Nektarios & Katerina

Nektarios still had a face full of foam when the guys around him reached for the kitchen roll. Out on the balcony, trees behind him, he stood calmly in his white shirt and let them clean him up, with half a smile. I don't know whose idea it was, but the groom took it like a true sport.

A little later, on the same balcony, he was ready: a burgundy suit with black lapels, a bow tie, a small flower on his lapel, and in his hands the bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus. He held it carefully, like something that absolutely could not come to any harm.

I found Katerina through a mirror, in a white robe, the ornament already in her hair. The room was dark and the light fell only on her, so I stayed back and let the moment be hers.

In the church, among walls covered in icons, the priest touched the ring to Nektarios's forehead. His eyes were lowered, while Katerina, beside him, looked straight into my lens.

Outside the church, in the middle of the crowd, a kiss with the bouquet caught between them. And at the door, the rice: it came from every direction, every phone was up in the air, and a man in a black suit held his arm over the bride's head to get her through as unscathed as possible.