Wedding Photographer and the Best Man

Marissa adjusted the lens on her camera, capturing the light as it streamed through the stained-glass windows of the cathedral, painting the wedding party in a kaleidoscope of colors. At 27, she had carved out a name for herself as a talented wedding photographer, her weekends filled with the promise of new unions and the hope of everlasting love—a hope that, for her, flickered and faded with each passing year.
 
Her relationships, much like the shutter of her camera, were quick and fleeting. She’d married young but divorced two years later. Since her divorce, love had touched her life but never lasted. Perhaps that was why she found herself drawn to the thrill of the moment, the best man often becoming her subject in more ways than one.
 
This wedding was no different. The best man, with his charming smile and a twinkle in his eye, had caught her attention.Though she was older than him, her light skin, bright smile, and long dark hair drew him to her. They shared laughter and fleeting touches that led to a night of uninhibited sex and forgotten consequences. He was a passionate lover and his lips touched every inch of her body. As she drifted to sleep after their lovemaking, she knew she’d treasure that moment of hesitation as he entered her only to exit and remain suspended over her as if praying. She’d glanced down at him and saw his strength and the power of his firmness where her lips had traced only moments before. Thankfully he entered her again with reverence and remained there after his moment of prayer.
 
But the morning light brought with it a truth she hadn’t expected. The best man was engaged to the bride's best friend, who would be attending the wedding. This was a first.  
 
As Marissa directed the bridal party for the pre-ceremony photo session, she could feel the weight of the bridesmaids' glares, their faces etched with the knowledge of the best man's betrayal. The bride, her smile strained, seemed to hold the pieces of her happiness together by sheer will. Marissa remained outwardly unfazed, her resolve a shield against the tension that hung heavy in the air.
 
The ceremony was moments away when the best man's fiancée entered the cathedral, her joyous oblivion a stark contrast to the silent drama that unfolded around her. She rushed to her future husband, her lips meeting his in a kiss. The best man's face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes meeting Marissa's for a fleeting second. She offered him a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of their shared secret, before turning back to her camera.
 
The bridesmaids seemed to read her thoughts, their eyes piercing through her as she lifted the camera for one last shot. The click of the shutter captured their disdain, the bride's forced composure, and the best man's guilty glance. But amidst the chaos of emotions, Marissa's face was a mask of professionalism, her heart tucked away behind the lens, safe from the turmoil she had caused.
 
As she packed up her equipment, the image of the bridal party burned into her memory, Marissa felt a pang of something she couldn't quite place. Regret? Guilt? Or perhaps a longing for a love that wouldn't just be a footnote in someone else's story. She slipped the memory card from her camera, knowing these were photos she would keep as a reminder of this time, a memento of her own isolation in a world filled with fleeting moments of pleasure and fractured hearts.
 
Marissa stepped out of the cathedral after the ceremony and felt the crunch of rice beneath her feet, reminded of her own passing years of fertility but taking comfort in the pleasures she’d accumulated in her short life.