Wattpad on Seventeen: I Crashed Niall Horan's Brother's Wedding and It Changed My Life

"Were you invited, love? I don't think we've met," a blonde boy -- whom I'd recognized as the best man -- skeptically asked, looking as if he was seconds away from escorting me out of the ethereal-looking church.
"Of course we have. We're, uh, second cousins," I tripped over the first lie I could fabricate, damning myself for being so unprepared.
Usually, I had my story perfectly straight, never looking as if I didn't belong within the crowd of stiffly dressed loved ones with tear-stained cheeks, clutching their soggy hankies.
I didn't exactly enjoy my job -- it was cruel and unusual, which I was not -- but it paid the student loans and overdue rent I was drowning in (not that my shoebox apartment seemed worthy enough of rent). And honestly, that was all the incentive I needed to willingly ruin holy matrimony.
I, Finley Castle, was a wedding crasher; an excellent one, at that.Though, I preferred to consider myself a 'wedding hit-man', as that's what it felt like; murdering a couple's sacred day by someone else's request, without so much as giving it a second thought. Bitter exes, desperate parents, and unrequited lovers alike called upon me with names, basic information, and a decent amount of money. Then, off I went; no turning back.
I suppose I'm a bad person, but we can't all be angels.
"I don't have any second cousins, and your accent is painfully fake," the boy countered in a low growl, catching me off guard.
I thought for certain I'd nailed my Irish accent.
"Look," I spat, gritting my teeth and dropping my painfully fake Irish accent. Bearing my wits about me, I continued, "just do us both a favor and forget about this, okay, blondie? You don't want to make this any messier than it needs to be."
I couldn't believe I'd been caught. In two years of business, I hadn't once been speculated as a fraud before the big reveal, let alone caught, and I sure as hell hadn't let anyone in on what I was doing.
"You better leave before I call security. I don't want to, but I have no choice. You girls are amazingly dedicated and all, but this is my brother's wedding. You sneaking in to see me makes me feel like absolute shit. This is his day, not mine," he rambled, emoting with his hands.
"Sneaking in to see you? Babe, I'm here for them, and them only," I corrected.
After pointing at the bride and groom, I pushed past the nosey boy, treating him as no more than an afterthought. Then, I found my way to my designated pew, sitting beside an emotionally unstable old woman who was clenching a paisley handkerchief for dear life.
Who does he think he is? I reeled.
Knocking his amazingly clear, blue eyes from my thoughts, my mind ran only through my specified instructions. Nonchalantly, I sat back to watch the Greg Horan wedding unfold. As things droned on, I silently wished that my cue would arrive sooner. That blonde boy seemed to have crawled into my head like an earwig, making me feel anxious for once, despite knowing I was doing what I did best.

Putting all other thoughts to rest, I stayed focused. It was just another day on the job, after all.