The wedding programme was going well. The emcee did her due diligence keeping guests entertained while they ate. The couple game drew laughter. The bouquet toss came with a little suspense as the bride kept holding back, teasing the crowd. People danced. The couple was sprayed with a great deal of money — both dollars and naira. The huge six-tier cake was cut. A second wine pouring followed, servers moving through the room with trays, tilting bottles toward outstretched flutes.
Kemi had danced back in with a change of outfit, Tolu moving beside her. The guests rose and cheered, opening their purses, spraying money over the couple in thick, fluttering waves. This lasted about ten minutes.
Then it was time for the toast.
The room quieted. Servers moved through the hall, trays balanced carefully, champagne flutes distributed with the practised grace of people paid to be invisible. Phones came out. Everyone stood. The collective breath of five hundred guests held itself in suspension.
Miss Cece, the self-declared Wedding Emcee of Lagos, swirled her microphone with dramatic flair.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to hear from the man of the hour — the groom, the chairman, ATM, and the one with the key to the bride's heart. Let's make some noise for Toluuuu!"
Applause broke out. Two aunties stood immediately, blocking everyone's view with their headties — one trying to take a photo, the other holding her phone up to record. Tolu rose looking immaculate in his white agbada with perfect embroidery. Some people said the pattern was a nod to his great-grandfather's chieftaincy title.
He smiled at Kemi. He picked up his champagne glass from the table and raised it.
"Thank you everyone for being here. We had to go through so much to get here — the planning, the prayers — and to see everyone coming to celebrate love, family, and destiny, it's such a beautiful thing and very heartwarming."
✦ ✦ ✦
At the back of the hall, Feyi shifted her chair slightly. She was not looking at him. She was watching the overhead lights flicker.
His voice trembled as he continued.
"Kemi my love, you are the answer to any man's prayer. You have made me a better man and a stronger man as well. You have given me…"
He paused. His throat tightened.
At first it seemed deliberate. Some guests applauded prematurely.
"He doesn't look too well," a woman at Table Seven whispered to her husband.
Sheila Unachukwu adjusted an eyelash with the tip of a lip gloss stick and leaned toward Zee beside her. "Why is he sweating? The hall has air conditioning."
Zee did not respond. Her attention was on Feyi, sitting across the room, fanning herself. It was a hypnotic rhythm — fan up five seconds, fan held still five seconds. Her dress rustled with each subtle movement. Her plate of food sat in front of her, untouched. Her phone was on the table face-down, not raised for a selfie or a video.
All she did was sit there. And watch.
"In the photo, she was the only person not moving. Everyone else was chaos. She was still."
Tolu cleared his throat. He tried again.
"You have given me everything, Kemi."
His knees buckled. The microphone slipped from his hand and hit the floor. Tolu followed it — down with a thud that silenced every conversation in the hall.
Silence. Complete and absolute.
"Somebody help," Kemi screamed, dropping to her knees beside him, trying to pull him upright. The DJ and emcee scrambled toward her. The groomsmen pushed through the crowd.
"Are there any doctors in the room?" Miss Cece asked over the microphone, her showtime voice stripped of all its performance.
One of the bride's aunties retrieved anointing oil from her purse and began to pace, praying. Guests held their phones out — some filming, some making calls. The bridesmaids looked at each other across the room. Gozee was not looking at Tolu. She was looking at Feyi.
Feyi had not moved.
Kemi was beside her husband, rocking slightly — somewhere between prayer and panic. Tolu's face was vacant, his eyes wide open, his white agbada soaked with the spilled champagne from his own glass. He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something. Nothing came.
Feyi picked up a small bottle of water from the table. She unscrewed the cap. Took a small sip. Gently set it down.
"Do you see how unbothered she looks?" Ifeoma said, elbowing Sheila.
Sheila looked across the room. "I don't understand it either. But she seems peaceful sitting over there."
Gozee had begun to encourage the guests to pray. She took her headtie off and started a prayer walk, circling the couple and the crowd that had gathered around them. An auntie in the family aso ebi began reciting Psalm 35. An elderly man stood in the corner asking anyone who would listen what could have happened.
"He must have eaten or drunk something he wasn't supposed to," someone said from nowhere in particular.
The groomsmen were attempting CPR. Kemi was slapping him, crying, trying to bring him back. His lips were turning blue. A woman in a short green dress finally called the emergency services.
The photographer — young, bewildered — turned his lens toward Feyi almost without thinking. He took the photo before he understood why.
In it, she was the only person not moving. Everyone else was chaos. She was still.
Still.
She leaned forward. Whispered — barely audible, to no one in particular:
"Now the real wedding begins."
Then she sat back. And resumed fanning herself.