The Educator

Chapter 1: 1

“Can we bring the bride some water, please?” my coordinator shouts from behind me. Probably

towards his assistant. He touches my hair bun lightly and tweaks it. God-knows why. He walks over to

the other end of the room, speaks with my make up artis. I couldn’t quite pick up what they were taking

about but with the way my coordinator was through his hands up in the air, I could say that he wasn’t

satisfied with my make up. He places his hands on his hips, something like what my mom would do

when she finds out I slipped through the door in the middle of the night, with me coming from a party.

He walks back towards me and smiles at me through the vanity, “Eli, honey, mind if we tone down the

make up to something more . . . fresh?” he smiles a crooked smile.

I nod in agreement. I couldn’t care less about how I looked anyway. I look at myself in the mirror as

Sheila, the makeup artist, pulls out from her small, black side bag a piece or two of facial tissue and

starts patting my face. “Sorry” she whispers. She carefully wipes the excess make up off, careful not to

touch the ends of the sheer material of my wedding gown as she wipes the down my neck and under

my chin. Sheila was a fair toned woman with a really contagious smile. She did not look thirty-five. I

guess eating spicy food, drinking more than ten glasses of water and walking to everywhere she went

really pays off.

I just smile. I smile a faint smile. A young lady places a tall glass of cold water in front of me. There’s

visible precipitation on the glass. She most likely forgot about it.

Sheila takes a cotton swab and uses a gentle make-up remover for my lips. From the vanity, there is This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

another small black bag that carried about over forty shades of lipstick. She studies about five of them

and takes about seven seconds to study each. She finally picks a mauve color, something that would

accentuate my tanned skin. Sheila applies it, motions that I put my lips together to spread out the

pigment. My coordinator, Robin, whom I have known for about five years. Robin happens to be my best

friend, yes, that gay best friend. We met while he was crying at the train station. I was on my way to

Marina Bay Sands and he was on his way to somewhere. According to what I could pick up while he

was telling me the story of why he was crying, his ex-boyfriend at that time took all of Robin’s money

and ran off with his apparently long-term girlfriend. Yes, the ex-boyfriend was just in it for the money.

After that incident, I never saw Robin with anyone else. It hit different when you dedicate your life to

someone and they hardly make the effort to reciprocate.

Speaking of Robin, here comes with a big smile and a glass of cold but not burnt champagne on his left

hand. “Are we ready? Yes?” he smiles at me. I stand and look at myself in the mirror. I breathe in and I

take a portion of my dress, lifting it so that I don’t step on it. I walk towards the door and start walking

toward the hallway. My Made of Honor, Hannah, takes care of my train and carries my bouquet.

Hannah is my childhood best friend. We’ve known each other since we were nine years old. Hannah

was the head turner between us. She has pinkish white skin, really long and slim legs, long colored hair

and s really cute smile. Almost most of the time, boys chase after her.

She smiles widely, “Eli, you look absolutely gorgeous” she whispers to me. I smile back at her.

“Thanks” I whisper back. She holds my hand tight and then leans in for a tight hug. I could something

warm slide on my shoulder blade. Hannah’s crying. The pulls away and then looks up as pats her

undereye. The rest of my entourage is in front of me, in a single file and at the end of the hallway, my

parents stood. My mother and father stood side by side. I finally notice the light age spots on my

mother’s shoulder as she wears her long, cream white gown with small linings of Swarovski gems just

before the ends meet her feet. Her shoulders bare from the halter cut of the gown.

Clarise, one of my bridesmaids and college friends smile at my mother and says, “Congratulations,

Mrs. Go. We are so happy for your family”. Clarise is small in height and petit in body size. She was

one of those women than simply looked elegant no matter what they wore. Her skin is porcelain white,

her cheekbones high, her eyes small but a little round in the middle and her nose pointed but small on

the sides.

My mother smiles “Thank you, Clarise. You look so good. Soon, we’ll be seeing you walk down the

aisle” my mother jokes. Clarise giggles “Oh, Mrs. Go. That would be way into the future”, Clarise jokes

back. Clarise turns to my father, who is wearing his classic tuxedo with a small pocket on the right side

of his jacket. His black slacks fall just before the cloth reaches the end of the bone on the side of his

ankle. Clarise “Mr. Go, I think your tuxedo makes you twenty years younger”

My father chuckles, “Ah, Clarise, you and your antics”

The entourage moves forward and I reach my parents. My father takes my right arm and my mother

takes my left arm. They both kiss me on either side of my cheek. My mother looks at me, her eyes a

little watery. She smiles a small one and says to me, “Thank you for saving our family”.

“Oh, now you thank me?” I say in my head, annoyed. I just looked at her, deep into her eyes, silently

begging that she be my way out of this. That she be the voice of reason for my father.

“There is nothing to be thankful for. Eli owes this to the family that brought her a life of luxury” my father

says straight up. My whole entourage was silent. I fell silent. Tears piling up in the outer corners of my

eyes.

They sold me. They gave me away to someone.

Robin comes, his energy high as well as his voice “Places people, we are about to walk down. Be in

your best posture because the photographers will be taking shots for the same day edit. Stomach in,

chin up and smile like a virgin, ladies!” Robin instructs as he waves his hands in and out, signaling us

to start moving. I breathe in a deep breath, not minding what my father had jus uttered, needless to say

in front of my friends. We start walking down the hall and onto the grand lobby of Marina Bay Sands

towards the Garden Park. Robin raised his hand, signaling for us to halt. We stop and from a far,

through the gaps between overlapping leaves, I could see white lights falling, as if they are rain. I could

faintly hear the guests talking and the music, an instrumental version of At Last by Etta James. The

pathway was lit a combination of yellow and white. The chairs of the guests were golden, not exactly

made of gold, but golden and detailed with a small amount of silver. The silver, when looked into, looks

similar to vines with leaves. One by one, we started walking towards the open area.

As the last member of my entourage walks to the aisle, exposing me to the guests, my throat starts to

dry, my fingers start to sweat and my legs start to shiver. My father feels that my body stiffens and bury

his fingers into my wrist.

“Do not make a scene here. We are going through with this wedding whether you like it or not. Now

walk and stop shivering” he talks as his teeth are clenched. My mother soothes me by rubbing the bone

on my wrist with her thumb. I look to my left and realize that I do not know the people, not even familiar.

I look to my right and recognize a face or two. I see my future husband’s family, after that, I do not

recognize anyone. I look down the aisle and there he stood, my future husband.

Elliot. Elliot Roi Tan Smith.

The face of the Tan-Smith Incorporated, the second son of one of Asia’s biggest housing developer and

energy provider, the favorite grandson of the Tans and the proudest achievement of the Smiths. As far

as I know, the Tan-Smith family owns various restaurants that branched out in Asia and in the United

States of America.

Elliot stands tall at the end of the aisle. He wears a black designer suit, probably from Salvatore

Ferragamo. His plain black leather shoes from the same designer. His hair clean, as if he just stepped

out from his favorite barber. His hands behind him as he waits for me. His expression, plain and looks

at me as if it was all business.

In fact, it was.

We stop in front of Elliot. My father removes his hands from my arm and shakes Elliot’s. “Take care of

our daughter, Elliot. She means the world to us” my father says in a low voice, just enough that only

Elliot could hear.

“You need not to worry, sir. She is in good hands” Elliot says. My father nod in agreement. Elliot turns to

my mother and lays a soft kiss on her cheek.

She smiles at Elliot, as if she had known him his whole life. My mother touches Elliot’s hand and

whispers, “You know where we stand, Elliot. We only want the best for our daughter. Even if it means

giving her away”. Elliot nods and takes my hand finally. We both walk up in front of the priest. The

priest looks familiar, like I’ve seen him before in one of the private Holy Eucharists held by my family

every Friday. Elliot, being the gentleman that he is, holds my hand up, insisting that I go first as he

follows behind me. His touch was soft but still hesitant, well reserved. As gentle as Elliot is, his hand is

still a little heavy, probably because he was facing the altar with a woman he doesn’t even love,

needless to say, someone he didn’t even know. I look around, there is about two hundred or two

hundred fifty people here. The number of people I know? An estimate of seven, excluding my whole

family. The rest, probably people from various businesses of both my family and Elliot’s.

The priest looks at us and the rest of the guests. He looks back at us again and clears his throat.

“Dearly beloved” he starts, “we are gathered here today to witness the holy union of Elizabeth Grace

Dela Fuente Go and Elliot Roi Tan Smith. To anyone who opposes this marriage, please speak now or

forever hold your peace”.

Dead silence.

Dead silence.

The priest continues “Well, seeing as there are no objections. I believe we may proceed” he clears his

throat and begins again, “Do you Elliot Roi Tan Smith take thee Elizabeth Grace Dela Fuente Go to be

you wedded wife?”

“I do” Elliot says as he looks at me

The priest turns to me “Do you, Elizabeth, take thee Elliot Roi Tan Smith to be your wedded husband?”

I breathe in and say …

“I do”