The five men scrambled to pull up their pants and start buttoning their shirts.
“More of a warning next time, Hastings,” said a guy I could only assume was the groom based on how perfect his nails were and the noticeable makeup smeared on his clean-shaven face.
“I’m just the photographer here to get some candid shots of y’all getting your tuxes on and such. Pretend I’m not here.” I perched in a corner, fixing the lighting settings on my Nikon.
“Well, since you’re here, you have to do a shot with us.” One of the groomsmen shoved a shot glass in front of me, and it was filled with the most pungent-smelling whiskey I had ever come across.
As I was turning green from head to toe, Trace snatched it away and downed it before slamming his own back. “She’s working, Marky. Lay off.”
I mouthed, “Thank you,” to Trace as he smiled at me.
“Oh well.” Marky shrugged. “More for me.” He took a long swig out of the bottle before Trace took it out of his hands.
“I think you might want to keep your head on straight today, brother.”
“And be sober for such a joyous occasion? No thank you.” Marty tried to wrestle the bottle away but, in his drunkenness, was unable to succeed.
I laughed, snapping pictures of the feud before turning to the groom. “How about your father? Will he be joining us?”
Rayford scoffed, “My old man is too important to get ready with the likes of us. He’ll show up for the family pictures at the end, but that’ll be it.”
“Fair enough.” It was best to just go with the flow and follow everyone’s lead. “Who is your best man, then?”
Trace raised his hand, barely able to stifle the laugh that was building up quickly. “That would be me.”
“All right. I need you to get in your tux and then put Rayford’s boutonniere on for him. Those shots are always the bride’s favorite.” I pursed my lips as Trace glared at me before doing what I asked.
“You’re going to pay for this one later,” he softly growled in my ear, grabbing the pink flower out of the box on the table.
Trace looked dashing in a tuxedo. It took everything in me not to just capture images of him the entire time.
After I got all the shots I needed to, I slung my bag over my shoulder and started to exit the room.
“Wait,” Rayford called out. “Will you take Marky with you so he can give my bride a little gift?”
“Sure.” I waited for Marky to clamber to his feet.
“Let’s fucking do this,” he slurred, taking the jewelry box from the groom. “Lead the way, little lady.”
Trace eyed us both as he waved goodbye to me.
“Incoming,” I called through the door before peeking in. “I have a groomsman with me. He has a surprise for you.”
“All right,” Misty mumbled, hopping out of her seat.
Marty stumbled in, shoving the black velvet box into her tiny hands. “From your husband-to-be.” As Marky listed from side to side, he added, “What a crock of shit.”
“Marky!” Misty wailed.
He sank onto the chair. “Just open it and give me whatever guilt present you have for him so I can get back to my Jameson.”
Everyone just stood frozen in place, and I was glad to not be the only one completely in the dark about what Marky’s problem was.
Opening the present, Misty started to cry. “Thank goodness my makeup isn’t done yet.” She waved a hand in front of her face before pulling out a sparkling tennis bracelet. “Isn’t it stunning?”
All of her girls crowded around her, oohing and aahing as the diamonds sparkled in the light.
I went to work snapping pictures of the gushing bride, keeping a close eye on the overly pissed-off groomsman at my side.