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Vivienne raised a hand. “Please. But softly…I have a headache.”

“Would you like some green tea and bee pollen?” I said, because she was convinced that helped.

“Yes please, darling.”

I made her the tea and spooned the bee pollen into a small sake bowl, mixed it with a teaspoon of raw honey, and brought it to her. She ate it with the tiny mother-of-pearl spoon reserved for headaches and depressive episodes.

“The RSVP count is forty-eight. Forty-six confirmed, two canceled,” I said as softly as I could.

“Who?”

“Theresa Cobb and Megan Alvarez.”

“Theresa will come,” Vivienne said. “She thinks she’s above commitment, but she won’t want to miss the photography. She needs the publicity.”

“Speaking of which, I’ve confirmed the photographer is planning to pitch to DuJour and Haute Living SF.”

“Not Town & Country?” Vivienne looked appalled.

“I’ll get back to you on that. Unfortunately, the sommelier had to cancel due to injury—”

“What?” She looked up from her bee pollen.

“She sprained an ankle.”

“That’s awful, Marlowe,” she said. She meant the cancellation, not the ankle.

“I’m calling around everywhere to find a suitable replacement,” I reassured her.

“And what else?” she said, like it fatigued her.

“The cabana rentals are confirmed and the pool-float situation has been resolved.”

I went through the rest of my list, watching her carefully. A headache was often the gateway to something dark and unholy requiring Xanax and an eye pillow.

I checked the list on my phone as if the next item had only just occurred to me and had not, in fact, been sitting in my head like a lit match for twenty minutes.

“There is one thing,” I said.

Her brows knit.

“What kind of thing?”

“Since we have a cancellation, I was wondering if I could bring my partner,” I said, because the word “boyfriend” was even less acceptable than a pearl pool float.

She looked at me, blank, and therefore terrifying, for three seconds. “You have a partner?”

“Thanks to you, Vivienne.” I smiled. “And thanks to Aurora.”

She smiled, satisfied.

“You found someone, Marlowe!” she said, like that alone may have been divine intervention.

“I have, and I would love for you to meet him. He’s a deeply spiritual person,” I said, the irony in no way lost on me. “He’s spent a lot of time on integration.”

“Bring him,” Vivienne said, pleased with her own generosity.

“Thank you so much.”