Page 10

epilogue

Two Years LATER

I wake up to an empty bed. The sunshine is warm on my face, the birds are singing through the open window, and the sweet scent of the wildflowers Con picked for me on the way home from the pub last night drifts from the bedside table. I’d popped them in a jar before shagging him to say thank you.

I smile at the flowers tenderly. He’s so romantic. Then I look a little closer. And then closer still. They don’t look like wildflowers now I’m not under the influence of a bottle of red wine. They actually look like?—

“Oh my god, Con,” I shout.

“What?” comes the shout from downstairs. I can hear the radio playing faintly and pots banging in the kitchen. I hope he’s making breakfast. The condemned man should always have a last meal.

“Can you come up here, please?”

There’s a silence and then the sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs. They echo because we still don’t have a carpet. But looking on the bright side, we do have a new staircase now that doesn’t threaten to send you plummeting down through the hole in the treads to the cellar below.

The door swings open, and Con pokes his head round it. I smile at him. I can’t help it. Just the sight of his lovely, handsome face has me grinning.

“Good morning,” he says, coming over. He sits on the bed and leans in to kiss me. It’s soft at first, his full lips just resting on mine. I put up my hand to curve around his cheek, feeling the sharp bones under the skin. It makes me feel tender and warm, and I pull him closer, murmuring silly words of love. Within seconds, he has me flat on my back, his tongue tangling with mine as he works to get me out from under the rumpled sheets.

I open my legs, feeling the rough denim of his jeans on the soft skin of my inner thighs and my cock. His hands push under me, cupping my arse and squeezing the cheeks while we kiss languidly.

I grumble when he pulls away, and he grins at me. The smile is big and wide, and his eyes are as soft and warm as a cup of hot chocolate. “We’re getting married today,” he whispers.

I smile helplessly. “I know.”

He leans down and rubs his nose against mine. “I can’t wait to make you mine.”

I cup his face in my palms. “Con, I have always been yours, and I always will be.” His eyes flare, and I raise my eyebrows. “Do you think there’s time for a shag before?”

“There is always time for a shag,” he says fervently and reaches towards the bedside table, fumbling in the drawer for the lube.

However, unfortunately for my cock, it’s going to have to wait as Con’s abrupt movement makes the jar of flowers shake, and my mind comes back online.

“Where did you get those flowers from?”

“Hmm?” He stares at me as he lubes his big cock, and I almost forget what we’re supposed to be talking about. “What flowers?” he asks.

“The flowers you picked for me last night.”

He pauses in his lube application. “Why are you whispering?”

“In case Lucy hears us.”

He blinks. “Lucy Scrimshaw? Why are you bothered about her?” I slowly raise my eyebrow. “Okay, why are you worried other than the main reason of her personality? Surely she hasn’t taken to hiding in villagers’ bedrooms?”

“I would put nothing past that woman.”

His cock is now wilting slightly as he casts an anxious look at the blooms. “I think they were growing wild.”

“Think again, Fagin.” I shake my head, wanting to laugh. “You half inched a bouquet for me. That’s so romantic.”

“I did what?” He looks at the flowers. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “Are those Lucy’s dahlias?” I bite my lip. “The rare-colour dahlias that Lucy Scrimshaw has been cultivating and growing in her greenhouse? The flowers that she’s hoping to win first prize for at the garden show next week?” I nod, and he falls back onto the mattress. “Oh my god, I’m a dead man,” he says faintly.

His cock has now deflated completely, and I snuggle up next to him. His arm automatically comes up, drawing me closer while he stares at the ceiling, probably contemplating his demise. I snuggle in resting my head on his shoulder and inhaling the warm scent of his skin.

“Maybe we could stick them back in the tub?” I offer.

He turns his head slowly to look at me. “What?”

I shrug. “She’s got loads of them, so she might not even notice some are missing. We can glue them back in, and then Bob’s your uncle?”

“Where did that expression actually come from?”

I smirk. “Are you interested in the answer to that, or should we pay attention to your last wishes before Lucy Scrimshaw murders you?”

He closes his eyes and groans. “Don’t say her full name again. It’ll be three times, then, and she’ll pop up, running her fingers along the cupboards and telling me she knows the name of a good cleaner.”

I start to laugh. “I still can’t believe she did that at the housewarming.”

We’d thrown a party when I’d moved in with him, figuring that we might as well celebrate while the house was still a shell. Most of the village had attended, as well as sundry musicians that Con knows. It had been a fantastic night full of music and laughter, which is appropriate because that’s the way our life is together.

“I’ll find the superglue,” he says, and I start to laugh and then put out a hand to stop him as he rolls out of bed. “Whoa, there. Don’t be hasty. Didn’t you have something to do first?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Well, I do have a long list of tasks this morning. It turns out that getting married creates a lot of additional jobs.”

“Is shagging me on that list?”

His smile is slow and very sexy. “You’re at the top of the list, babe.”

I snort with laughter as he pounces on me. “That’s not as complimentary as it sounds. You’ve probably got grouting and sandpapering the fence on there too.”

He rolls his eyes. “Perhaps you should stop talking.”

“Your suggestion is my command.”

I draw him down to me amongst the sheets that smell of us, and the only sounds for the next half an hour are moans and heated whispers.

Later, I smile as we lie back, panting. “That is the way to start married life.”

“Hot and sweaty?” I raise my fist, and he bumps it with his own. “Boom.”

I hover at the kitchen window, looking out on the garden where the marquee is being erected. It’s a hive of activity out there, with banging, hammering, and occasional laughter drifting in through the window.

After the wedding, we’re having a party. Con’s old band is playing, and our favourite restaurant in the village is catering for more than a hundred guests. It’s still a marvel to me that we have a garden capable of housing all that. Two years ago, it was a wilderness, but once Con had proposed to me and we decided to hold the party here, he’d swung into action, hiring a company to come in and bring it into order. They’ve done a wonderful job and the lawn is now a stretch of lush green, with beds full of plants and shrubs that smell wonderful because Con knows my love of scent.

A familiar laugh draws my attention. Con is outside with the men because he’s incapable of not joining in with anything physical. He’s currently holding a flapping end of the canvas while laughing with the owner of the marquee company. I smile at him affectionally and feel warm all over. He’s going to be my husband. It’s hard to believe.

I turn my back to the window and look around our kitchen. I always knew this would be a lovely room, even when it was empty of everything other than a camping stove and a packing case and with holes in the walls. It was actually the first room that Con tackled when I said I’d move in with him because he knew how much I liked the kitchen in my old cottage. Now, it’s an airy room with stripped beams, a central island, and a huge oven.

The cupboards are a light oak that Con and George had built in his workshop. I step closer to the end cupboard and run my finger over the beautiful vine carved along the edge. Hidden amongst the leaves are our names encircling a heart. No one else notices it, and I love that it’s our little secret. It’s the first place my eye travels to whenever I come into the room.

The rest of the house is slowly coming together, but we’re taking our time and enjoying making it into a home for both of us. Con had delayed so long in finishing the house that I’d been amazed at how quickly he jumped into it with me. His reply had been that he felt ready now I was with him. I can’t say I’ve been of much practical use, but I’ve cheered him on so much I should have had my own pom-poms. I’d also offered lots of advice, which turned out to be wildly impractical, according to Con, but he’d still listened patiently.

I look at the photo of David that Con had set on the windowsill. He smiles serenely, his eyes twinkling with naughtiness, and I reach out and tap his face.

“Morning,” I say softly. “I’m getting married to Con today.” I shake my head. “I know wherever you are, you’re laughing your arse off, babe, but I like to think you’d be pleased too. You always did say that Con and I were like two peas in a pod. I love him so much,” I confide. “I promise you that I’ll make him happy, and you know he’ll do the same for me.”

I stare at him, forever young and handsome. “Wish you were here,” I add. “I know that eventually, we’d have been friends again, and the spot at Con’s side as best man would have been taken by you.” I smirk. “My two husbands. You’d have loved cementing our slightly scandalous reputation in the village. That would definitely have made you fucking smile.”

A breeze picks up, and for a wild second, I think I smell his cologne. I blink. Maybe it’s the lavender pots growing by the back door. I look at his photo. Or maybe it’s him. It’s a nice thought.

“I’ll raise a glass to you, babe,” I finish softly.

The doorbell rings, making me jump, and I head into the hall to answer it. When I swing the door open, Joan is there. She’s wearing a yellow dress with a hat perched jauntily on her head.

“You look lovely.” I look around warily. “Where’s that parrot?”

She rolls her eyes. “And a big hello to you too. George has got him. He’s bringing him to the service with him.”

“And is there a reason why Hank Marvin has got to attend my wedding?”

She gapes at me. “Frankie, he’s part of the family.”

“I have made some very odd choices in my life, but that’s got to be number one.”

She steps past me and heads towards the kitchen. “No, I think that was when you decided to sunbathe in the nude while the open gardens event was on.”

“Oh god, please don’t remind me. I do pay better attention to the entries in my diary now, but that doesn’t help the old couple who got a bit of an eyeful. I never knew the human voice could go that high until she screamed.”

She wanders into the kitchen. “I’ve called in at the hotel, and everything is ready.”

We’re having a civil ceremony at the hotel in the village. I swallow hard, feeling nerves suddenly flutter in my stomach like baby birds. “Oh shit. I’m getting married,” I whisper.

A smile tugs at her mouth. “Not the most romantic tone I’ve ever heard to go with those words.” She flicks the kettle on. “I’ll make some tea, and you can drown your anxiety in that.”

I collapse into a chair at the long oak table. It seats ten people, and we’d found it at a reclamation yard near Stow-on-the-Wold. Con had lovingly restored it, and now it gleams with a soft shine, and I catch the faint scent of the lavender beeswax he polishes the wood with. “Joan, what if I don’t make him happy? This is such a big deal. I need Con to never regret doing this.”

She turns to me, and her face is warm. “Frankie, you’ve been making that man happy since the day you met him.”

“Really?”

She nods, her face earnest. “I can’t think of a single soul who could make him happier. These last two years, he’s blossomed now he has you. His smiles are bigger, and his laughs are louder. It’s a joy to watch him. And he’s done the same for you. You’re finally easy in yourself because you’ve found the slot where you fit.” I raise my eyebrow, and she snorts. “Try not to be rude. It is your wedding day.”

“Shouldn’t that be the day when I’m completely myself?”

“The world isn’t ready for that yet.” She smiles. “Your marriage is going to be long and happy. You’ve both found the person who completely fits who you really are. It’s a blessing, sweetheart. Otherwise, you could end up like George Joseph Smith, who killed several of his wives to get hold of their money. There was a man who didn’t embrace the concept of conjugal harmony.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s got to be something between marital happiness and large-scale uxoricide, Joan.”

She eyes me as I let out a long breath. “Okay now?”

I nod. “Thank you for putting it all into perspective. Con is thankfully not a Victorian serial killer. It’s not setting the marital bar particularly high, but it has calmed my nerves.”

She pats my hand. “You’re welcome.”

Footsteps sound, and Con walks in. There’s a streak of dirt across one cheekbone, and his nose is red from the sun. “Joan,” he says in delight, coming over to give her a hug.

She pats his cheek, her face full of affection. “I do hope you’re washing your face before you get married.”

He grins. “Have you said that to Frankie too?”

She sniffs. “It’s not his face he needs to wash. It’s his soul.”

Con bursts into laughter and leans down to hug me. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “You look amazing, babe.”

I look down at my grey suit. “Is it okay?”

He leans in and whispers in my ear, “You’re perfect.”

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom?” Joan asks, getting up to make tea.

“I went enough years without seeing his face when I woke up. I’m not starting my married life doing the same,” Con says steadily, and her eyes are soft when she smiles at him.

“I like the way we’re doing it,” I add. “We didn’t want lots of fuss, so just walking to the hotel together and getting married sounds perfect to me. Our marriage is just him and me, so it seems right to start that way.”

Con pets my hair and walks out of the kitchen, calling back that he’s going to jump in the shower.

My nerves have settled now, so I grin at Joan as she sets my tea in front of me and then opens the box she was carrying. Inside are our two corsages, each containing a white rose, a purple rosebud, and a sprig of lavender. Their scent is gentle, and water still clings to the delicate petals.

“Con loved that you’d represented his parents with the white rose.”

“His mum’s rose bushes are blooming beautifully this year in the garden.” I offer her a smile. “Almost like they know what’s happening.”

“They’d have loved you.”

“Con said that.”

“What’s the lavender for?”

“The lavender farm. It’s where we went just before we got together. I’ll never forget that day.” I touch the purple rosebud. “This is for David. It was his favourite scent.”

She pats my shoulder, her face kind. “Con said you both wanted him represented.”

“We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. Our marriage might not have lasted, but our friendship would have.”

“He’d have thoroughly approved of this marriage.”

“I think so too.”

“He’d have been so happy. He told me once that he thought you and Con would end up together.”

“He said what?”

She shrugs. “He was joking after you’d both hauled him over the coals over that hotel bill, but there was a truth behind his words I didn’t understand at the time. I think he knew what would happen.”

I feel suddenly emotional, so I change the subject. “Oh my god, I remember that bill. The head of a small country would have spent less. I thought he’d bought the bloody building, not spent the night.”

She chuckles. “I do miss his accounting. He was so creative.”

“Like the time he claimed that an evening in a sex club could be classed as hospitality.”

We both laugh, and she kisses her fingers and places them over David’s picture for a second. “I’ll raise a glass knowing he’d be sitting there laughing and loving you both.”

“Me too.”

She hugs me, then walks away. “I’ll see you at the wedding,” she calls.

***

I’m standing at the french doors in the lounge when Con finds me half an hour later.

“The marquee is done. The lads said everything is ready, and the caterers have just arrived,” I say, hearing his footsteps and reaching out to lock the doors.

“So, it’s just you and me, then?”

I turn around, and my breath catches. “Oh, you do look lovely.”

He’s wearing a grey three-piece suit that clings to his wide shoulders and long legs. His tie is the same colour as the lavender in his corsage, and his hair is pushed back from his tanned forehead. His eyes are brown and very clear as he looks at me.

I cross over to him. “This is wonky,” I say, adjusting his corsage.

He hums, sending his finger over my hand. “Still nervous?”

I look up at him and grin. “Not anymore. Steady as a rock.” He raises an eyebrow, and I snort. “Maybe a bit, but never about marrying you. I can’t wait to be your husband. I’m just scared of doing something wrong during the ceremony.”

He shrugs, playing with the ends of my hair, which is hanging loose at his request. “You can’t do anything wrong.” He pauses. “Apart from running off and leaving me at the altar.”

“Have you seen my running? I wouldn’t get far.”

He snorts. “Forrest Gump was more graceful.” He strokes over my eyebrow, his fingers gentle. “And if you do anything silly, it’ll just be another funny story we’ll tell.” He kisses me, and his lips are soft and warm, and his scent fills me, calming me. “I love you, Frankie. It’s always been you. It always will be you.”

I pull back. “I love you too. You don’t know how much,” I whisper and kiss him again. “Ready to get married?” I say against his lips. He nods, and I hand him my tie.

“You do it. Otherwise, I’ll end up looking like Matty Healy.”

“Is that what normally happens with your ties? I thought you were deliberately aiming for the look of a rumpled undertaker.”

I laugh and watch his face avidly as he ties my tie. When he looks up, I wink at him. “Got your plant superglue, Monty Don?”

“You are not funny,” he warns me as we leave the house, and he pauses to lock the front door.

“You know very well I am. Stop trying to deny it.”

The village street looks beautiful, with cottage windows twinkling, and the mellow golden stone of the buildings glowing in the afternoon sunshine. The street is already busy with tourists.

Signs are everywhere for the garden show, and we pause by a beautiful display of purple flowers. They look rather straggly at the front, and I’m sure I can see the gaps in the arrangement.

“Oh god,” Con whispers.

I snort. “Do you want to smoke a last cigarette?”

He groans. “Stop laughing. What am I going to do?”

“Relax, the show’s not until next week. The other flowers will have bushed out by then.”

“And your knowledge of gardening has come from where, Frankie?”

I nudge him. “Mr Samuels from next door. I always make him a cup of tea. His persistence in thinking that I could even raise a cactus is quite heart-warming.”

“It wouldn’t be quite as heart-warming if he knew you were the antichrist of the garden world.”

“Good morning.”

The bright voice behind us makes me jump, and Con instantly spreads out his arms, hoping to hide the crime scene behind him.

“L-Lucy,” he stutters, and I bite my lip hard to conceal a laugh.

“Con and Frankie. I’m looking forward to the wedding celebration very much. I thought I’d check on my flowers before I get changed for the party.”

Con gives a groan as if he’s tired and stretches his arms out even more to shield the damage. “I do like a good stretch, don’t you, Lucy?” She stares at him, and he carries on quickly, “You know, I’m sure I heard that Don wants to talk to you about the appropriate paint for the doors and windows on his shop.”

“Does he?” She gazes down the high street towards the innocent shop owner, who’s currently arranging a tray of strawberries, unaware of the carnage that Con has just brought down on him. He glances up, and Lucy waves. A look of terror crosses his face, and he offers something that looks like a wave but is more akin to raising a white flag and scurries back into his shop.

I shake my head at Con in disapproval, and he shrugs. “What?” he whispers. “It’s my wedding day. Someone else can take the pain today.”

Lucy turns back to us. “I’ll go and see him now. I’m sure I have a paint chart in my bag.” She looks us up and down. “You look very nice.” She tuts. “Your suit is a little creased though, Frankie, and Con, your corsage is looking rather thirsty.”

“Like its owner,” I offer helpfully. “I think Con might be laying off the booze though, Lucy. It makes him do foolish things.”

Con makes a hissing noise that makes me want to laugh, and I offer her a very wide smile instead. She stares at us suspiciously for a few seconds and then obviously dismisses our strange behaviour. “Well, that is good to hear, Con. No one likes silly behaviour, after all.”

“No,” I say in an angelic tone of voice. “I’m training him. We’ll get there eventually.”

She nods approvingly, and with a final dubious look at us, she moves away down the high street. I hear her say, “Dorothy, may I have a word about the state of your shop window, please?” and l lose the battle against laughter.

Con shoves me, making me laugh harder, and then sniffs. “Twat,” he says, and taking my hand, he steers me down the street.

When we get to the stone steps leading to the hotel’s front door, we pause to talk to the crowd of close friends who are attending the wedding. They’re wearing bright clothes, the dresses and hats fluttering in the summer breeze.

I look up at the hotel. It’s a huge old coaching inn from the seventeenth century and immaculately kept. We’ve spent a lot of happy evenings eating and drinking here, so it felt like the perfect place to get married. I love that whenever I walk past it I’ll be able to remember our wedding.

I open my mouth to greet George, who’s waiting for us at the door, but then I’m blinded by a haze of pink and yellow confetti. “Fucking hell,” I mutter as I pick the tiny bits of paper out of my mouth. “Warn a bloke, George.”

He chuckles. “I’m starting as I mean to go on. I love weddings. Congratulations, boys.”

I grin. “Looking spiffy.” He’s wearing a navy blue suit with a bright pink tie. I eye the parrot on his shoulder warily. “I’m not sure about your accessorising though. You look like a rather smart pirate.”

“Pirate,” Hank Marvin croaks, lifting his head up as though scenting blood—my blood, probably. “Pieces of eight. Ahoy ahoy, you fucking pirate.”

“Oh my god, George,” I groan. “Is Joan really insistent on that bird being at our wedding ceremony?”

He nods. “She says he’d be sad if we left him out.”

“I’m sure he’d get on with his life eventually.” Con and George stare at me, and I sigh. “What a wonderful thought, George.”

He grins and grabs Con in a hug. Hank Marvin instantly slides along his shoulder, cooing and rubbing his head against Con. The bird starts to hum “The Lightning Tree,” and I give up.

Spying Max and Felix, I edge through the crowd, stopping every few seconds to accept hugs. Our group’s voices are loud on the air.

I finally come up next to them. They’re leaning against the old brick wall of the hotel, both dressed in navy suits. Max’s arm is slung over Felix’s shoulder, and he’s saying something that is making the younger man laugh.

They look up at me. “Congratulations, babe,” Felix says.

“Thank you.”

I accept a hug from him and then his boyfriend. I pat Max’s cheek affectionately. I love my old neighbour, and I miss him now he lives in London, but we see them regularly, and a night on their boat is always interesting. Last time we stopped over, Con turned left rather than right and ended up going for an unscheduled swim.

“Where’s my present, Max?” I ask, and he snorts with laughter, his high-boned face wearing its usual naughty grin.

“It’s nice to meet a couple who know that the marital bond is the important part of the day.”

“Tell it to the next couple.” I click my fingers. “Where’s my present?”

Felix winks at me. “Max wanted to give you a poem that he wrote.”

I gape at him. “What? You were making my present?”

Max huffs. “I am a very famous author, you know. It might have been worth something in years to come.”

“I’d rather have something that’s worth a lot now.”

Felix bursts into laughter. “We settled for a toaster because the poem became very rude, and Max couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with testicle. He gave up in the end.”

Con comes up next to us, hugging the two men, his face full of affection. He turns to me. “We’re going in now. Ready?”

I stare at him. The sunshine is playing over his handsome face, and the wind ruffles his thick hair. “I’ve never been more ready for anything,” I say, and he grins.

“How about the Harvey Nicks sale when you made me buy a tent to sleep in the line so you wouldn’t miss out on getting that suitcase?”

I roll my eyes. “Why are you so cynical?”

The wedding is held in a room at the back of the hotel. The walls are painted green, and it has bifolding doors that let in lots of light. They open onto a flagged patio, where we’ll take the photos afterwards.

The service itself seems to pass in a dream. The only things I can focus on are Con’s warm eyes and the strength of his grasp on my hand.

“Are there any objections to this wedding?” the registrar finally says, offering us a wink. “I always like this part,” she whispers. “Sends a frisson of danger through me.”

The grin drops off her face as a gloomy voice intones, “He drowned her in the bathtub.”

There’s a stunned silence in the room. “I beg your pardon?” the registrar exclaims.

I look around wildly, finding the culprit sitting on Joan’s shoulder, preening. “Oh, it’s the bird. The parrot,” I say urgently. “There he is. He’s obsessed with true crime programmes.”

The registrar blinks and says weakly, “Silly me. I thought it was someone informing me that one of the grooms is a murderer.”

“What? No.” I give a little laugh. “Of course not. Do we look like murderers?” She gives me a wary look. “Well, maybe I do, but you have no idea the stress of planning a wedding. Okay, you do, but I’m very stressed, and I just want to be married to Con and?—”

“For the love of god, stop talking ,” Con breathes, a strange expression on his face. Is he going to faint?

I look at him closer. He’s trying not to laugh. “Idiot,” I breathe.

Unfortunately, it’s too loud.

“I beg your pardon?” the registrar exclaims again.

“Oh, not you,” I say quickly. “No, no, no. Of course not you. You are not an idiot.” I jerk my thumb at Con. “He is.”

“Would you like to object?” she asks Con hopefully, but he just grins.

“Not on your life.”

“Anyway, it was Hank Marvin who said those very silly words,” I say. “Come on, Hank Marvin. Give us another of your cute little facts.”

Everyone stares at him, and the bird gives a soft squark and buries his head under his wing as if suddenly shy.

“No, come on. Let’s hear it,” I urge. “What about Haigh and his victims. That sounds like suitable wedding conversation.” I catch a look at the registrar’s horrified face. “Or maybe not. Come on, Hank Marvin. Anything.”

Silence.

“Look at the little sweetie,” I say through gritted teeth. “He doesn’t want to speak because he doesn’t want to upset Uncle Frankie’s wedding.” I turn back to the registrar. “Anyway, let’s get on with it,” I say briskly.

Con goggles at me, and I hear my own words. “I mean, let’s get us married. Because that’s what I want more than anything. Marriage.”

“I’m writing this down,” I hear Max say in a low voice that somehow carries. “I think I can put it in a book, but I’m almost sure my editor will dismiss it as being too unrealistic.”

Felix shushes him, and I grab Con’s hand. “Well?” I prompt the registrar.

She jerks. “If you’re sure it was the parrot?”

“Oh, it was. Most definitely. And surely birds don’t count legally in wedding objections? I mean, how could they? Most of them can’t talk.” I shoot a glare at Hank Marvin. “The nice ones, anyway.”

“He shot her with a cannon,” he intones, and an intake of relieved air goes around the room like a breathy Mexican wave.

“Oh, how charming,” the registrar breathes.

“Yes. Let’s get on.”

The rest of the wedding ceremony is conducted with me holding tightly to Con’s hands. I’m not sure whether I’m letting him prop me up or attempting to thwart any escape plans he might be hatching. But he stays there, his gaze soft and warm on my face and his hands gentle as he slides on the ring.

His fingers shake a little, and so much love wells up inside me for this wonderful man who I’ve been lucky enough to find.

I clutch his fingers when he’s finished, and when he looks up, I reach to kiss him.

The registrar chuckles. “Not quite yet, young man.”

People catcall, and Con chuckles, but the laughter stays inside me as I say the words I never thought I’d say with such conviction and belief. It bubbles along my veins like champagne or sunbeams until the registrar pronounces us husband and husband, and then it comes out as Con reaches to kiss me.

He cocks his head. “And you’re laughing now?” he says with great affection.

I shake my head and kiss him as confetti explodes over us, raining silver and gold paper down. When I pull away, I smile at him, and I know it’s as big and beaming as the smile on his own face. It echoes the boldness in my heart when I look at him. “I’m smiling because you make me happier than anyone ever has, and I know you always will do, and I’m laughing because our friendship group is completely barmy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he says and draws me close, dipping me and kissing me to the sound of cheers. I wrap my hands around his neck and cling on to the man who’s the love of my life.