CHAPTER ONE
CAM
“Ohshit!¡Mierda!”Icurse, smacking my head on an oversized flower arrangement. I’m crouched upside down with one leg out, awkwardly wedged between a gaudy vase full of plastic white roses and a candelabra that’s begging to catch fire.
The GoPro camera nearly slips from my hands as I fumble to mount it to the floral monstrosity. “Go ahead and fall. I dare you. I’ll edit you into Reece’s blooper reel.”
I rub the sore spot—my forehead crying out in pain as I scan the empty church.Thank God no one heard me cursing in Spanish. The last thing I need is to be struck by lightning before I get these cameras set up.
I bet God himself couldn’t find me in this glitter-pocalypse.
“Lord, in case I die here, it’s me, Camila Morales. I apologize in advance for how many times I will be taking your name in vain today.”
Seriously. Every surface of this historic church has been bedazzled within an inch of its holy life—which tracks since it’s the Super Bowl of influencer weddings starring YouTube’s crown prince Reece Dare and Astrid Montclair, the “Queen of Extra.”
With this much sparkle, as soon as we start filming, the collective glare might just set the whole place on fire.
But hey, if that happens, at least we’ll go viral.
One hundred and fifty million subscribers are waiting to watch this train wre—I mean, beautiful union of two content creators whose entire relationship has been scripted, filtered, and presented in 8K resolution.
And I am the lucky videographer who’s capturing every moment of thistotally authenticlove story. Two years of filming their staged kisses and manufactured “spontaneous” moments.
“Come on, you sparkly bastard,” I mutter, fighting a zip tie to anchor the GoPro to this nightmare bouquet(because naturally, Astrid made me spray glitter glue on them to “match her aesthetic”).
My cargo pants swish as I grab gaffer’s tape to secure the camera. These babies are my pride and joy—twelve pockets of pure organizational heaven. Right thigh: battery packs organized like a SWAT team on standby. Left thigh: emergency ring lights because God forbid we have subpar lighting during a crisis. Front pockets: enough caffeine shots to make a med student jealous.
The utility belt on my waist should have its own documentary series. If these pouches could talk… well, they’d need their own NDAs. I’ve got more equipment strapped to my body than Batman, except instead of fighting crime, I’m battling nip slips and influencer breakdowns.
I step away to assess my handiwork, but I’m blinded by the over-the-top iridescent sea of decorations. Everything shimmers in here like a mermaid’s ass—no, a radioactive jellyfish. Either way, the church walls shift between lavender, gold, and hot pink—it’s a highlighter palette on steroids.
Still, my GoPro stands proud and defiant amid the expensive holographic chaos.Victory!But at what cost? My cargo pants, which usually act as my fortress of practicality, are now covered in silver glitter. I look like I got down on my knees and serviced a unicorn.
Pulling out my phone, I open the video monitor app and check my framing. Wide shot from the back?Check.
Side cameras positioned to record the audience’s staged reactions? Check.
Roaming close-ups that’ll catch important moments like Astrid’s spray tan streaking?All Me.
Because the money shots can’t be trusted with stationary equipment. Still, something’s missing.
I need one more angle, a God’s-eye view of the wedding march. My gaze travels up the massive stone pillars—ornately carved bases that are wider than my apartment’s bathroom—and I see a perfect ledge for my camera. Scaling these architectural masterpieces is all but impossible. Every. Single. Inch of them… is smothered in twinkly lights and crystal garlands.
“Okay, Cam, think.” I reach up, fingers grasping at the nearest pillar’s base. Nope. Not even close. Unless I magically sprout six more feet, this isn’t happening. If I had a ladder, I could rig a selfie stick and zip tie the lens then monitor the shot from my phone.
Hmm.Gotta get creative. These cameras aren’t going to mount themselves, and I’m capturing the wedding of the century. Or at least the wedding of the week. The internet has the attention span of a TikTok goldfish, so who knows?
I’ve filmed Reece jumping between rooftops, swimming with sharks, and once, memorably, provoking a troop of monkeys while dressed as a giant banana. Butthis? This might be my greatest challenge yet.
“Hey, God, quick question. You cool with me doing parkour in your house?”
I shoot a swift glance. Coast is clear. This is why I showed up hours before call time—to put out fires before they become full-blown infernos. Gripping the side of a clear acrylic chair, I drag it across the church floor.
SCCCRREEEECH!
Jesus, Mary, and Influencer Joseph, that was loud. The sound ricochets off the stained-glass windows that have probably witnessed centuries of better decisions than the one I’m about to make. My hands hesitate on the chair back, evaluating the towering pillar.
Deep breaths. Let’s do this.I grab the scrunchie off my wrist. There is always, ALWAYS a scrunchie on standby. I have three backup options nestled in my cargo pockets this very second. Because after you’ve had your hair tangled in a drone mid-flight while dangling off the side of a mountain, you come prepared.
