What was supposed to be a dream honeymoon in Bora Bora quickly turned into a battle for control when my in-laws demanded our luxury villa for themselves. But when my husband finally let me handle them, I made sure they got exactly what they deserved.
The Perfect Plan—Or So We Thought
When we told my parents about the trip, they were overjoyed. They had always been humble, easygoing people who never expected anything extravagant.
Growing up, vacations meant road trips, budget hotels, and simple joys—picnics by the beach, hiking trails, or sharing ice cream cones on boardwalks. So when Mark and I invited them on this luxurious getaway, their reactions were priceless.
My mom’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you sure, sweetheart? This is too much.”
My dad shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this. This is the trip of a lifetime.”
They kept thanking us, their voices thick with emotion.
Mark’s parents, however, were a different story.
Before we even booked the trip, I got a taste of just how much control his parents had over him. Our original plan was to go in late May. But when Mark told his mom, Linda, she shot it down instantly.
“No, Mark. That won’t work for us,” she said, shaking her head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Your father has his golf tournament, and I have my garden club’s spring luncheon. You’ll have to move it.”
I expected Mark to push back, to remind her that this was our honeymoon, not a family retreat. Instead, he sighed, gave me an apologetic look, and said, “We can reschedule, right?”
I stared at him. “Mark, we already put down deposits.”
“I’ll cover the change fees,” he assured me. “It’s just easier this way.”
Easier for whom? Certainly not for me or my parents, who had to rearrange their schedules. But for Linda and Richard? Perfect.
That night, I confronted him. “You can’t keep letting them run our lives.”
He rubbed his temples. “Just this once,” he promised. “After this trip, no more. We’re setting boundaries.”
I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Next time, let me handle things.”
The Arrival—And The First Signs of Trouble
We had booked Mark’s parents a breathtaking overwater bungalow—the best one available. It had a glass floor to watch the fish swim beneath, an open-air bathroom, and a private deck with an unbeatable ocean view.
Their reaction? Disappointment.
They barely said thank you.
Meanwhile, Mark and I were in the only available villa—a sprawling 4,000-square-foot paradise. It had a sauna, an outdoor tub, a private pool, and an ocean slide that dropped straight into the turquoise water. It was breathtaking.
I had a bad feeling in my gut.
That evening, we all gathered for dinner. The warm air smelled like coconut and grilled seafood. The sunset painted the sky pink and gold. We were sipping fresh pineapple cocktails when my cousin Jason leaned over, grinning.
“That ocean slide of yours is insane! Can I try it tomorrow?”
I laughed. “Of course! It’s so much fun.”
A loud gasp cut through the conversation.
“Wait… WHAT?” Linda slapped her hand against the table, her eyes darting to Mark. “You have an ocean slide?”
Richard frowned. “Your place has a slide?”
My stomach twisted. Here we go.
Linda grabbed Mark’s phone, scrolling through photos we had taken earlier. Her face turned red. “Mark, THIS is your place?!”
Mark hesitated. “Uh… yeah?”
Richard pushed back his chair. “And we’re stuck in a bungalow?!”
I blinked. Stuck? Those bungalows were dream destinations for most people.
“Mom, Dad,” Mark started, “your place is amazing. It’s the best bungalow they offer.”
Linda scoffed. “But it’s NOT a villa.” She turned to me, her voice sharp. “Why do you get the best place?”
“There was only one villa available,” I said calmly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to give it to just one set of parents.”
Linda huffed. “We’re the elders! We shouldn’t live like peasants while our children enjoy luxury!”
I nearly choked on my drink. Peasants? In Bora Bora?
Richard crossed his arms. “Mark owes us. We raised him. He wouldn’t even be here without us.”
Mark sat frozen. His hands curled into fists on the table. His entire life, he had bent to their will. But now, it wasn’t just about him. It was about us.
He glanced at me, his blue eyes searching mine. And then, he exhaled and nodded. A small, almost imperceptible nod. My turn.
I turned to my in-laws, keeping my voice steady. “I understand you want something better. You’re right—family should be treated well. I’ll make sure you get the special treatment you deserve.”
Linda smirked. “Well, it’s about time.”
Richard grumbled under his breath. “Should’ve done that in the first place.”
I smiled sweetly. “Leave it to me.”
The Perfect Solution
That night, I made a quick call to the resort concierge.
“You want me to book them a flight home?” she asked, amused.
“First-class,” I confirmed. “Only the best for them.”
The next morning, I woke to the sound of suitcases rolling across the wooden deck. I stepped onto the balcony just in time to see Linda and Richard arriving at the front desk, their chests puffed out in expectation.
The concierge greeted them warmly. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, your special arrangements have been finalized.”
Linda beamed. “Finally! Where are our new keys?”
The concierge handed them an envelope. “Your first-class tickets.”
Silence.
Linda’s eyebrows shot up. “Tickets?”
Richard snatched the envelope. His face turned deep red. “This is a joke,” he growled. “This is a goddamn joke.”
Linda’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “YOU’RE SENDING US HOME?!”
I stepped forward, smiling sweetly. “You said you deserved the best… and home is the best place we could find for you.”
Linda turned to Mark, desperate. “You’re going to let her do this to us?”
Mark sighed. “Honestly? Yeah.”
Linda gasped. “We’re your parents!”
“And we’re on our honeymoon,” he replied. “You don’t even like Bora Bora, Mom.”
I shrugged. “Safe travels.”
As the boat carried them away, Mark exhaled. “I can’t believe you actually did that.”
I wrapped an arm around his waist. “Believe it.”
And finally, for the first time since we arrived, we could enjoy our honeymoon—without interruption.
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I Was the Only One Who Didn’t Get an Invite to My Close Friend’s Wedding — When I Crashed It, I Was Shocked to Find Out Why
Picture of Allison Lewis
By Allison Lewis
Published on 02/12/2025
Reviewed by Jenna Sharpe
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The first time someone mentioned Amber’s wedding, I laughed, thinking it was a joke.
“Wait, Amber who?” I asked, sipping my coffee, more focused on the giant slice of cheesecake in front of me than whatever my friends were talking about.
The table went dead silent. Four pairs of eyes locked on me like I’d just confessed to a crime.
“Are you serious, Ivy?” Lauren finally asked. “Amber Amber. Our Amber.”
My stomach twisted.
“No way. She would have told me,” I said, shaking my head. “You guys are just messing with me.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, nearly knocking over his coffee cup.
“Ivy, she… she sent the invitations weeks ago. Almost a month, actually.”
I nearly dropped my coffee. My invitation never came.
At first, I told myself it had to be a mistake. Maybe it got lost in the mail? Maybe she wanted to tell me in person? But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made. We always talked about being in each other’s weddings. We used to stay up late planning everything down to the last detail—what dresses we’d wear, what songs we’d dance to, how we’d always be there for each other. And now she was getting married without me?
The weeks passed, and I saw posts all over social media. Friends gushed about how excited they were for Amber’s big day.
Can’t wait to celebrate you!
You’re going to be the most beautiful bride, Amber!
Bachelorette party!!
I tried not to let it get to me. Maybe she had a reason. Maybe she just got so busy she forgot. But when Lauren called me, bubbling with excitement about the dress she’d bought for the wedding, reality hit me like a truck.
“I got this gorgeous midnight blue dress, Ives! And my grandmother’s earrings will go perfectly with it. Have you decided what you’re wearing?”
“Lauren, she still hasn’t invited me,” I said flatly.
The silence on the line stretched.
I didn’t ask Amber why. I waited, hoping she’d tell me herself. I gave her every opportunity. But she never said a word—not even when we got our nails done together.
I almost didn’t go to that appointment, but a part of me wanted to see if she’d say something. I was hoping for a clue, a hint, anything that would make this make sense.
“I’m going with a neutral color,” Amber said, smiling as she admired her hands.
I glanced down. No engagement ring. That was weird.
“Pretty,” I said. “I’m doing fiery red.”
She didn’t even flinch. No guilt, no hesitation. Just casual conversation, like nothing was wrong.
Had I done something to hurt her? Had I upset her without realizing it?
Did she actually think I was going to crash her wedding and steal her groom?
Something wasn’t right. Deep down, I knew it. Amber was hiding something. And I was going to find out what.
So, I crashed the wedding.
I hadn’t spoken to Amber since that day at the salon, but Lauren kept me updated, sending me screenshots of posts Amber had made, carefully hiding them from me.
“Sorry, Ives,” she said one afternoon as we sat in the park, eating ice cream. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Have you tried talking to her?”
“We got our nails done, but she never said a word,” I admitted. “She wasn’t even wearing a ring.”
But now, I stood in front of the wedding venue, watching guests arrive, their laughter and excitement filling the air.
I felt out of place. I knew these people. Amber’s family had been like a second family to me growing up.
She should have told me.
I thought back to our last real conversation, before the wedding rumors started. We had been sitting in her apartment, sharing a bottle of wine, flipping through wedding magazines.
I had circled a dress I thought she’d love. She had been quiet, tense. I had brushed it off, assuming she was stressed.
“Why do you have so many wedding magazines, anyway?” I had asked.
“It’s for a project,” she had said carefully. “I’m designing a wedding dress. If I get this right, I’ll get more clients.”
Had she been lying?
Now, I remembered how she had gripped her wine glass a little too tightly when I asked about her dream wedding dress. How she had shut down completely when I asked about her dream groom.
“You live in your head too much, Ivy,” she had said.
I should have known then.
I walked into the wedding like I belonged there, head high, heart pounding.
The venue was stunning. Soft golden lights, elegant décor—Amber had poured herself into every detail. It was perfect.
For a second, I thought maybe this was all a misunderstanding.
Until I stepped into the main hall.
The room went silent.
People turned to look at me. Some whispered. Others gave me looks of pity, like I had just walked into something tragic.
My stomach twisted.
Then, I saw her.
Amber stood at the front of the room, frozen in place, her beautiful white dress flowing around her like a cloud.
And then I saw him.
Standing beside her, in a sleek black tux, was my father.
My father. The man who abandoned me when I was ten years old. The man I hadn’t seen since.
Amber knew.
That’s why I wasn’t invited.
She had been hiding this from me.
The world blurred. My breath caught. My mind screamed at me to run, to get out, to forget I ever saw this.
But I wasn’t that little girl waiting by the window anymore.
“You,” I said, voice steady despite the storm inside me.
My father hesitated.
“Ivy…” his voice was deeper, unfamiliar. “I—”
Amber rushed forward. “I was going to tell you—”
“When?” I snapped. “Before or after the honeymoon? Maybe when you were pregnant with my half-sibling?”
She winced. “I didn’t know how to—”
“How to what? Tell me you were marrying the man who walked out on me?”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, but I barely noticed.
“Why now? After all these years, why her?”
My father sighed. “I know I owe you an explanation.”
I laughed bitterly. “You owe me a lot more than that.”
“I left because I had to, not because I wanted to,” he said.
I stared at him, heart pounding. “You let me believe you were dead. You let me think I wasn’t even worth a goodbye.”
Amber wiped at her tears like she was the one who had lost something.
“And you,” I said, turning on her. “When did you think this was okay?”
She looked away.
“Congratulations,” I said coldly. “You’re officially family now. I hope it was worth it.”
I turned and walked out.
“Ivy, please,” my father called. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
I stopped, but I didn’t turn around.
“Please, Philip,” I said, voice cold. “You lost me years ago. You just never cared enough to look.”
That night, I sat in my car, staring at Amber’s text.
Ivy, I’m so sorry. Please talk to me.
I deleted it.
For the first time in years, I felt like I had finally stopped waiting by the window.