The Wedding Contract

by H. M. Ward

  “No, you’re not. Tell me what’s going on. Why were you wearing a shower curtain?”

  “Mr. Stevens hired another photographer. Neither of us knew about it until we got here.”

  “Is it a problem?”

  Yes, but I can’t tell him that. I want him to relax and have fun. He doesn’t need to be worrying about me. “I can work around it. It was just unexpected, that’s all.”

  “You’re a good girl, Sky. I haven’t told you enough, but I’m proud of you. That little shop you put together is great—and you did it on your own. Your mother had a fit, but I think she’s finally getting used to the idea that you can be successful without college.”

  Oh God. It’s like he reached into my chest, grabbed my heart, and twisted. I thought I’d die before I ever heard my mother’s approval. I turn away and hold the camera to my face, before bending over to shoot a place card with Sophie’s name on it. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “You should come around more, Sky.”

  “I will, Dad.” There’s a knot in my throat. I’ll have to come around more because everything is falling apart. I’m not going to clear rent this month. Nick stole too many of my clients. I barely have enough money to pay Amy. I keep thinking that if I work hard and play fair, good things will happen. And that was true for a little while. I had a steady flow of clients, until Nick showed up.

  Speak of the Devil. Nick Ferro walks into the room and also starts shooting. Daddy walks over to him. Panic shoots through me. Parents only ever do one of two things—gush about their children or threaten people who are screwing with their kids. “Are you the other photographer?”

  Nick turns and looks at my Dad. “Yes sir.”

  “Do a good job. Sophie’s like a daughter to me and like a sister to Sky. I was worried we wouldn’t have any pictures of the two of them together. Make sure you take some.” Daddy slips away before Nick has a chance to reply.

  I don’t look at him. I won’t apologize for being friends with Sophie or for my Dad’s statement. I’d also worried there would be no pictures of Sophie and me together, and it bothers me that the solution to that problem is Nick Ferro.

  Nick glances over his shoulder at me. “Your Dad?”

  “Yeah.” I say, as I lift the eyepiece to my face and take another shot.

  “He cares about you.” Nick says it and then goes back to shooting, like it surprises him that my Dad gives a flying flip about me.

  I’m not sure if it’s a jab—I don’t see how it could be—but it feels off. We don’t speak and soon I have all the shots I need and text Sophie asking when she plans to walk into the room. I want to get a picture of the look on her face when she sees this.

  Everything is so pretty. Elegant white linens embellished with lace and the palest blue ribbons cover each table. The centerpieces are tall sprigs of white branches, little crystals hanging artfully on their delicate twigs. The silvery band on the edge of each plate perfectly complements its accompanying sterling flatware and crystal goblets. The space where Sophie and Steve will sit is flooded with golden light from the setting sun. I already have some ideas that will look stunning, assuming Nick isn’t in my way. I’m not sure what to do if he is.

  ______

  The meal goes smoothly. There’s an awkward part where Mr. Stevens comes up to me and apologizes profusely for hiring another photographer.

  “I had no idea that you owned your own studio. Sophie said you were a friend, so I thought—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I smile. “And just think, now you’ll have twice as many pictures.”

  Mr. Stevens looks like his son, with the exception of his salt and pepper hair. There are black streaks by his temples, but the rest is white and thinning on top. His big brown eyes are sincere and I know he feels sheepish. Weddings bring out everyone’s temper, and he keeps telling me that he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. The man truly meant well. I wouldn’t want a hobbyist shooting this wedding either. It’s a lighting nightmare and someone with lesser skills would have gotten nonstop crap.

  “You’re such a sweet girl,” Mr. Stevens adds before allowing me to wander away and get more shots.

  Sunlight is pouring through the window behind Sophie and Steve, forming a nice little halo known as a rim light. It’s perfect. I move around the edge of the room, smiling at people as I go. A few of Sophie’s aunts paw at me as I pass. “Sit down and eat something, Sky. You’ve hardly had a bite all night.”

  “I will, right after I get this shot.” I wink at them and pass, heading to a spot nearly directly across from the bride and groom-to-be. After metering the light, I’m thrilled. It’s exactly what I wanted. Now I just have to camp out here until they kiss. I’ll have a perfect silhouette, surrounded by a nice soft glow.

  While waiting, I’m sitting at a table with people on either side. They keep asking to borrow my camera so they can take a shot. Who does that? I mean, no one asks the dentist to give the drill a go. There’s this perception that anyone can shoot a picture, that the camera is the brain of the operation, however a camera couldn’t shoot this. I’m in full manual mode and have carefully adjusted all my settings so the finished product will look perfect. It always amuses me when people ask what I shoot with, as if that’s what makes the images look good. The truth is, photography requires skill and practice. Photography is art. Even if you have a good eye, you have to know how to control the camera to make the images look the way you want.

  Speaking of people who think chimps could shoot weddings, here comes my mother. She commandeers the empty chair next to me, sits and whispers softly, “You look ridiculous sitting there with the camera covering your face. If you don’t know what you’re doing, at least try and project professionalism, Skylar.”

  My jaw tenses and I bite my tongue, but when I don’t move, she doesn’t leave. The camera is still resting on my cheek while I lean my elbows on the table, waiting for the shot. “I am a professional, Mom.”

  “Well, it looks like you’re confused, darling. Take your picture already.” Finally, she gets up and leaves. Thank God.

  Sophie’s head tips towards Steven’s, but they haven’t kissed yet. My shot is almost there. I want a picture of a stolen kiss; the way people kiss when they think no one is paying attention. It looks like I’m shooting the floor from here with the way my lens is angled down. It’s stealth mode. Make the bride and groom think you’re shooting something else and they’ll act normal. Otherwise you end up with tons of cheeser pictures. Whoever told little kids to say cheese and smile should be shot.

  Nick takes the empty spot next to me. “What are we looking at?”

  “Nothing, troll, now wander away.” I don’t want him to copy me. Call it childish, but it’s my shot and I want to be the only one to have it.

  “Ouch. You don’t play fair, Miss Thompson.”

  “Neither do you, Mr. Ferro, but you don’t see me complaining.”

  He smirks and leans back in his chair. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. If he has any artistic eye at all, he’ll see the perfect triangulation of the couple and perfection of the light. Nick places his camera on the table. “I won’t steal your shot. Satisfied?”

  I don’t look over at him, but I can see him out of the corner of my eye. “No, but go back to Babylon and ask me again. My answer might change.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Yeah, me too, but it was worth a try.”

  He smiles and glances over at me. “So, let’s pretend you don’t hate my guts for a second. What pose are you waiting for? Because all I see is garish lighting.” I want to tell him, because it’s always fun to talk shop, but I don’t want to risk it. “Oh, come on, Sky. I’m not even holding my camera. Tell me what you’re waiting for and I’ll help you get your shot.”

  Glancing over at him, I say, “I need them to kiss. I’ll show you after I take it, okay?”

  “Deal.” He winks at me and pushes out of his seat. Nick moves over a few seats and whispers to someone. I have no idea
what he said, but a ruckus of loud laughter breaks out a few seconds later. Everyone is looking that way, except Steven. Instead, his eyes are caressing Sophie’s cheek, waiting for her to turn back to him. I pretend to fiddle with my camera, and a moment later, she turns. They’re drawn together like magnets. That’s when I press the button and the camera shutter clicks, but no one can hear it over the noise at the other end on the table. Sophie smiles warmly at Steven and rests her forehead against his. They exchange a few whispered moments, unaware that anyone is watching. It’s perfect.

  When I finally pull my camera away from my face and stand, I see Nick at the other end of the table flanked by two of Steven’s cousins, singing very loudly and swaying. I can’t even tell what song it is. As I inch closer, I see my mother making a horrible face and slip into the empty seat next to my father. “What song is that?”

  “They’re singing three songs at once. Nick bet them that they couldn’t carry a tune as long as he could. They started with four, and it looks like Max is about to mess up.” A moment later Max says the wrong word, matching Nick, and curses loudly before sitting down.

  “The wedding photographer should not sing,” my mother says over her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not.” Mom turns around again and the two remaining men manage another few notes before Nick winks at me.

  He fumbles his tune and laughs loudly. “You won,” he gushes. “This guy beat me!” Nick goes on and on about how no one has ever bested him, as everyone claps. Sophie is giggling, watching them, and leans in to say something to Steven.

  Nick manages to sneak out of the crowd and become a wallflower again. How does he do that? I’m leaning against the wall across from Sophie when he slips next to me. “So, let’s see it. What’d I make an ass out of myself for?”

  I hold up my camera so he can see. Nick’s jaw literally drops and he slowly reaches for my camera. Since the strap is around my neck, I go where the camera goes. Turning, I stand way too close to him and unhook it from my neck. “Here,” I hand him the camera. “You don’t have to kill me to see it.”

  He doesn’t speak for a moment, staring at the image. “Okay, how did you do this?”

  I smirk. “Trade secret.”

  “Oh come on, at least give me a hint.”

  Taking my camera back, I shake my head. “What? And give you more ways to put me out of business? I don’t think so.” I wander away, not expecting him to follow, but he does. There’s nothing left to shoot, but I keep shooting so I don’t have to talk.

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because you keep doing it.”

  “What exactly am I doing?” Oh God, his blue eyes are hypnotic.

  I look away. “You stole three clients from me this month.”

  His voice is warm and playful. “It’s just business, Sky.”

  “Not when you attack every folder-holding-person who walks out of my store. What’d you offer them, cookies if they came inside?”

  He steps in front of me, but I don’t stop walking until he’s there. So, I basically crash into him, my camera still in front of my face. “Trade secret.” He winks at me.

  I roll my eyes and shoulder past him. “You’re a dick. Find your own clients and stop stealing mine.” I worked so damn hard to get those people into my studio and all he has to do is snake them when they walk back out. Meanwhile, I’m the one who paid for the ads and worked my ass off at shows and bridal expos to get them there.

  He stops following me, but I can feel his eyes on my back. “You’re talented.”

  I hold up my camera like I belong on a Wheaties box. Whatever. Like talent even matters anymore. Although, it’s nice to hear him say it. This industry is overrun with people who don’t know what they’re doing. I’ve heard a million sob-stories from brides after the fact: ‘my pictures are blurry,’ ‘my photographer didn’t show up,’ ‘everyone is green.’ It’s hard not to laugh at the last one. Screwed up white balance makes everything the wrong color. It’s the error of a novice. Sophie and Steven’s wedding has difficult shooting conditions, but I’m looking forward to the challenge. When I glance back at Nick, he’s gone.

  CHAPTER 10

  I linger at the dinner long after everyone else is gone. It’s part of evading my mother—The Plan. It sounds more dramatic that way and¸ since she makes everything dramatic, it suits her. She left with the rest of the guests a while ago. I said I was lingering to check lighting conditions in the chapel and outside. It’s a total lie, but I don’t want to go back to the room yet either. Nick gets under my skin so badly I want to burn him off. Ferro brat.

  I wander out of the main building. The grounds of the hotel are sprawling. They take up a good chunk of the island. Since the sun has set, and there are only scattered landscaping lights, it’s pretty dark. I’m not concerned—not the way I would be in the city. Walking through Manhattan’s streets after midnight, alone, loaded with gear is stupid. I currently have over two grand worth of camera stuff on my body. And that’s my new net worth: whatever’s on my body. I don’t know how to tell Amy that I’m going to need to let her go. Oh, God, I’m going to have to let Amy go.

  The salty air blows gently across my cheeks, lifting my hair, and I wish time could freeze. I’d live out here if I could. Places like Shelter Island resemble little coastal towns from a hundred years ago, but with modern luxuries.

  As I walk along the gravel path toward the chapel, I look for good places to shoot Steve and Sophie. What I really want are pictures of them down by the water, on the rocks, with the sea spray around them. I could take the photo at night and use the moon as a rim light, so that it illuminates their outline ever so slightly. It’d be so romantic, but it’s also certain to trash her dress. I have some brides that like the idea of messing up their gown for a cool picture, but Sophie isn’t one of them.

  I press the eyepiece to my face and snap the shot. When I pull the camera away, I can tell how beautiful it would be. It’s the kind of picture that is the memory. Everyone would want it. It’s packed with emotion and has so much vivid detail it’s hard not to feel the spray of the sea on your skin or smell the salty water.

  I walk over to the massive boulders along the shore, climb to the top of the slick rock, and sit down. The night breeze is cool and feels good against my flesh. It was so stuffy inside that my shirt is still sticking to my back.

  Tipping my head back, I glance up at the stars, wishing that I could fly away. I never grew up. I still hope and dream for things that aren’t within my reach. I don’t want to accept the life my mother tries to shove down my throat over and over again. I want to live by the seat of my pants and build my life my way, on my terms, not hers.

  Speak of the devil. In the silence of the night, my phone blares the Imperial Death March. I don’t bother answering. This is a perfect spot and I’m not tarnishing it with the memory of her chiding voice. Aiming my camera at the bay, I rest it against my knee and change the shutter speed. It’s insanely slow now. I line up the shot and press the button. The responding click of the shutter is slow to come, and I’m careful not to move. I have the reputation for having a super steady hand. A shot turns blurry for most people around 1/80th of a second. I can hand hold a camera at 1/10th of a second. The shutter stays open longer, allowing in more light. Though it appears to be pitch black, the sensor will pick up the subtle light lining the top of the waves, edging the soft clouds and emitting from scattered stars. I wish I could get Sophie out here.

  The shutter clicks, completing the exposure before he speaks. “Hey SB. What are you doing out here all alone? Don’t you have any sense? You could slip into the water and never be seen again.” Nick climbs up next to me and leans toward me, resting all his weight on one leg.

  “SB?”

  “Slutty bridesmaid.”

  I work my jaw before I speak. “I’m going to kill you. I’ll push you in, I swear I will.”

  He grins and holds up his palms in surrender. “No reason to threaten m
e. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

  “Then go.” My voice is stern. I don’t look at him as he stands. I expect him to walk away, but he doesn’t. Instead, Nick kicks off his shoes and darts past me, diving from the edge of the rock into the water below.

  I scream and lean over the side of the rock edge with my camera dangling around my neck. Nick emerges from darkness, sheets of water pouring from his face. Taking his hands, he pushes his hair back and laughs.

  I can’t help it, I scream. A lot. “You stupid son of a bitch! You scared me! I thought you—”

  Nick laughs. “Since when do you care? I believe your exact words were go jump off a cliff.” He’s treading water below.

  “They were not! I said go, not jump, you idiot.” After my heart resumes a normal pace I give him a half-smile and wonder why he did it.

  “To make you loosen up,” he answers as if he were a mind reader. “Come in.”

  “Psh, no. I don’t think so.” I look away and shake my head.

  “Ah,” he nods. “Too prude. I get it.”

  “How am I too prude if you nicknamed me SB?”

  Shrugging, he disappears beneath the water. After a second, he comes up again and laughs. “It’s warm, SB. Come on. You’ll have fun.”

  I hesitate. Part of me wants to jump in—it’s the same crazy part that thinks Neverland is real and believes fairies really do exist. They must, somewhere. But I hear my mother’s voice and know that I should get back to Sophie. She wanted to talk to me. “Sorry, Ferro. You’ll have to be crazy all by yourself.” I smirk at him and unhook my camera from my neck. I’ve just set it down and am fishing for the lens cap in my dress pocket, when I feel his fingers wrap around my ankle.

  “Don’t you dare.” I try to dig my heel in, but it’s too late. Nick already tugged. I fall, feet first, and plunge into icy cold water. When I come up gasping, he’s next to me. I screech and punch his shoulder. “You asshole! You said it was warm!”