Sebastian laughed. “Darling, no, absolutely not. You ask a bride what she wants, and she’ll lie to you. She’ll give the usual spiel... love, world peace, designer heels, a happy marriage. But,” he leaned closer to Marnie, so close she could see the perfect white pearls of his teeth, “if you ask her what shereallywants, she’ll be honest with you. Trust me. I’ve planned weddings for a hundred brides, and they’ve all wanted the same thing, and sex has never come into it.”
“So, you’re saying none of your brides wanted sex?” Marnie asked disbelievingly.
“Nope,” Sebastian replied easily. “They were all brides. They were all in relationships. They were allhavingsex, darling. They didn’t want more of what they already had. No. What they wanted was somethingbetterthan sex.”
“Better than sex?” Marnie raised an eyebrow. “All right. I’m hooked. Tell me, what did they want that was better than sex?”
“Prestige,” Sebastian replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “To win.”
“Win what?” Marnie asked in confusion.
“The wedding game. They want to win the wedding game.”
“What in the actual fuck is that?” Marnie dragged again on her cigarette. “I mean,the wedding game. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“That’s because you’ve never played it,” Sebastian explained. “So, let’s take your soon-to-be daughter-in-law Sasha, yes? The one we’re absolutely not going to bitch about.” He winked at Marnie. “She wants a De León dress — which are the most exclusive designer wedding dresses money can buy — and Stella Snow to photograph her in it. Why do you think Sasha wants those things, darling?”
“Because they’re expensive,” Marnie shot back. “Just like you.”
“No.” Sebastian shook his head. “No. The expense is part of the exclusivity. If it wasn’t expensive, it wouldn’t be exclusive. No, Sasha doesn’t want these things because they’re expensive. And Sasha doesn’t want these things because they’re the best, because they’re not—”
“Aren’t you married to Luis De León?” Marnie asked. “Should you be saying things like that?”
“My Luis is sexy and talented . . . But he’s also a hack who got lucky. He knows it, and so do I.”
“Still, that’s somewhat harsh.”
“I make it up to him.” Sebastian paused. “And Iamtalking about sex this time, just in case you hadn’t—”
“Good, well, that’s fine,” Marnie interjected quickly. “It’s your marriage. I don’t need the details.” She cleared her throat. “So, let me understand you. You think Sasha wants what is perceived to be the best because it will help her win this wedding game?”
“Yes,” Sebastian nodded. “That’s exactly it. She wants to spend the rest of her life looking back on her prized wedding pictures and her designer wedding gown, knowing that she hadthe best wedding of all time. The prestige from just one day... a bride can feed off it forever.”
Marnie stared at him. His words sat like lead in her stomach, leaving her feeling vaguely queasy and unsettled.
“But a wedding should be what the couple make of it,” she offered weakly. “It should be about love. Not about having the best wedding ever. There’s no such thing as the best wedding ever.”
“My entire career hangs on the opposite being true. By the way, while we’re talking about the best wedding ever, I have this for you.”
Marnie watched as from within his robe Sebastian pulled a sheet of paper. He handed it to Marnie wordlessly, inhaling on his cigarette and blowing a thick plume of smoke into the night air.
“What is this?”
“I called Stella this evening while you were at the hospital,” he replied. “This is a list of her terms and conditions. Basically, she won’t take the job until you promise to supply everything in this contract.”
With a feeling of trepidation, Marnie began to read. “She retains the exclusive right to sell the photographs as she sees fit. She will retain copyright over all images, though the bride and groom may distribute them to their close friends and family as they see fit. A room must be provided to store sensitive photography equipment, which must be kept at a minimum temperature of twelve degrees Celsius and a maximum temperature of sixteen degrees Celsius. The gauge to measure the temperature of said room must be in Celsius as the photographer is not a New World peasant...” Marnie looked at Sebastian, scowling. “There are twenty-eight terms and conditions on this list, you know.”
“I do know,” Sebastian replied. “I’ve worked with Stella before. She’s a delight. A real fucking delight.”
Marnie carried on reading, until she came to clause twenty-three. She cleared her throat. “If the wedding dress is designed by Luis De León and or the wedding is planned by Queen and Country Weddings, the bridal party must provide the photographer with two boxes of Leibniz dark chocolate butter biscuits, kept at the same temperature standards as the photography equipment.” She stared at Sebastian in disbelief. “This is insane.”
“Yes, that’s an odd one, but it’s always in her contract for any wedding where Luis and I are involved,” Sebastian replied.
“Why does she want chocolate...” Marnie frowned, scanning back over the contract “. . . chocolate butter biscuits when you’re involved with the wedding?”
“Fucked if I know.”
“But haven’t you asked her? I mean, this is a crazy requirement. I don’t even know if I can get...” Marnie frowned again, scanning the document once more “. . . Leibniz dark chocolate butter biscuits.”
