The Wedding Bet

The Banquet Hall was adorned with scarlet double happiness symbols, plastered on every corner, their gilded edges shimmering dizzyingly beneath the crystal chandeliers. The air hung heavy with the mingled scent of roses and lilies, overly sweet, entwined with the endlessly looping Wedding March whispering nearby, weaving a festive web that enshrouded the entire venue. I stood at the threshold of the backstage dressing room, my fingertips repeatedly tracing the boutonniere pinned to my chest. The fabric of my dark gray formal attire was crisp and unyielding, yet it constricted my chest—today, the day of my wedding to Fiona Lynn, was meant to be the happiest of my life. "Eric, what are you spacing out for? Nervous?" The best man, Kai, came up from behind and patted my shoulder. His formal attire was the same as mine, except the boutonniere at his collar was slightly askew. I shook my head, my Adam's apple moving slightly: "Not nervous." Though I said that, my fingertips couldn't help but reach into my pocket for the ring box; the cold metallic touch gave me a faint sense of reassurance. I raised my eyes toward the Banquet Hall, where a bustling crowd of friends and family had gathered to offer their congratulations. I searched for Fiona Lynn's figure, hoping to catch a glimpse of her in her wedding gown, but my gaze was first fixed upon a solitary figure standing by a corridor column. It is Brian Jones. He wore dark gray formal attire as a best man, exactly the same style as mine and Kai's, yet he carried it with a certain casual recklessness. He leaned against the pillar, one hand in his pocket, the other gripping an unlit cigarette; a mocking smile curled his lips. When his gaze met mine, it carried undisguised hostility. He has been Fiona Lynn's childhood friend, having grown up together. I invited him to be a best man to convey my sincerity, to let him know I would treat Fiona with care. Yet in this moment, his expression bore not the slightest hint of goodwill.