“Completely. It tells me you’re excited and happy, and can’t wait for your day. Remember, the Mad Hatter held his tea party every day. It’s telling you your life with Chase will be a daily celebration.”

“Oh! Of course!”

“And, Sabina, when you stand in front of the looking glass in the Bride’s Suite on your wedding day, you’ll be looking at yourself, with Alice’s young, adventurous, happy heart.”

Damn, I’m good, Parker thought as the crazy bride sighed. “You’re right, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m so glad I called you. I knew you’d know.”

“That’s what we’re here for. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding, Sabina.Your perfect day.”

After she hung up, Parker lay back a moment, but when she closed her eyes, the Mad Hatter’s tea party—Disney version—ran manically in her head.

Resigned, she rose, crossed over to the French doors to the terrace of the room that had once been her parents’. She opened them to the morning air, drew in a deep breath of dawn as the sun took its first peek over the horizon.

The last stars winked out in a world perfectly, wonderfully still—like a breath held.

The upside of crazy brides and those of that ilk was wakefulness just before dawn when it seemed nothing and no one but her stirred, nothing and no one but her had this moment when night passed its torch to day, and the silvery light sheened to pearl that would shimmer—when that breath released—to pale, lustrous gold.

She left the doors open when she walked back into the bedroom. Taking a band from the hammered silver box on her dresser, she pulled her hair back into a tail. She shed her nightshirt for cropped yoga pants and a support tank, chose a pair of running shoes off the shelf in the casual section of her ruthlessly organized closet.

She hooked her BlackBerry to her waistband, plugged in her headphones, then headed out of her room toward her home gym.

She hit the lights, flipped on the news on the flat screen, listening with half an ear as she took a few moments to stretch.

She set the elliptical for her usual three-mile program.

Halfway through the first mile, she smiled.

God, she loved her work. Loved the crazy brides, the sentimental brides, the persnickety brides, even the monster brides.

She loved the details and demands, the hopes and dreams, the constant affirmation of love and commitment she helped to personalize for every couple.

Nobody, she determined, did it better than Vows.

What she, Mac, Emma, and Laurel had taken hands on one late summer evening was now everything they’d imagined—and more.

And now, she thought as her smile widened, they were planning weddings for Mac in December, Emma in April, Laurel in June.