Paul, Gerry's best friend and a groomsman

Jackie turns as she's speaking, moving to put the orb back down. At that exact moment the door bursts open and Paul stumbles in, laughing at something on his phone. He collides into her. She drops the orb and it shatters—there's a flash of light, blinding everyone momentarily.

When Jackie's vision clears, everything feels wrong. Her center of gravity has shifted downward. Her body feels heavier, bulkier—shoulders broader, hands larger. She looks down and see a charcoal groomsman suit where her body should be. Large masculine hands that aren't hers flex involuntarily. Panic surges through her.

She looks up. Paul is staring down at himself—at Jackie's body—with an expression of absolute shock. His hands—her hands—hover over the white satin bodice of the wedding dress, fingertips trembling against unfamiliar curves.

"What the—" Paul's voice comes out high, feminine, breathy. He jerks back from the sound of it, stumbling on heels he doesn't know how to balance in. One hand flies to his throat.

Jackie— in Paul's body—staggers backward, slamming into the wall. "No. No no no." Her voice is deep, masculine, rough. She stares at her hands, turning them over and over. "Gerry, what the hell just happened?"

Gerry opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He's frozen, caught between them, watching his fiancée inhabit his best friend's six-foot-two frame while Paul looks down at himself in a wedding dress with dawning horror and something else—something darker flickering across his face.

"This isn't real," Paul whispers, but his hands are moving now, smoothing down the fabric of the dress, pausing at the cinched waist. "This can't be—"

"Paul." Gerry's voice cuts through the room, sharp. "Stop touching her body."

His eyes snap to Gerry's, and for a moment there's defiance there. Then he pulls his hands away, flushing. "I wasn't—I was just—"

"We need to figure this out," Jackie says, her new voice cracking with panic. She's looking at Gerry, then at Paul, then down at herself again. "The orb. Maybe if we—"

They all turn to where the orb shattered. There's nothing left but fine crystalline dust scattered across the floor, already dissipating like smoke.

"It's gone," Gerry says quietly.

Silence falls. Heavy. Suffocating.

Paul breaks it first, his voice—Jackie's voice—shaking. "The ceremony starts in forty-five minutes." He looks at Gerry, then down at the wedding dress clinging to his unfamiliar body. "What do we do?"

Jackie's staring at her hands—Paul's hands—flexing them slowly. "We can't tell anyone. They'll think we're insane. Or they'll call off the wedding. Or worse."

"Worse?" Paul laughs, high and brittle. "Worse than this?"

"Paul." Gerry steps closer to him, forcing himself to see Jackie beneath the panic in those blue eyes. "Can you do this? Can you stand up there and—"

"Marry you?" His lips twist. Jackie's lips. The ones Gerry kissed a thousand times. "Yeah, Gerry. I can pretend to be your bride." Something flickers across his expression—sharp, hungry, gone before Gerry can name it. "Someone's got to."

Jackie moves between them, her new height and bulk making the movement awkward. "We do this. We get through the ceremony. Then we figure out how to fix it." She looks at Paul. "You know her. You've seen her at events, at dinners. You can do this."

"Can I?" Paul's hands smooth down the dress again, slower this time. His eyes meet Gerry's. "You sure you want me walking down that aisle, Gerry? Standing where she's supposed to stand?"

There's a challenge in his voice. A dare.

Gerry swallows hard. "We don't have a choice."

"Don't we?" Paul tilts his head, and the gesture is wrong—too sharp, too masculine in Jackie's delicate frame. Then he seems to catch himself, and his expression softens into something that almost looks like Jackie's shy smile. "Okay. Okay, I'll do it." He turns to Jackie. "You're going to have to coach me. Fast."

Jackie nods, already moving into problem-solving mode despite her obvious distress. "Posture first. You walk like you're stomping. Jackie glides. Smaller steps. Keep your knees together."

Paul takes a tentative step, wobbles on the heels. "Christ, how does she walk in these?"

"Practice," Jackie mutters. "And you'll have to during the ceremony. The photographer's going to be everywhere."

A knock at the door makes all three of them freeze.

"Jackie? Honey?" Her mother's voice filters through. "We need you for photos in fifteen minutes."

Paul's eyes go wide. Gerry sees him mouth the word "photos" in silent horror.

"I'll be right there, Mom!" Paul calls out, and this time his voice is softer, lighter—closer to Jackie's natural tone. When he sees your expression, he shrugs. "I've heard her talk to her mom a hundred times."

The footsteps retreat. Jackie releases a shaky breath. "This is insane."

"Yeah." Gerry runs a hand through his hair, trying to think. "Paul, you're going to have bridesmaids with you the whole time until the ceremony. Amanda, Sarah, Jen. They're going to notice if you act weird."

"Then I won't act weird." Paul straightens, and Gerry watches him consciously adjust his posture—shoulders back, spine elongated, chin lifted slightly. It's not perfect, but it's closer. "I can do this, Gerry. Trust me."

The way he says it sends a shiver down Gerry's spine. There's confidence there. Too much confidence.

Jackie's watching him too, her expression troubled. "Paul, this isn't a game. This is my life. My wedding. My body."

"I know." Paul's voice drops, intimate. "And I'm going to take care of it. I promise." His hand reaches out and touches Jackie's arm—her old arm, now inhabited by her consciousness in Paul's body. "We'll fix this. But right now, I need you to trust me too."

Jackie nods slowly, but Gerry can see the fear in her eyes. Fear and something else—helplessness at watching someone else wear her skin.

Another knock. More insistent.

"That's our cue," Paul says. He turns to the mirror, studying his reflection with an intensity that makes Gerry's stomach clench. Slowly, deliberately, he adjusts a strand of hair that had come loose, tucking it behind his ear with Jackie's practiced gesture. Then he smiles at his reflection—her reflection—and the expression is so perfectly Jackie that Gerry's breath catches.

He turns back to Gerry, and the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "See you at the altar, Gerry."

Then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and Gerry is left alone with Jackie trapped in Paul's body, both of them staring at each other across an impossible gulf.

"He's going to marry you," Jackie whispers. "Paul's going to marry you instead of me."

He reaches for her—for him—for the body that holds the woman he loves. "It's still you. No matter what body you're in, it's still you."

But even as he says it, they both know the truth. The person walking down that aisle, the person standing across from Gerry taking vows, the person he'll kiss to seal the marriage—that will be Paul in Jackie's body.