Okay, so I have a full-on case of bridal jitters on my hands. I hold Bryn firmly and call the screamer to her senses. "What's the problem, Ma'am?"

"Jane," the woman replies and clasps her hands together in a pleading gesture. "I'm sorry I freaked everyone out. I had no idea Bryn was nearby... but just look at that nonsense!"

I peer inside of the van. "Woah."

"Wh-what is it?" Bryn stammers.

"Wrong flowers, baby."

"Seriously? That's it?" She looks bewildered.

It's an understatement, but for the sake of her frazzled nerves, I bang the doors shut. "Yup. No big deal."

Jane's face resumes the same googly-eyed, mouth-gaping expression. "Ma'am—"

"Stand back," Bryn grates through her teeth, closes her eyes and flings the back doors open again. Then she takes a deep breath in and peeks. "Oh, fuck!"

She looks so downcast; I don't have the heart to scold her for profanity. "Honey, it's not that bad."

"Yeah, Mom, were it the Flying Circus meets Living Dead themed wedding, these flowers will be just right."

I swallow, because her description is so darn precise: the van is chock full of the natural, yet artificially colored flowers in toxic green, garish blue and bleeding purple. The rest of them are blood-red carnations and lots and lots of black foliage. The only white in there is a smattering of baby-breath buttons, but even they look rather ominous.

"No, no, it's not so bad. I'm sure June and her crew can figure something out."

Jane blinks at me in horror, then frowns. "We... we can cut roses from the front garden, but the wedding photos..."

"I need my phone. Now!" Bryn whirls in the cloud of tulle, and strides to the nearest entrance. I wish we could have taken a photo of this for the album. She looks amazing striding like this.

"Get the roses," I whisper to Jane.

"Of course, of course, after all that Bryn and Matteo did for us, for this place, after my parents..." Jane sobs and chokes off her own weird response.

This woman isn't well, but I can't abandon my daughter to console a stranger. I hope she'll understand my briskness.

Massaging my temples, I run after my kid. Maybe my dress isn't fancy, but thanks Heaven for the pleated skirts! If I knew I would jog across the lawns all day, I'd have packed tennis shoes.

Jane's wailing agitated the bridal party, so the moment we step inside, the women demanding to know what's wrong surround us. The best of them offer their help in a deafening, high-pitched chorus.

"Everything is fine!" Bryn hollers. "I just need my phone!"

The short hairdresser needs to hop to make her point above the others' shoulders. "Her hair!" she wails, "her hair! Lord above! Virgin Mary! Saint Christopher! Look at her hair!"

Bryn might have picked a few twigs in the garden, and the veil sits a little crooked, but with the complexity of the hairdo, only the hairstylist's dedication to her profession makes it a priority in this chaos.

The whole procession moves back to the bridal breakroom, past the grand spiral staircase, Bryn in the lead, when a dozen kids, aged anywhere from Lizzy to a sulky-lanky stage of adulthood, emerge from the section of the staircase that leads downward. To the infamous cellar, I guess.

They climb to the ground floor in pairs, like kindergarteners, looking neater and more obedient than any modern kid.

"Keep going!" Lilah's voice emerges from the deep, where she's not aware of the traffic jam upstairs.

The kids obey her command instantaneously. I've never met Josh, her husband, but the poor sod must be the most henpecked man alive.

Blind obedience, however, is never good. In our case, it results in a crush between the women and their younger relatives. By the time Lilah reaches the top, the groups are in flux, some women and children escaping the bottleneck to the ballroom and down the hall. The rest still jostle for space around the bride.

Lilah surveys the mayhem with a slight distaste until her gaze stops on Bryn. She puts Lizzy down—was she holding her child all along?—cups her hands around her mouth and yells over the din, "Matteo and Josh are fifteen minutes away. Or two, if the groom is driving!"

"Great!" Bryn yells back, not even flinching at the thought of Matteo behind the wheel. "Because I'm gonna kill him!"

The crowd emits one collective gasp, then a total silence descends on the gathering. You can hear a pin drop. For the second time this afternoon speculative gazes for us on Bryn.

"Figuratively speaking!" Bryn barks. "He pranked me, and now I have to deal with it—"

"And your hair isn't done yet!" the hairstylist adds with a truly admirable dedication to her craft.

Just like they've gasped collectively, so they expel a collective sigh of relief. Ah! and Oh! fill the air as we finally start moving again.

"There's something wrong with these women," I mutter.

Nicky giggles by my elbow, startling me. God, this girl is just everywhere. "Uh-huh. They think Bryn can literally kill Matteo."

"Which is ridiculous!"

"Not so ridiculous when you consider our family," Nicky says thoughtfully.

She's Matteo's niece or something like that... "What do you mean?"

"The whole mafia thing, you know?"

"What?"

"Don't worry, Bryn would never kill Matteo. Like, they want me to marry this old Russian gangster, and I won't kill him either. Not at our wedding, at least."

They mock older women who clutch their pearls, but that's exactly what I do, otherwise my necklace is going to strangle me. The lovely, yet remote location for this wedding. The opulence of it all. Matteo, turning down my free accountant services flat-out. What sane small business owner would do that?

You bet I clutch my pearls, frozen to the floor in horror.

Nicky tilts her head to one side observing my fit of horror with interest, but she gets a surprise of her own.

"And what old Russian gangster that would be, my poor dear?" Lilah asks, joining us, and pinning Nicky down with a glare.

Nicky resists it for a second, then titters. "Oh, gosh, Lilah, lighten up! I'm dying of boredom, and Missis Williams here is totally the target audience for my script. Did you like it?"

I'm too stunned to say more than, "No!"

"Like, too bad!" Nicky giggles for one full minute. "Harsh critique will not deter me from my dream of making it in Hollywood."

Spraying more giggles, she skips ahead, and I shake my head. "Apparently, she isn't one sunny exception in Gen Z."

"Yes, the girl's very disturbed," Lilah agrees with a matching shake of her head. "Her parents recently died in a car crash, plus the pandemic... she's off her rails half the time. We all cut her some slack."

"Understandable. But, mafia? Forced marriage?"

"It's what the girls read nowadays."

We join in a long, sad sigh along the lines of, O tempora, o mores.

"At least Matteo is on his way," I say after we mourned Gen Z's ways long enough.

And since it's the case, I can at least ignore all the stories of grooms not showing up to their weddings that flood the Internet hoping to be picked up as the worst wedding disaster ever.

You won't find Bryn and Matteo's among those, however.

There is a second van coming in, with all the pastel lilies, roses and carnations any girl can wish for her wedding.

After inspecting its contents, Bryn closets in with Jane and the florist who accompanies the non-prank van, and all three emerge from the meeting with foxy smiles.

Once her conspirators go back to work, Bryn surrenders to the desperate hairdresser's ministrations, which solves another brewing crisis.

Jane's crew set the lawn with four tiers of chairs, enough for over five hundred guests in attendance... most of them Matteo's clients, apparently.

"Jeez, we're in wrong professions," I tell Gary after the true scale of the event sinks in. I'm actually grateful Bryn left me out of the planning humdrum. This is epic, and I don't have the energy I used to.

"Yes, dear." He flashes his beautiful teeth at me. "Absolutely."

Well, maybe there are more important things in life than moneyed clients clamoring for attention.

Lizzy and her pink-clad colleagues cover the grass with a rainfall of red and white rose petals.

Gary, his chest puffed out with pride, walks Bryn down the dappled aisle.

She's as blushing enough for a Victorian maiden, though I suspect it's not just lewd thoughts of Matteo that set her cheeks on fire. Matteo is dashing, no question, in his classic tax, flanked with the matron of honor—a spot-on title for Lilah by the way—bridesmaids, his best man and groomsmen.

Bryn's glow is million watt strong because her bouquet includes all colors of the rainbow, blinding in its brightness.

The staff also incorporated the rest of the prank flowers into the arrangements, weaving it generously into the bridal arch. Diluted with traditional pastels, with more roses added in, the arrangements turn the classic garden into a pop-art piece.

The perplexed look on the padre's face is worth every second Bryn spent on her revenge design. That she would marry a Catholic in a Catholic ceremony never sat well with me. Seeing the priest's confusion—what did I get myself into?—makes Bryn's decision easier to swallow.

The music plays, the bride and groom trade crooked grins, then straighten their faces for the ceremony. Only, every inch of them emanates joy and triumph. I've been to plenty of weddings, but these two are hungry to get married. Pandemic effect, I guess, mixing with passion.

"Bryn, the moment I met you," Matteo starts his vow, "I knew you were the one for me. On the worst, darkest days of our lives together, I knew you were the one. And it carried me through all trials. It made every breath easier.

And so I, Matteo, take thee, Bryn, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, to guard and to shield thee from all who wish thee ill, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith."

The slight alterations to the traditional wedding vow suits Matteo's solid, brave look.

Breath catches in my throat, stopping even the tears from spilling. I look at my new son-in-law, and finally, finally I realize what bothered her about Matteo for all these years.

Not his denomination. Not his rugged attractiveness. Not his velvety politeness covering steel underneath. Not even his adamant refusal to do business with relatives. None of those things on its own is bad.

It's all of it, and more, together.

It made me think he's too good to be true. But I was wrong; it was my mother's fears talking. Matteo isn't too good to be true. Matteo is perfect for Bryn. Because he's never doubted that Bryn is perfect for him. He believed she was the one for him with no caveats.

They are meant to be. They're so perfect... I'm twice blessed in my life, because I met Gary, and Bryn met Matteo.

Once I let go of my fears and prejudices, tears stream down my cheeks. Gary, who's resumed his seat by my side, offers me a tissue with a wry smile. "I have three packs of Kleenex on me, darling."

I blow my nose gratefully, and as quietly as I can, to not disturb the solemnity of the moment.

At the reception, I am still subdued, until a sturdy guy with a piercing gaze corners me. "Tracey, isn't it?"

He doesn't look like one of Bryn's artistic friends or her nerdy coworkers. And Matteo's side of the family doesn't wear rental suits. The way he smiles makes me wish Gary hasn't just stepped away for a second. Or that I would have joined my nieces on the dance floor.

"Yes," I say icily.

"Congratulations, it was a beautiful wedding!" He is very subtle about it, but he blocks my escape. What the—

"I hear you are an accountant, Tracey. Do you keep Scali's books?"

It's a very public place, and this sounds like small talk, but a shiver runs down my spine.

"No." I glance around for Gary. How long does it take a man to take a piss? "Excuse me, I need to talk to my husband."

"Are you sure about the books? Tax returns, maybe? All in the family, right?"

"I said no, and I meant it."

A shadow falls across us and Josh—Lilah's husband—takes the abominable wedding guest by the shoulder. "If you want a reference for an accountant, pal, I can give you a name after the wedding. Now it's time to make merry. Let's go have a drink."

While Josh holds my stalker in place, I make my escape—and Lilah materializes by my side with Gary in tow. "There you are, Tracey! We've been looking all over for you."

She's lying again, but a leopard can't rub off her spots. What bothers me is the cheer illuminating their faces. "What's going on?"

"Bryn is going to toss the bouquet! Let's go before we miss it."

"This bouquet? Never! The astronauts on the space station will see it."

It's back to the lawn, basked in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. Well done, because

Bryn shines in the bright light, with the sandstone walls fitting in as organic as possible. Lizzy and some of her friends blend with the far more serious maids in the wedding party.

"On three," Bryn cries to the chorus of laughter, "and two! And one!"

Nicky takes off from the sidelines and leaps into the air like a baseball player. The bundle of green, blue, pink and red showers her with petals when she hits the ground, bouquet in her arms.

"Good catch!" Gary joins the thunderous applause that Nicky receives for her athletic feat.

Me, I watch Nicky climb to her feet, cradling the rainbow to her chest. Her baleful gaze travels to the blond guy who whisked Gary away at the start. What was the name? Ilya? It sounds Russian.

Nicky makes way to him, brazen as brass pot, steps in front of the woman he was talking with and bursts into some story fire-worked with more giggles, I don't doubt.

Well, it's what they say, there's no smoke without fire. There's the girl's inspiration for her outrageous stories. I wish I had her imagination, because the boy might be an older man for her tender years, but a mafia boss? Heh, he's an absolute teddy bear...

Then I have to dance with Matteo, and with Gary, and Lilah and Josh keep Gary and me occupied with anecdotes from their sailings around the Caribbean...

In short, time passes in the blurry of happiness, toasts and plates piled with Italian pastries, until it's time for the final ritual.

Holding hands, Bryn and Matteo dash across the lawn to their getaway car.

The shiny white limo is incapable of making loud engine noises, but the groomsmen start a small army of lawn mowers for the proper vroom-vroom, as we watch the hired driver make a stately circle around the lawn.

Smart move! If they let Matteo behind the wheel, we'd be all eating dust off his tires. With the pro doing the job, the Just Married sign blazes from the back window for enough time to photograph and remember Bryn's and Matteo's departure into married life.

They are married! I exhale a sigh of relief, leaning on Gary's arm. Finally!

"Gosh, Gary, can you believe it? Bryn is truly and finally married!"

"Yes, I can." He opens the last pack of Kleenex, takes one tissue for himself and offers the other to me. "Maybe you can stop worrying about her so much."

From the warmly lit windows, romantic music pours onto the grounds. The scent of nicotiana flowers perfume the air. The sunset spreads in a glorious pink slash over the violet hills. I let the evening lull me into a happy stupor.

"Thank God," I whisper. "Thank God!"

Bryn is married and has a steady job. As they say now, she's adulting big time.

"No more getting in trouble for our little girl. I'm so happy for her."

THE END of BOOK 3