Play the good bride then slip skins and take the scarlet bloom

There's no way to back out now. You've been playing musical bodies all day now, and you've ended up in one that is far from ideal, too much in the middle of this in-fighting nightmare, someone at the heart of everything, under the intense spotlight of everyone’s eyes. But as the insane situation you find yourself in dawns on you, there's simply no way out without blowing your cover. You know from the bride's messed up memories that this isn't the real Bloom, but that was never the assignment. This has been about slipping through traps.

"Carms?" You ask nervously, holding out a neatly manicured hand. She turns and gives you an insincere (though you pretend not to see it) smile.

"Not now. We've started. Don't trip up. And keep your chin up, try not to do that awful smile, the one that makes you look like a constipated chipmunk. You know it embarrasses you and this is being filmed."

Wow, she's even a bitch now, in her moment of glory, when she doesn't need to be. You know that she intends to get you drunk then quietly murder you. But that's not something you can change... is it?

Without thinking, you find yourself at the door. Nerves flutter through your current identity's stomach, torturing and tormenting you. You can feel your breasts grow warm and flushed as you march toward the happiest day of ‘your’ life. Suddenly you're out in the open, wind blowing soft against your cheeks and the scent of honeysuckle on the air. You push down your veil, and line up behind your bridesmaids and flower girl. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, waiting for the music to start up.

"Wait a moment." The voice comes from your side and you turn to see a woman with perhaps the most dramatic plastic surgery you've ever seen. Flowing blonde locks, a Botox'ed forehead and 'trout pout', and large, oversized silicone breasts. You'd guess her to be in her late 30s, and she's completely over the top, from long red nails to a white suit showing off too much cleavage. You realize quickly you're looking at Irina Parry, Holden's step-mother after his father walked out of the first marriage. "May I borrow the bride before her big moment?"

You make your apologies and step toward her, warily. Alexandra doesn't know her, and this is unusual, although Carma seems happy to delay proceedings for a moment; it just adds to Alexandra’s nerves. You edge back into the hotel with her, just round a corner.

"What's..." You begin in your most timid voice, only for her to round on you, jabbing her bejewelled finger in accusation.

“Don't even try it," She hisses. "You think I don't know that this sham wedding is for the money? Oh baby, you bet I do. I did the same. Only instead of Holden I got his father. Less expectation to ride his cock, more time shopping and sunbathing. So if I were you, I'd turn around and run. Don't go up the aisle. Because the Parry wealth is mine. You got that?"

“Wha... what?” You're astounded this is coming out, as Irina practically boasts of being a gold digger.

“Honey, don't think it's love Holden wants. He's too busy fucking Carma. Oh yes, you stupid bitch. It's an open secret, if you're smart enough to see it. So turn around and run along now. Your big day is just a big mess."

You're startled, which probably helps you fake Alexandra’s appropriately stunned reaction. But this is also an opportunity. You could, of course, stay as Alexandra and either blindly go through with the wedding or cause a scene. Or, if you can get out of your white puff bridal gown, Irina’s the kind of person you have no issue with when it comes to creating a new skin to borrow...