Just in case you didn’t see my announcement on my Facebook page, I only received six entries in the March “Maid”ness contest. So there will be no voting—all six will be receiving a signed copy of The Brides of Bonneterre 3-in-1 omnibus when it comes out in May.

But, as promised, I will be posting the entries today through Friday for you to enjoy!

Regina M.

I’ve only been a bridesmaid in two weddings, and was matron-of-honor in both. My best friend’s wedding went smoothly. We won’t talk about the dark green, tea-length, off-the-shoulder taffeta bridesmaid dress, which we wore with opaque cream-colored hose and dark green shoes. Oy.

As if that weren’t bad enough, it would be my SISTER’S wedding that was the most nerve-wracking moment, almost, of my LIFE.

As I said, I was the matron of honor. What I didn’t mention was that both my kids were in it (4-year-old Ellen was a first-time flower girl), and husband a groomsman. In the flurry of making sure everybody ELSE was fixed up properly, I forgot one small thing . . . the groom’s ring . . .

When I realized what I’d done, I slowly looked out into the crowd. Fortunately, my aunt, in the audience, caught my eye when I went into panic mode. As a musician partner of mine from way-back, I just looked at her and mouthed, “The ring.” She instantly mouthed back, silently, “Where is it?” and proceeded to make her way to the dressing room, gave the ring to the last bridesmaid, then they palmed it up to me, first in line. My sister caught wind and her eyes got HUGE. My then-future-bro.-in-law thought he must have left off an article of clothing or something. . . .

Lady DragonKeeper

The flower girl was dressed as an Ewok, complete with a furry-eared hood. “Yoda” came next, waving his plastic lightsaber proudly as he ambled his way down to the beat of the iconic John Williams-composed theme. I sighed in relief when I saw the brown pillow strapped to his back still held two silver rings and that my nephew didn’t attempt the acrobatic feats of the character he impersonated.

Trista and Brandon had always been the types to go against “the norm,” so it shouldn’t have surprised when their wedding invitation mentioned: “Costumes keeping in theme is welcomed and encouraged! Please no Slave Leias or Twi’leks clothed for employ at Jabba the Hutt’s. Let’s remember the younglings and keep things rated G.” Don’t worry, they weren’t into the Jedi religion or anything like that. But since Bran and Tris met at a sci-fi convention two years ago, they thought it’d be fun to incorporate the love of Star Wars that brought them together into a unique and memorable wedding.

In college, Trista and I were avid cosplayers—the roommates who obsessively copied movie costume details with our ever growing sewing skills. While I never attended sci-fi conventions until I knew Tris, she was an old pro. Her father had been a fan ever since seeing Star Wars at the theaters in 1977 and she fondly recalled going to “cons” with her dad and older brother. Tim grew up to be a die-hard Trekkie, but we still attended cons together despite the lively debates the siblings had on topics such as “blasters vs. phasers” and “Who’s the better captain, Kirk or Solo?”

Before I knew it, I was at the front with the pastor and the rest of the bridal party. Brandon’s white shirt and black vest clearly echoed Han Solo’s and the rest of us were attired in various Jedi tunic/robe ensembles. As the delicate opening notes of “Across the Stars” began to play, the bride began her walk down the aisle, escorted by her brother.

Trista’s white gown rivaled that of a princess—Princess Leia, that is. Belted at the waist, the silky white fabric flowed in smooth lines down her body. If there was any question about who inspired her look, Trista’s long brown hair was knotted in two buns that covered her ears.

As the happy couple traded vows—then a kiss—I couldn’t help but think that the wedding had gone perfectly …

“May I now present Mr. and Mrs. Brand—”

Three uniformed Starfleet officers entered the courtyard followed by one Klingon wielding a bat’telh.

“What are they doing here?” I heard Trista whisper.

Tim was grinning like a Tusken Raider’s bantha in an oasis. He looked a bit handsome in a black ensemble that vaguely resembled Luke Skywalker’s Return of the Jedi outfit, but right now he seemed more like mischievous Anakin.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Trekkies.”