The fight is rudely interrupted by the sound of an airhorn battering our ears. Ryan stands in his dark-green-and-khaki ensemble with his hand raised high at the back of the tent, flanked by four of his beefiest staff members, including one huge guy all in black who must be their security guard. Everyone up front freezes.
“THIS WILL STOP NOW,” Ryan commands. Grown adults in expensive wedding clothes clamber to their feet, shaking out their bruised hands and dabbing at their bleeding cuts with offered handkerchiefs and tapping at blossoming bruises on cheekbones and sucking on bloodied lips. Nikki’s veil is torn and her bouquet ruined—she used it to beat against her father’s back as he pinned Drunk Edwin to the ground and slapped at him. Fights on TV and in the movies are so glamorous and c
