She sniffles. “Thank you.”
“You look so radiant. Your pictures are going to turn out beautifully.”
“Really?” She brightens a little.
“Yeah. Easily the most beautiful bride I’ve photographed. And definitely my favorite client. Well, top five anyway.”
She laughs. “Top five? Not even top three?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Maybe top ten.” We grin at each other, then I help her up, brushing lint off the front of her poufy dress. “You’re a vision.” I check my phone for the time. “I’ve gotta take position at the venue. I’ll see you there, Jacqueline. You’ll be amazing.” I give her hands another squeeze before leaving.
In the living room of the bridal suite, I look around for Second Aunt, but she’s nowhere to be found. Damn it. I rush down the hallway, into the open air, and revel in the fresh ocean breeze. The wedding ceremony has been arranged to take place on the water. Literally on the water; the resort is built in the shape of a semicircle, with the huge, sprawling building gently curving around a giant infinity pool. A stage has been built right on top of the pool, so it looks like it’s floating. Rows upon rows of flowers adorn the sides of the aisle, and bowls of flowers with lanterns in the middle float serenely on the pool’s surface. The whole setup is breathtaking.
There are two thousand seats set up around the infinity pool, and they’re all full. Ironically, two thousand is on the smaller side for a Chinese-Indonesian wedding. In Jakarta, the average middle-class wedding would have over three thousand attendees. The guests look happy, which is a relief; I suppose none of them knows of the mishaps that have happened behind the scenes. For all they know, this amazing wedding is going off without a hitch. I look around for Ma and my aunts, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Seb waves to me from a distance, and I give him a thumbs-up. He’ll be covering the whole ceremony from afar with his 18-200mm. Taking a deep breath, I attach my 35mm lens to my first camera and the 24-70mm lens to my second camera and get to work, capturing pictures of the entire scene as well as close-ups of as many details as I can get without being too obtrusive.
Then the music begins and the emcee’s voice booms out over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please stand to greet the parents of the groom!”
Tiffany chairs scrape back as the guests get to their feet.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sutopo, everyone!” the MC says, as Tom’s parents walk down the aisle, smiling and waving to their family and friends. I nimbly step to one side of the aisle, making sure not to fall into the swimming pool, and take pictures of them.
“Behind them are the groomsmen. Let’s give them a round of—um.”
I’m adjusting my shutter speed when the MC’s faltering voice catches my attention, and I look up to see the first groomsman turn the corner and walk down the aisle. Or rather, lurch down the aisle. He’s visibly stumbling, his shirt half untucked. My insides cramp up sickeningly. The second groomsman isn’t faring any better, and neither is the third.
“A round of applause for the groomsmen, everyone!” the MC’s voice comes again, a tone of uneasiness in it.
Lukewarm clapping starts up, and then murmurs start as the fourth and fifth groomsmen stumble down the aisle drunkenly, laughing, their arms around each other. The MC keeps up a cheerful chatter, trying to drown out the murmur, and then the sixth, seventh, and eighth groomsmen come out, and it’s even worse because one of them is so drunk that he’s unable to stay on his feet; the other two guys are practically carrying him, the points of his shoes trailing across the carpet of fake petals. The rest of the groomsmen file in rowdily, hooting and swaying at the now silent crowd.
I have no idea what to do aside from continue taking pictures of them. I suppose, for once, this isn’t my problem to fix, which is a nice thought to—
Oh.
My.
God.
As the groomsmen take their place at the altar, I’m now close enough to see that the eighth groomsman, the one that I thought was too drunk to walk, the one who was being carried by the others . . .
The eighth groomsman is Ah Guan.
PART 3
?
GIRL GETS BOY
（Or tries to, anyway. It’s tricky because there’s a corpse and everything.）
26
I won’t scream. I won’t. This is fine. It’s absolutely not a problem. Yep. I can handle this. Who can’t handle a little problem like a fucking corpse propped up on the altar like some macabre puppet in front of two thousand people?