Нора Робертс - Vision in White

It made Mac’s eyes sting to look at it. It always did.

“You can see how much they loved each other,” Parker continued. “How happy they made each other. They fought, and they argued, and I imagine there were times they each got thoroughly sick of each other. But they loved anyway. For half their lives, they made it work. You captured that in this picture. Because you saw that. You recognized that.”

“They were exceptional.”

“So are you. I don’t waste my time on friends who aren’t exceptional.” She took the photo, set it back on the mantel. “Take a breath, Mac. Love’s scary, and sometimes it’s transient. But it’s worth the risks and the nerves. It’s even worth the pain.”

SHE WASN’T SURE. HOW COULD ANYONE BE SURE? BUT MAC knew the single thing she could do, had to do, was put it all aside for work. Her partners, her business, their clients depended on her doing her part. So she had to settle down and respect priorities.

A good night’s sleep, she determined, an early start. And a complete and professional focus on her clients’ needs.

She spent a restless night arguing with herself, then thought—bitterly—that she hadn’t lost a night’s sleep over a man since she’d been sixteen.

She brewed coffee so strong it all but stood up and howled. But it smothered fatigue under a buzz of caffeine. Because the box of Pop-Tarts seemed to indicate she had the appetite and the emotional stability of a six-year-old, she prepared what she thought of as an adult breakfast of yogurt, fresh fruit, and a muffin she’d stolen from Laurel’s stash.

Dishes dutifully washed, she reviewed her notes for the day’s event, checked her equipment. A relatively small event, she mused as she selected what she needed. A single attendant serving as MOH. The client wanted intimacy, simplicity.

The bride, she knew, had opted to wear a tea length gown in blue, and a very smart hat in lieu of veil and headdress. She’d carry a trio of white gardenias, the stems wrapped in satin ribbon.

Good choices all, in Mac’s opinion, as this was a second marriage for both.

See?

“Don’t get started on that,” she muttered.

FOB would walk the bride down the aisle, but they were skipping the “giving away” part. Because, hello, already did that once before.

With her gear, the event schedule, and her notes in place, she checked the time. Plenty of it left to do a quick check on e-mail.

She toggled over, scanned and homed in instantly on an unopened from

MaguireC101. She pushed away from her work station, paced around the studio.

She stalked back to the kitchen for another cup of brutal coffee.

She didn’t have to open the e-mail now. In fact she shouldn’t open it now. She had to keep her mind on work, didn’t she? That was the responsible thing to do. The grown-up thing, like yogurt and fresh fruit.

It couldn’t be urgent. He’d have called if there was anything important to tell her. Or to discuss.

Like, why did you blow me off after I got you off?

Not that he’d ever say anything so crude.

The thing to do was go upstairs, shower, dress, then go over to the main house for the review and setup. She didn’t have time for any personal . . .

“Oh, please, who are you kidding?”

She walked back to the computer, clicked open Carter’s e-mail.

Mackensie,

I got this address from your business card. I hope it’s all right to contact you this way. Knowing how busy you’d be today, I didn’t want to call and disturb you.

I wanted to say, first, how much I enjoyed last night. Every minute with you. My house seems brighter and fuller today because you’ve been in it.

“Oh God. Carter.”

Also, on behalf of Bob, his wife, and their unborn child, I should express my relief that I won’t be required to murder him. He owes you.

Lastly, in case you’ve been looking for it, I found one of your gloves on the floor of the closet. It must’ve fallen out when you got your coat. Initially, I thought to ask if I might keep it as a token, such as women in medieval times bestowed on their knights. However, on reflection that seemed a little scary, even for me.

I’ll get it back to you.

Meanwhile, I hope your event today goes well. Best wishes to the happy couple.

Carter

“Oh, man.”

Thinking Carter Maguire was like a drug in her system, she read the entire e-mail through again. Then, feeling foolish, she printed it out. She took it upstairs, tucked it away in a drawer.

BY SATURDAY MORNING, MAC FELT SHE’D FOUND HER BALANCE again. Friday’s event had not only gone off without a hitch, but Vows had secured another client. The parents of the groom booked the works for their wedding anniversary the following November.

Added to it, she’d dealt with a cheerful, nerve-free bride who’d photographed like a dream.

The buzz had kept Mac working with the prints until well past midnight.

And she’d only read Carter’s e-mail twice more before dropping dreamlessly into bed.

It was all about focus, she reminded herself. About knowing yourself, your strengths, your weaknesses, your goals. She just had to turn it down a few notches with Carter, make it clear where both of them stood—and the boundaries outside that. Then they could enjoy each other and nobody would get hurt.

She’d overreacted; she could see that now. A little space, a little distance, a little time, and everything balanced out. The manic weekend and today’s minefield of a wedding were the perfect antidote. In a few days, maybe a week, they’d have a talk. He was a reasonable man. He’d understand it didn’t make sense for this

thing between them to get out of hand.

He’d been hurt before in a relationship, she was certain, by the mysterious Corrine. Surely he didn’t want to repeat the experience. In fact, she decided he probably felt exactly the way she did, and he’d be grateful she’d brought it all to the surface.

Friendly, rational, straightforward. Those were the tickets.

And, on the professional front, she and her partners would be vigilant so today’s minefield would be negotiated. With no casualties.

She chose a pearl gray suit with just a hint of sheen, and low heels dressy enough to suit the formal affair and comfortable enough to respect the feet she’d be standing on most of the day.

As she packed her tools for the day, she ran through her notes and impressions. The dress was a showpiece, she remembered, glittery strapless bodice and miles and miles of skirt. She remembered, too, the bride was a workout fanatic, and beautifully toned. And the couple, college sweethearts, were of a traditional bent.

Armed and armored, she arrived at the main house.

“Red alert!”

Mac gaped at Emma as her friend flew down the stairs. “Already?”

“You didn’t answer your phone, or your cell.”

“I just left the studio. I haven’t turned on the cell yet. What?”

“MOH got wind that the CBBM plans to bring SBP to the reception. His idea of a compromise, which he did not bother to discuss with either the B or G. The B and G, upon hearing this, are threatening violence against the CBBM, which he’d richly deserve if rumor is fact. Parker’s trying to put out the fire.”

“Shit. Just shit.” Mac had no problem deciphering the code. Cheating Bastard Best Man, Slut Business Partner. And if the fire could be put out, Parker would do it.

But it didn’t bode well.

“What’s our assignment?”

“All the subs have to be alerted. Parker got a picture of the SBP from a newspaper article. She’s making copies. Every sub needs one. If the SBP is spotted, she has to be stopped, barred, tackled to the ground.” As if to prove she meant it, Emma slapped her fist into her palm. “Whatever works until Parker can deal with her.”

“I hope it’s the tackling. It would make a good shot for our outtakes file.”

“Laurel’s contacting Jack so he can get here early and charm the MOH out of whatever plans of retaliation she might be brewing. I’ve got to round up my people, brief them, then start hauling over the flowers. Laurel’s still got to fuss with the cake. It’s her Silk and Lace.”

“I know. It’s in my notes.”

“That one weighs a ton, and gets the beadwork and tiara topper at reception. She’ll need a couple of people to help her carry it in, which means less on patrol for the SBP.

“Pre-event briefing’s ditched,” Emma added once she’d sucked in a breath, “so we’re minute by minute. You need to help set up in the Grand Hall. Somebody’ll beep you when we have a sighting on the bride.”

“Okay, I’m on it. Let me set up what I can in the Bride’s Suite first. Stay strong.”

“I am ready to kick me some ass.”

Upstairs, Mac set up in the Bride’s Suite, then strapped on her bag with one camera body and a selection of lenses. She’d add on the second body once the bride arrived. Before going down, she headed up, to check on Parker’s progress.

She found her friend opening a fresh roll of Tums.

“It’s bad?”

“No, no, it’s currently under control. But I am pissed. I just got off the phone, at the bride’s request, with the CBBM. Who started off informing me that nobody, including his brother, was going to tell him who he could date. Fucking selfish child.”

“You said fucking. You are pissed.”

“Then, then, he reams

me for interfering in his personal life.

I have to take it, because better me than either the B or G, but I want to hurt him. I managed to calm him down, appeal to the minute sliver of decency and consideration in him. He’ll do his duty, and intends to leave immediately following his—sure to be heartfelt—toast to the new couple.”