The wedding invitation, promising "Emerald Elegance," rested deceptively still beneath Feyi's perfectly manicured nails. It was a cruel joke, given she wasn't on the guest list. Yet, thanks to a well-placed source, it was hers. She despised Tolu, but the lure of his wedding was irresistible. She wouldn't just attend; she would arrive, unannounced, a living spectacle designed solely for him to stare at. Was that the only motive, though? Was it truly worth it?
Kemi and Tolu's union was a quintessential Lagos Old Money affair, buzzing with more pedigree and performative wealth than genuine affection. This was the kind of wedding where eye service was paramount — a grand outspending war between two families who, much like Romeo and Juliet, detested each other but reveled in public displays of class. Millions of naira spent on a six-tier cake and elaborate aso ebi were the real objectives. This marriage, Feyi knew, would be inherently shaky. You could marry a bad husband, but bad in-laws? It was a different kind of hell.
Feyi wasn't there for the jollof rice, the cake, the music, or to catch the bouquet. She had one singular agenda.
Eko Hotel was bathed in green uplighting. Dreamy and surreal. Beautiful white roses in tall fluted vases, gold-framed table numbers, gold chargers, champagne flutes and ceramic plates that oozed opulence. Two live bands with their instruments on opposite ends of the hall. Whoever planned this wedding must have charged an arm and a leg.
The official aso ebi was custom material from Austria — four hundred thousand naira for six yards. The matching head tie and mandatory clutch were not included in the price. The bridesmaids wore feathered tulle outfits with sequins, reminiscent of a certain bird. Peacock, maybe. The Instagram influencers were stationed with their ring lights. Aunties competed silently over who wore the aso ebi best.
✦ ✦ ✦
In the midst of the wedding activities, Feyi walked in.
No one noticed her at first. She was a classy girl — she never walked into anywhere with drama. Her dress was beautiful: a dark emerald lace, and her head tie looked more like a crown than a head wrap. Her bodice hugged her and the sleeves flared into dramatic bell cuffs. She neither waved nor smiled. She walked into the hall like it belonged to her. And maybe, just maybe, it did.
"She walked into the hall like it belonged to her. And maybe, just maybe, it did."
"Who invited her?" hissed Toke, a bridesmaid, elbowing Kika, the bride's friend.
Kika did not answer. She was too busy watching the groom's face.
Sheila Unachukwu — bridesmaid, certified Lace Snob of Lekki — almost choked on the Moët she was sipping.
"The fabric is not from the supplier. Where did she get that fabric from?"
"Custom dye," Kika replied.
"The bride paid four hundred and fifty kay for four yards," Sheila said, rolling her eyes, her gaze tracking Feyi as she glided past the tables.
Tolu was Feyi's ex. And Sheila knew the history between them.
Tolu froze mid-laugh when he saw her. The champagne flute he held in his right hand trembled. The groomsman beside him, unaware of what was unraveling, whispered something into his ear. Tolu did not blink.
"Why is Tolu's ex here?" Kika asked aloud. "Is that not the same chic they said—"
Sheila held up a hand. "Please. Don't say anything here. Don't start any rumors or bring up the past. Not with all this lace watching."
✦ ✦ ✦
At the high table, the bride Kemi sat with the groom and family elders. She looked regal even though she seemed rather stiff in her sequined corset. Her makeup was flawless. Her smile was thin. She saw Feyi as she glided past Table Seven and her eyes twitched.
Tolu still had the frozen expression on his face. It was as though time had stood still and the only two people in the room were him and Feyi.
Feyi was the woman he had once promised to marry. He had hurt her badly. The last time he saw her was at her mother's funeral, four years ago. She hadn't said a word to him. She simply walked out of his life — and came to Lagos. He had not seen her until now.
Everything came back slowly. Not today of all days. An ex deciding to show up and ruin his mood. He wondered if Kemi had noticed. He didn't want any drama.
Feyi did not wave. Neither did she smile when their eyes met. She stared at him for a full two seconds and sat down. She chose a table in the back, not too far from the food, angled away from the cameras. She opened her purse, pulled out a hand fan, and unfolded it — a delicate lace fan, green, gold-trimmed and hand-painted. One flick. Then she began to cool herself.
Her perfume — floral, sharp — wafted into the air. Some guests turned. Some sneezed. Others stared. Some aunties began to mutter prayers under their breath.
"Is that not the groom's ex?" one auntie with a gele high enough to block two tables asked no one in particular. "Didn't she move to Cotonou after the break up?" another remarked, stuffing small chops into her mouth. "I heard that girl is a witch," said a girl with an iPhone, still angling for a selfie. "Her lace is not from Austria," an old woman told her friend. "That is custom dye."
Kemi watched Feyi. She did not take her eyes off her — not for a minute — until she noticed the frozen expression on Tolu's face. She instantly grabbed his hand. It was like a spell that broke. He smiled at her. She squeezed his hand a little too hard.
Feyi saw that. She didn't flinch.
She knew that when their eyes had first locked, it had brought back memories — pain, guilt, something that had passed between them. He had looked away when Kemi pulled his attention back to her. It was too late to stop the ceremony now, even if that had been Feyi's intention. Not with five hundred guests and two live bands.
The emcee welcomed everyone and the band struck up. Feyi leaned back in her chair.
One of the bridesmaids, Gozee, had gone up to where Kemi was sitting and whispered to her: "Kemi, I had a dream. I told you. I saw someone wearing green — a fantastic looking attire — but in the dream, the lace moved. I just saw someone who fits that description."
"Please dream about something else," Kemi scoffed. "It is my wedding."
Her eyes did not leave Feyi.
Feyi slowly began to fan herself, watching it all unfold.
And she whispered to herself — just barely audible over the second band beginning to tune:
"Let the show begin."