "Same nose. Same eyes. Same everything!"
"She’s kinda plain," said the tall guard, scratching his head. "You’re prettier."
"I’m prettier than myself?"
"You’ve got a nice figure, too," said the short guard. "She’s kinda meh."
"I’m wearing a poofy wedding dress! I look like I’m stuck inside a giant marshmallow. How can you tell what kind of figure she—I mean, I—have?"
"Your hair’s more of a dark blonde. And your lips are fuller," said Tall Dude.
"Yeah," added Shorty. "And you ... y’know." He cupped his hands in front of his chest. "You’re ... er, bigger."
I stared at them. Short Dude at least had the decency to blush, but Tall Dude just went back to his post like we hadn’t spent five minutes discussing why I was simultaneously uglier and prettier than my own wedding portrait.