She’d covered a few nuptials by now, including an Arab one that had been so over-the-top with luxury she’d been fairly sure she’d been transported to another planet. This one in London, where both families lived, had a celebratory quality that was as solid and fascinating as the abundant gold weighing down the bride. The colors, dear Lord, the colors. And when it came to capturing the joy of family and children—something that was becoming her forte—there was nothing so perfect as the natural warmth of two Indian families coming together through a love match. Maybe it was the cultural shift that made her appreciate this wedding more than the Spanish heiress’s last week. That one had made it too easy for to see herself in the gown and Roman in the morning coat. It had left her crying hard through the night. She couldn’t think of it now. She’d start crying again. Roman was gone. Life had to go on. She forced her mind back to arranging the groom’s family, with his parents and abundance of siblings, their spouses and children, along with his new bride.
