A Royal Proposition

EPILOGUE

MY WEDDING day. My proper wedding day. A ceremony just for us-with the priest and Alastair and me and Leo. Because we want it to be a proper wedding, there’ll be Marguerite and our cameraman to act as witnesses, but there’ll be no one else.

A true and legal wedding… It’s funny how I’m more nervous now than I was at the big one.

There’ll be no velvet coats for Leo today. Or any fancy wedding gowns. We’re wearing jeans and bare toes on a beach in the South of France. Where no one knows us. Where we can take each other as we mean to have each other-in the privacy of ourselves.

Just us.

For now and for ever.

‘Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live for ever according to God’s law in the Holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’

‘I do,’ said Alastair.

‘And you, Penny-Rose. Wilt thou have this man…?’

‘I do,’ said Penny-Rose.

‘Amen to that,’ said Marguerite. Completely recovered, she stood with pride as their witness and she couldn’t stop smiling.

‘Woof,’ said Leo.

‘Bless you both,’ said their lone cameraman-the man they’d asked to record this event for their great-grandchildren. ‘May you be as happy and successful as you’ve made me.’

And that was the way it was.