Chapter 1: The Battle Over 'Tradition'

I barely got the words “destination wedding” out before my cousin Derek jabbed his finger in my face, bourbon breath and all.

"No way in hell am I okay with this!"

His breath hit me like a cheap bar on Saturday night, voice so loud I felt the spit on my cheek. He got right up in my face, red-faced and wild-eyed, like he was about to throw a punch instead of start a family fight.

Derek’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table, his face going redder by the second. "You guys rake it in, and all you care about is jet-setting around. What about your family? You’re not even throwing us a real wedding party!"

He made it sound like Natalie and I were robbing the family of some sacred right. The words just hung there, a few aunts shifting in their seats at the battered oak table, which was littered with casserole dishes, half-empty Coke cans, and a big bowl of potato salad sweating in the heat. My cheeks burned—part embarrassment, part anger boiling up inside.

"Let me tell you, not only do you have to host us, but you’d better provide plenty of top-shelf whiskey and imported cigars. I don’t care about anything else."

He slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the silverware. The idea of him showing up for nothing but booze and cigars might have been funny if it wasn’t so damn insulting. Aunt Lorraine just raised an eyebrow—she knew better than to step in when Derek was in one of his moods.

I swallowed my anger and tried to explain that after the destination wedding, we’d still have a thank-you dinner back home—we were just skipping the traditional ceremony. But Derek’s face only got stormier. He slammed the table again.

My hands were clenched under the table, nails digging into my palm. My stomach twisted—I hated how Derek could still make me feel like the scrawny kid at Thanksgiving, desperate to fit in. I forced my voice steady, hoping logic might cut through the tension.

"No ceremony? So there’s no first-look? Your fiancée’s bridesmaids won’t be coming either?"

Derek sounded personally wounded, like I’d stolen his starring role in the family drama. He looked around for backup, but only got a couple of awkward shrugs from his drinking buddies in the corner, piling hot wings onto their plates.

"Then what about my buddies?"

He gestured toward his friends—guys I barely knew. The audacity made my jaw clench, but I held my ground.

"I’m telling you, as long as I’m here, you can forget about having some travel wedding!"

The words echoed through the room, like he’d delivered a final verdict. For a split second, I wondered if he expected me to beg for forgiveness.

I was so stunned, it felt like my brain short-circuited. What does whether I do a first-look have to do with him? What do my fiancée’s bridesmaids have to do with his poker buddies?

I glanced helplessly at Natalie, who sat rigid, her knuckles white around the vitamin bottle, and she kept glancing at the family photos on the mantle, searching for a friendly face. I could see the familiar storm brewing in her eyes—a mix of confusion, hurt, and the desperate urge to disappear under the table. I wondered if anyone else at the table felt the absurdity of the moment as acutely as we did.