Scars (Romola 2)

56: Flying Bouquet

She'd waited long enough. The priest had pronounced them man and wife over twenty minutes ago and her feet were starting to ache because of the awkward way she tired to stand in the stall. Her phone rang again. She starred at Miss Oyama's name displayed on her tablet.

She almost slid her fingers over the end button like she had for the previous calls but she picked the call and placed the phone against her ears.

"Where have you been?"

"Still in the toilet. I'm almost done."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes."

"Meet me in the tent. We're staying for the reception."

Romola's mouth dropped. They were staying.

"Ma?"

"My table number is 153. Hurry up. I'm not sure for how much longer I can reserve your seat." Miss Oyama ended the call.

Romola opened the mirror app on her tablet and stared at the tear stain that had marred her powdered face. Staying for the reception was not part of her plan. Had Victoria convinced Miss Oyama to wait? For what? Did she want to shove her husband in their faces?

Romola reached into the brown leather bag slung across her shoulder. She picked up some of the powder and repowdered her face till she was certain that her face looked much browner than her skin. She dropped her phone in her bag, along with the powder, then opened the stall door, allowing fresh air to flood her space.

The main toilet door opened and a young girl of about eleven came in. Romola glanced through the small opening at the wedding party. They stood beside the white tent, just opposite the walls of the church, and she would have to get past them to get to the tent.

She stood behind the door, pretending to work on her bra straps. How many steps would it take her from here to there? What if someone recognized her? Olumide? What of Yetunde?

Romola sucked in a deep breath and straightened her dress. Her head snapped up. Even worse, what if Victoria asked her to come and take a picture with them? Her hands rested on the door handle. She could walk with her bag covering her face but then, everyone would notice. Her best bet was to walk, quickly, as close to the railings as she could.

She squared her shoulders, walked around the door and out of the bathroom. She walked towards the railings that separated the church compound from the main street. From the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of people who walked to and fro, flocking around the couple by the tent.

She stood before the railing, took a deep breath and began a steady march towards the tent. She counted the steps in her head. As she neared the wedding party. Her eyes strayed to the photographers-- An old man with energetic moves and a young girl, moving lighting props around at the old man's directives. Her eyes slid down to the people surronding the couple. A man with greying hair in a green suit stood beside two girls who wore long braids and a spaghetti strap silky maxi gown. Beside them, Victoria smilied into the camera.

Romola's eyes strayed to the hand on Victoria's shoulder and her breath caught in her throat as she followed the hand to the body clothed in the white suit she'd seen on stage before she bolted out of the tent. Her eyes settled on the man's face and she stopped.

That wasn't Olumide.

That was Dami. Yetunde's brother.

Romola's brows furrowed. What was Dami doing hugging the bride in such a way? Where was Olumide? Was he okay with this? Her eyes scanned the row of men beside Dami. All of them were dresed in a dark blue suit with a pink bow tie. Olumide wasn't there.