Page 122 of Scandal Queen

Nothing.

“Of course, if you’d rather get married at St Paul’s and have the whole shebang, then that’s cool.”

He stared at me trying to read me, looking for the questions I so frequently painted across my face.

“Yes.”

“You’ve already said yes.” My favourite quirk came out to play.

“Yes. You. Here. Me.” There you go, four words in no particular order.

He swept me up, his lips brushing against mine, his arms crushing me tight. “I’m going to worship you, my Queen, for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe don’t say that during the ceremony. We don’t want all your elderly relatives getting hot under the collar.”

“Leia! I’m trying to have a moment here.”

I stared at him, my mouth wide open, passing catching flies. For the first time realising that he didn’t get it. Didn’t get the absolute magnitude of the feelings I’d had for him since the first second we met.

“Everything about us is a moment, Ollie. Everything.”

“Truth.”

“One hundred percent.” I grinned and turned, ready to run, a wild giggle lodged in my throat. “Your Majesty.”

Epilogue

And breathe.

“Miss Lawrence, you need to calm down, your make-up is sweating off as fast as I can put it on.” The poor make-up artist looked like she wanted to have a sweat-filled panic attack of her own.

She couldn’t. All the panic attacks were mine, all day long. It’s called bride’s privilege.

“Molly, can I have some champagne?” I swivelled my gaze to my friend; my eyes the only part of me I could move.

“No champagne, you’ve got to walk in heels.”

I grumbled under my breath, but I knew it was for the best.

Heels were one thing. Heels while the entire world watched me walk in them via a live broadcast—that was something else.

My phone, clutched in my sweaty hand, vibrated and I waved my free fingers to get Lizzie, or was it Izzie, to stop. “Sorry, can I just look at my phone?”

She did the awkward curtsey thing people did around me these days. Ever since the King had announced the wedding, and that the whole country were invited, people hadn’t known how to greet me. I wasn’t yet the Queen consort, not for another few hours, but then I was no longer just plain Leia Lawrence either.

The King.

I had to think of him as just Ollie. If I focused on that one simple fact, I might be able to get through this day.

Because the other side of this day there promised to be a future of perfection. Married to the man I love, our daughter by our side, loving and giving the way that we seemed to do best.

His official adoption of Daisy had tied us together far more than a wedding band could.

I just had to get past the high heel thing first.

Twenty steps from the door of the chapel to him.

Twenty steps. I’d counted them last week on the rehearsal. The last of five rehearsals. So many things to think about: where the cameras would be, where the subtle lighting could enhance the candles and fairy lights Oliver had promised.