In the end, Nikki’s hair is sans flowers, but the resulting updo is spectacular—any embellishment, other than the small tiara tucked into the sculpted hair (of course she has a tiara) would be too much. She tosses orders at Sam and me throughout the spa session—“Get photos of the girl doing my makeup.”
“Grab shots of the bridesmaids being cute.”
“Can you take an artsy shot of all the makeup and stuff on the counter?”
“Get one of me in the reflection. Make sure to get my good side.”
“Take a photo of my feet.”
“Take a photo of my hands.”
“Take a photo of my demonic personality that you can see if you look at me out of the corner of your eye.”
Sam and I let the shot list guide us, throwing a little checkmark next to the contracted photos we’ve grabbed. Every time Nikki throws in a new
