“I think it’s exactly what you hoped for.” Carefully, Emma lifted the massive cascade of white roses from the box. She did a mental C-jump when the bride’s eyes popped wide, but kept her tone professional. “I tweaked the temperature so the roses would just be partially open. And just hints of green and the silver beads to set off the blooms. I know you talked about trails of silver ribbons, but I really think that would take away from the flowers, and the shape. But I can add it in no time if you still want it.”

“The silver would add a sparkle, but . . . Maybe you’re right.” Whitney reached out to take the bouquet.

Nearby the mother of the bride pressed her palms together as if in prayer and lifted them to her lips.

Always a good sign.

Whitney turned, studied herself in the full-length mirror. And smiled. Emma stepped beside her to whisper in her ear. And the smile widened.

“You can count them later,” Emma suggested. “Now I’ll turn you over to Mac.”

“Let’s try between the windows over here, Whitney. The light’s wonderful.” Mac gave Emma a thumbs-up behind the bride’s back.

“Now, ladies,” Emma said, “it’s your turn.”

She distributed bouquets, corsages, set out the holding vases, then put the MOG in charge of the pomanders and flower girls.

She stepped out again, glanced at Jack. “Whew.”

“The ‘maybe you’re right’? From her, that’s a bow.”

“Understood. I can take it from here. Go get that beer. Carter’s around here somewhere. Corrupt him.”

“I try, but he’s a hard nut to crack.”

“Boutonnieres,” she said, already on the move again. “Then I need to check on the Ballroom.” She looked at her watch. “We’re right on schedule, so thanks. I’d be running behind if you hadn’t helped me load and haul.”

“I can take up the boutonnieres. It’d give me a chance to see Justin, make bad jokes about balls and chains.”

“Good idea. Do that.” With the few minutes of time that bought her, she opted to swing through the Grand Hall, out onto the terrace.

Satisfied after a few tweaks, she climbed up to the Ballroom where her team was well underway. Emma pushed up her sleeves and dived in.

While she worked, Parker gave periodic updates, and started the countdown in her ear.

Guests still trickling in. Most are seated or on the terrace.

Formal prewedding shots complete. Mac’s on the move.

Grandparents escorted in two minutes. I’m bringing the boys down. Laurel, get ready for the pass-off.

“Roger that,” Laurel said dryly. “Em, cake’s assembled and ready for the table decor anytime.”

Boys passed off to Laurel, Parker announced a moment later as Emma finished with a stand of hydrangeas.

MOG escorted by BOG in one. MOB on deck. Escort is BOB. Queuing up attendants. Music change on my mark.

Emma walked back to the entrance doors, shut her eyes for ten seconds, then opened them to take in the entire space. She drew a breath in, let a breath out.

Paris Explodes, she thought, but it did so in lush style. Whites, silvers, purples, touches of green to set them off spilled, spread, speared, and shimmered under a perfect April sky. She watched the groom and his party take their places in front of a pergola simply smothered in flowers.

“Guys, we rule. We kill. You’re done. Hit the kitchen for food and drink.”

Alone, she took one last circuit of the room as Parker signaled the attendants to go! one by one. Then Emma sighed, rubbed her back, the back of her neck, her hands. And went to change into her heels as Parker gave the MB her cue.


Jack didn’t know how they pulled it off, every time, all the time. He’d been drafted to lend a hand now and again at an event. Hauling and lifting, bartending, even bussing tables in a pinch. As payment invariably included great food, drinks, and music, he never minded.

But he still didn’t know how they managed to pull it all together.

Parker consistently managed to be everywhere at once, and so subtly he suspected no one really noticed she might be prepping the best man on his toast one minute and passing out a pack of tissues to the mother of the bride the next while coordinating the service of the meal in the Grand Hall like a general coordinating troops during battle.

Mac popped up all over the place, too, and was just as cagey about it as she shot candids of the wedding party or the guests, or maneuvered the bride and groom into a quick posed photo.

Laurel streamed in and out, signaled, he supposed, through the headset they all wore, or by some sort of hand signal. Maybe mental telepathy. He wouldn’t discount that one.

And Emma, of course, on the spot when a guest spilled wine on the tablecloth, or when the bored ring bearer started to poke at one of the flower girls.

He doubted anyone noticed or understood there were four women literally holding everything together, juggling all the balls and passing them to each other with the grace and skill of NFL quarterbacks.

Just as he imagined no one knew the logistics and sheer timing involved in leading the guests from the Hall to the Ballroom. He lingered while Emma and her team along with Laurel swarmed on the head table to gather up the bouquets and holding vases.

“Need any help?” he asked her.

“Hmm? No, thanks, we’ve got it. Tink, six on either side, baskets on the end. Everything else stays in place for two hours here before undressing and loading. Beach, Tiff, snuff the candles, leave the overheads on half.”

“I can get that,” Tink said when Emma took the bride’s bouquet.

“One bruised rose and she’ll go on attack. Better she rips my throat out than yours. Let’s go, first dance is starting.”

While the flowers headed up the back stairs, Jack wandered to the main. He slipped into the Ballroom in the middle of the first official dance. The bride and groom chose what he considered the overused and overorchestrated “I Will Always Love You,” while people stood in the flower-drenched Ballroom or sat at one of the tables strategically arranged around the dance floor.

The terrace doors stood open, inviting guests to stroll outside. He thought he’d do just that once he got a glass of wine.

When he saw Emma ducking out again, he adjusted his plan. Carrying two glasses of wine, he went down the back stairs.

She sat on the second level, and popped up like a spring when she heard his footsteps. “Oh, it’s only you.” She sank back down on the steps.

“Only me is bearing wine.”

She sighed, circled her head on her neck. “We at Vows frown on drinking on the job. But . . . I’ll lecture myself tomorrow. Hand it over.”

He sat down beside her, gave her the glass. “How’s it going?”

“I should ask you. You’re a guest.”

“From the guest point of view, it’s a smash. Everything looks great, tastes great, smells great. People are having fun and have no idea the whole business is clicking along on a timetable that would make a Swiss train conductor weep in admiration.”

“Exactly what we’re after.” She sipped the wine, shut her eyes. “Oh God, that’s good.”

“How’s the MB behaving?”

“She’s actually not too bad. It’s hard to be bitchy when everyone’s telling you how beautiful you look, how happy they are for you. She actually did count the roses in her bouquet, so that made her happy. Parker’s smoothed over a couple of potential crises, and Mac actually got a nod of approval over the B and G shots. If Laurel’s cake and dessert table pass muster, I’d say we hit all the hot spots.”

“Did she do those little crиme brыlйes?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You’re gold. Lot of buzz on the flowers.”

“Really?”

“I actually heard gasps a few times—the good kind.”

She rolled her shoulders. “Then it’s all worth it.”

“Here.”

He boosted himself up a stair, straddled her from behind, and dug his fingers into her shoulders.

“You don’t have to . . . Never mind.” She leaned back into his hands. “Carry on.”

“You’ve got some concrete in here, Em.”

“I’ve got about a sixty-hour week in there.”

“And three thousand roses.”

“Oh, adding the other events, we could double that. Easily.”

He worked his thumbs up the back of her neck, made her groan. And as his stomach knotted in response, realized he wasn’t doing himself any favors. “So . . . how’d the fiftieth go?”

“It was lovely, really lovely. Four generations. Mac got some wonderful pictures. When the anniversary couple had their first dance, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. It goes down as one of my all-time favorite events.”

She sighed again. “You have to stop that. Between the wine and your magic hands I’m going to end up taking a nap right here on the steps.”

“Aren’t you done?”

“Not even close. I have to get the tossing bouquet, help out with the cake service. Then there’s the bubbles, which we hope to do outside. In an hour, we’ll start breaking down the Grand Hall, boxing centerpieces and arrangements.”

Her voice went a little thick, a little sleepy when he kneaded her neck. “Um . . . Loading up those, and the gifts. Loading up the outdoor arrangements. We have an afternoon event tomorrow, so we’ll break down the Ballroom, too.”

He tortured himself, running his hands down her biceps, back up to her shoulders. “Then you should relax while you can.”

“And you should be upstairs enjoying the party.”

“I like it here.”

“So do I, which makes you a bad influence with your wine and staircase massages. I have to get back up, relieve Laurel on patrol.” She reached back, patted his hand before she rose. “Cake cutting in thirty.”