They’d torn each other to bits, she thought, in every way but bloody. She’d always considered herself open and responsive in bed—with the right partner—but this had been like a pitched battle with one goal.

Give me all you’ve got, then give me more.

Which, she concluded, explained the sensation of mild shock and smug satisfaction.

She liked to think he felt the same, or he’d just dropped into a coma. Not a heart attack, at least, since she could feel that beat slamming against her.

When she lifted her hand to his hair, he grunted.

Not comatose then, but a . . .

“You’re a flopper,” she told him, and his head shot up.

“What?”

“You’re a flopper, which is why . . .” The sheer insult on his face turned on the light in her brain. “Oh God, not that way.” Laughter bubbled up, fought to get past the anvil on her chest. She gasped with it, waved her hands in the air, fought to get words out through the uncontrollable giggles. “After.You flop after.”

“I’m a guy, which you should’ve figured out by—”

“Not that way either.” More laughter, helpless, finally rolling free when he shifted. She sucked in air, had to sit up, hold her own ribs. “

After-after. You just collapse.” She slapped one hand on the other.“Dead weight. But it was all right because I’d stopped breathing anyway somewhere between the third and fourth orgasm.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He shoved the hair out of his face. “You count orgasms?”

“It’s a hobby.”

Now he laughed. “Happy to add to your collection.”

She didn’t cover herself, and he admitted he’d thought she’d be the type to grab for the sheets once the heat of sex cooled a little. But she sat there, rosily naked, smiling at him.

“You’re full of surprises, Legs.”

“I like sex.”

“Really? I’d never have guessed.”

“I often forget I like sex during extended periods when I’m not having sex. It was nice to be reminded.”

She reached out, traced a finger over the cross-hashing scars over his hip and thigh. “That had to hurt.”

“That’s from the big one. Mangled me some.”

“And this?” She brushed the thinner lines over his ribs.

“Yeah.There, the shoulder. A few others here and there.”

“This?”

He glanced down at the sickle-shaped scar on his right thigh. “That’s from another gag. A little miscalculation.You don’t have any.”

“Scars? Yes, I do.”

“Baby, I’ve been over every inch.”

“Here.” She rubbed a fingertip a few inches above her hairline on the left side of her head.

He sat up, gave a rub himself. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Well, it’s there.” And seemed, ridiculously, a point of pride now. “Four stitches.”

“That many?”

“Don’t brag.”

“How’d you get it?”

“We were in Provence, and it had been raining all day. When the sun came out, I ran out onto the terrace. I was seven. I slipped and went headfirst into the iron railing.”

“Wounded in Provence.”

“It hurt just as much. How about these?” She frowned at the thin, almost even grouping of horizontal scars on his left shoulder blade. And felt his body tense this time when she touched them.

“No big. I got knocked into a locker. Metal louvers.”

She left her hand where it was. “Your uncle.”

“It was a long time ago. Got any water handy?”

Ignoring the question, she leaned over, laid her lips on the scars. “I never liked him.”

“Me, either.”

“Now I like him less. I’ll get the water.”

She got up, walked into the closet. He was sorry to see she’d pulled on a robe when she came back with two little bottles.

Cold ones.

“You’ve got a fridge in there?”

“A small one built in. It’s convenient. And . . .” She twisted the top on her bottle. “Efficient.”

“Hard to argue.” He saw her eyes slide over to her phone, had to smile. “Go ahead. No point in you being distracted.”

“I promise our brides round-the-clock availability. And even if I didn’t,” she added as she walked over to pick up the phone, “some of them would call whenever they got an itch. A wedding can and does take over the world when it’s yours. Clara Elder, both times,” she said when she checked the display. She switched to voice mail.

He heard her sigh, watched her close her eyes as she sat on the bed.

“Bad news?”

“Hysterical, weeping brides are never good.” When she listened to the second message, she opened the drawer of her nightstand, took out a roll of Tums, thumbed one off.

“What’s the problem?”

“She had a fight with her sister, who’s also her maid of honor, about the dress she wants her to wear.The MOH hates it, and according to Clara, the groom took the sister’s side, resulting in another big fight with him walking out of their apartment. I have to return her call. It may take a while.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, glugged down some water. “I get to see how you fix it.”

“Appreciate the confidence,” she replied, then hit the key to return the call.

“Want something stronger than water?”

She shook her head. “Clara, it’s Parker. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to the phone quicker.”

She lapsed into silence during which Malcolm could hear the hysterical bride’s voice if not the words. High-pitched, full of angry tears.

So, he concluded, the strategy was to let her vent it out, pour out the anger and tears to a sympathetic ear.While Clara vented, Parker rose to open the terrace doors. Cool air blew in, lightly scented with the night. Malcolm appreciated the way it fluttered Parker’s robe.

“Of course you’re upset.” Parker all but cooed it. Cool air, he thought again, over hot temper.“No one can really understand the stress of all the decisions and the details but you. Naturally you were hurt, Clara. Anyone would be. But I think . . . Um-hmm. Ah.”

She continued to make soothing and agreeable noises as she closed the doors again, walked back to the bed to sit.And this time rested her head on updrawn knees.

“I understand exactly, and you’re right, it’s your wedding. It’s your day. My sense is that Nathan wanted to help—Yes, I know that, but let’s face it, Clara, men just don’t get it, do they?”

She turned her face, offered Malcolm a smile and eye roll. “And sometimes they just step in it, then can’t figure how to get out. I really think Nathan was trying to smooth things over with you and Margot because he hated for you to be upset. He just went about it clumsily.”

She listened again, and Malcolm could hear the bride’s tone clicking down several levels.

“It’s not that the details aren’t important to him, Clara, it’s that you’re more important.Anger and stress, Clara, on both your parts. You know he adores you, and he knows, too, how much you and Margot mean to each other. No.” She cast her eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t think you were wrong.”

She mouthed:

Yes, I do.

“I think emotions got the best of everyone. And, Clara, I know how much you’d regret it if your sister wasn’t standing beside you on the most important day of your life.Yes, the dress is important. It’s very important. I think I can help there.Why don’t we all meet at the shop next week? You, Margot, and me. I’m sure I can find something that makes you both happy.”

She listened another minute or two, adding soothing noises, directing the solution in easy tones.

“That’s right.Why don’t you call Nathan now? Yes, I know, but how happy are either of you going to be if you let this fester between you? The dress is important, but nothing’s more important than you and Nathan starting your life together . . . I know you will.” She laughed. “I bet. I’ll see you and Margot Tuesday. That’s what I’m here for. Good night.”

“Good job.”

Parker blew out a breath.“She wants her sister to wear celadon, which the sister hated. Said it makes her look sallow, and having met Margot, I’m sure it did.”

“What the hell is celadon?”

“It’s kind of a celery color. A good sister shouldn’t want her MOH to look sallow, but a good MOH sucks it up and wears what the bride wants. It’s basic wedding rules. So, huge fight, which continues via phone, drawing the MOB in, who wisely kept her mouth shut.Then the poor groom tries to defuse the situation, telling the furious bride that it’s no big, just pick another dress. It’s all about you and me, baby. To which the bride explodes, and so on and so forth.”

“So it’s all about celery.”

She laughed. “The celery is the MacGuffin. It’s about power, control, emotions, stress, and family dynamics.”

“You got her to agree to a different dress and call the guy all without telling her she was stupid.”

“That’s the job. Plus she wasn’t stupid so much as too focused on the minutiae, which she should leave to me.”

“And the minutiae is why you keep Tums in the nightstand?”

“They help when furious, crying brides call at night.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulders, studied his face. “I have to get up early.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, I don’t, but if you stay, you need to know I have to get up early.”

“It’s handy because so do I.” He set the water down, then reached out to pull her hair back over her shoulders. “Why don’t we take round two a little slower?”

She linked her arms around his neck. “Why don’t we?”

HE HEARD THE BEEP, OPENING ONE EYE TO THE DARK. HE FELT Parker stir beside him then reach over to turn off the alarm.

“I should’ve asked you to define early,” he mumbled.

“Full plate today, and I want to get my workout in before it starts.”