Mac poured her own and drank in agreement. “Wanna see my closet?”

“I’ve seen it three times now. Yes, it’s the queen of all the closets in all the land.”

“Well, Parker’s is the queen.”

“Parker’s is the goddess of closets. You take queen. Saturday’s bride called,” Emma continued. “She thinks she wants to change the flower girl flowers from rose petals in a basket to a blush pink pomander.”

“I thought she changed from the pomander to the basket.”

“Yes. And from crescent bouquet to cascade and back again.” Emma closed her big brown eyes, circled her neck. “I’ll be glad when this one’s over.”

“She’s the kind who makes Carter’s sister right.”

“Sherry?”

“No, his older sister who says weddings are too stressful, too elaborate, and basically too big a deal. It’s just one day.”

“It’s the day. Plus, you know, our livelihood.”

“Agreed. But Saturday’s bride is going to be a handful right up to the walk down the aisle. She called me yesterday, and faxed a shot she’d found in a magazine. Which she wants me to duplicate on Saturday. Hey, no problem. Except for the fact her dress is completely different, as is her body type, her headdress, her hair. Oh, and we don’t happen to have the stone archway from an ancient Irish castle for her to pose in. At least not right handy.”

“It’s just nerves. The nerves of a control freak. I need another hit, then I’ve got to get to work.” Emma topped off the mug. “I’ll bring it back.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“I’ll bring the entire collection back,” Emma promised and scooted out.

Alone, Mac turned to open a cupboard. Some sugar and preservatives, she thought, along with her coffee. When she opened the cupboard, she found a shiny red apple in front of the box of Pop-Tarts. The note propped on it read: Eat me, too!

She snorted out a laugh as she took the apple, and laid the note on the counter. Sweet boy, she thought, taking a bite. Funny boy. What could she do for him short of marrying him at this stage?

She destroyed him with La Perla, she’d cooked an actual meal. She—“The photograph!”

She dashed to her workstation to boot up her computer. She hadn’t forgotten about phase three of the gift. She just hadn’t been able to decide which shot, and how to present it.

“Should be working, should be working,” she mumbled. “But it’ll only take a minute.”

It took her more than forty, but she selected the shot—one of the post-kiss, cheek-to-cheek images. He looked so relaxed and happy, and she . . . right there with him, she mused as she studied the final result. Tweaked, cropped, printed, and framed. To do it right she boxed it, tied it with a red ribbon, and tucked a sprig of silk lily of the valley in the bow.

Delighted, she printed out another of the shots for herself, selected a frame. She put the finished photo in a drawer. She wouldn’t set it out until he had his.

She turned music on, clicked the volume down to background. She worked, happy with the world in general, until the timer she’d set beeped telling her it was time to set up for her studio shoot.

Engagement portrait. She a doctor, he a musician. Mac had some ideas for them, and had asked him to bring his guitar. Medium gray background, bride and groom sitting on the floor and—

She turned, a fat floor pillow in her hands as her door burst open. Her mother all but exploded into the room, wrapped in a new jacket of sheared silver mink.

“Mackensie! Look!” She did a twirl, ending in a hipshot runway pose.

“You can’t be here now,” Mac said flatly. “I have clients coming.”

“I’m a client. I’m here for a consult. I came here first, but we have to get the rest of the team. Oh, Mac!” Linda rushed forward, all scissoring legs, gorgeous shoes, sumptuous fur. “I’m getting married!”

Caught in her mother’s perfumed embrace, Mac just closed her eyes. “Congratulations. Again.”

“Oh, don’t be that way.” Linda eased back, pouted for half a second, then did another laughing spin. “Be happy. Be happy for me. I’m so happy! Look what Ari brought me back from Paris.”

“Yes, it’s a beautiful jacket.”

“It really is.” Tipping her head down, Linda rubbed her chin against the fur. “But that’s not all!” She flung out her hand, wiggled her fingers. On the third rode an enormous square-cut diamond set in platinum.

Hell of a rock, Mac thought. Biggest so far. “It’s impressive.”

“The darling. He was miserable without me. He called me night and day from Paris.” She hugged herself, then did another spin. “Of course, I wouldn’t speak to him for the first three days. It was so mean of him to go without me. Naturally I refused to see him when he first got back.”

“Naturally,” Mac agreed.

“He begged me to come to New York. He sent a limo and a driver for me—and the car was full of white roses. And a bottle of Dom. But first, he sent dozens of roses, every day. Every day! I had to give in and go to him. Oh, it was so romantic.”

Closing her eyes, Linda crossed her arms over her chest. “Like a dream or a movie. We had dinner alone, at home. He had it catered with all my favorites, and more champagne, candlelight, more roses. He told me he couldn’t live without me, then he gave me this. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

Mac watched her mother admire the ring. “I hope you’ll be very happy together. I do. And I’m glad you’re happy now. But I have a shoot.”

“Oh.” With a wave of her hand, Linda dismissed it. “Reschedule, for heaven’s sake. This is major. Your mother’s getting married.”

“For the fourth time, Mom.”

“For the last time. To the right man. And I want you to do the wedding, of course. I need your very best for this. Ari said not to consider the cost. I want something fabulous and romantic and elegant. Sophisticated and lavish. I’m thinking pale pink gown. Valentino, I think, he suits me. Or I might look for something vintage, something old Hollywood. And a wonderful hat rather than a veil.”

Eyes sparkling, she fluffed a hand through her hair. “Some sleek updo, and I’ll have Ari buy me some amazing earrings to set it all off. Pink diamonds, I think. Then masses and masses of white and pink roses. I’ll speak to Emmaline there. We’ll need the invitations to go out right away. I’m sure Parker can take care of it. And the cake. I want massive. The Taj Mahal of wedding cakes, so Laurel will have to outdo herself. And—”