The first rays of early morning sun peeked through the dainty curtains of the eastward facing bedroom window. The beginnings of a beautiful June day beckoned and anyone awake in the room would notice the narrow rays casting bright-colored prisms along the patterned carpet. However, the allure of a perfect day failed to attract the attention of the three women inhabiting the bedroom at Manor House. Nothing short of a volcanic eruption could wake them at that hour after their late night. It hadn’t been an ordinary celebration or evening spent with girlfriends. The previous evening had resulted in confessions, teasing, and jokes that only accompany a woman’s last night of being single. While the weather did its part to keeping the promise of a beautiful day for a wedding, the bride-to-be slept the sleep of the righteous… or the intoxicated.

Much later in the morning, concerned over the continued silence from that room, a trim, attractive woman pushed the door open after a quiet knock. Her gray hair belied her true age, but the former school teacher, then governess, and more recently chief-of-staff, was considered a close friend of the bridal party. Margery Trask smiled as she noticed the three forms, still fast asleep. She entered and crossed the room to stand at one of the large windows.

“Rise and Shine,” she said gaily. Giving the curtain cord a hard pull, she allowed the full sun to shine through and help serve as an alarm clock. She crossed to the other window. “It’s time for the bride and her party to be awake.”

The only married member of the trio groaned and rolled over, blinking briefly before throwing her arm over her eyes and groaning again. “What time is it?” she mumbled.

“After ten,” Margery replied briskly. “The hair stylist will be here in just over an hour, so you three need to wake up and get showered.”

She placed a hand on the closest shoulder and shook gently. “Up at at ‘em, dear.” Diana raised her head slightly and nodded in acknowledgement.

“The rest of the bridal party, including Mrs. Wheeler, are all otherwise occupied, but that’s not going to last long,” she informed them. “I suggest you three get up now, so you can all shower before the stylist arrives.”

Trixie nodded and managed a brief, but hoarse, “Got it!” She cleared her throat. “Thanks, Margery.”

“No problem my dear. I’ll go see about finding some eye drops, something to help with the redness. Oh, and coffee is on its way up.” She smiled and left the girls, knowing that waking two out of the three friends would at least guarantee they stayed awake.

Without sitting up or opening her eyes, Trixie gave Honey’s hip a small push. “Wake up lazy bones. It’s after ten.”

“Go away, Drew,” her best friend mumbled. “I don’t want to do anything right now.”

“Drew?” Trixie quirked an eyebrow, suddenly fully awake and interested. “You didn’t mention anyone named Drew last night.”

Honey sighed and went back to sleep. Grinning at Diana, Trixie picked up a pillow and smacked Honey’s sleeping form. “Wake up, lazybones! Tell us who Drew is!”

Honey pushed herself up and blinked at Trixie in confusion. “Drew? I never mentioned him last night. I’m positive. How did you find out about Drew?”

“We know you didn’t,” Diana pushed herself up on one elbow and stared at Honey, her eyes wide, intrigued by the mention of an unknown man in Honey’s life. “That’s why it seems strange you’re telling him to go away in your sleep.”

Honey looked back and forth between her two friends, before taking a deep breath, and resolved to make a full confession about the mysterious Andrew Spencer Hamilton, the third. As she drew a breath before launching the rather involved explanation that would be required, she was stopped by an abrupt squeal from Diana.

“Oh no!” her ebony-haired friend gasped, pointing at Honey. “What’s wrong with her nose?”

Trixie squinted and adjusted her head to peer at Honey’s face, her brow knit as she studied it.

Finally, she spoke. “What in the world is that thing on your nose?”

“My nose?” Honey’s hand flew automatically to the straight pert nose that she often considered her best feature. “What’s wrong with my nose?”

“Find a mirror!” Di ordered, scrambling off the bed in haste and heading straight for the glamorous adjoining bathroom. She wasted no time grabbing an antique silver hand mirror from Honey’s vanity. Returning to the bedroom, and mindless of the value of the precious antique, she thrust it into Honey’s anxious hand.

“Oh, no!” Honey groaned as she studied the large red splotch on the tip of her nose. “It can’t be!”

“It is,” Trixie assured her, peering over the edge of the mirror and staring at the gigantic pimple that had developed overnight while the girls slept. “You’ve got the mother of all zits!”

“What am I going to do?” Honey wailed. “It could erupt at the wrong time, and I’ll be the laughingstock of my own wedding!”

“Sweetie, if that zit erupts during your wedding, it’s going to be a disaster that compares with the Mt. St. Helen’s explosion.” Di tried to sound consoling, but her words made it clear that the crisis was literally staring them in the face. There was no time for dilly-dallying around with the truth. Honey had indeed developed acne worse than anything she’d experienced as a teenager.

“How could this happen?” She moaned.

Trixie swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat down beside her with a heavy sigh. She put a comforting arm around Honey’s shoulders. “It’s a sign. We’ve been telling you for months that you’ve got no business marrying Brian on the rebound like this. You wouldn’t listen to your two best friends … maybe now you’ll listen to what your face is telling you.”

“Or better yet, your nose,” Di added, sitting down on the other side of Honey. “There’s only one thing to do.”

“Yep,” Trixie agreed and she shared a look with Diana, who nodded.

“You need to call off the wedding.”