Page 8 of The Forever Match

She made a plan to do an anti-rain dance every night to reverse the forecast. She would not, however, ask Ash to take part. Ash was having enough trouble mastering their waltz. When she’d told Victoria ballroom wasn’t her sport, she hadn’t been lying. This was their fourth private lesson, and Victoria was already worried they’d left it too late. The wedding was a week away.

Right on cue, as the music swelled again, Ash stepped forward on the wrong foot. She let out a tiny scream of frustration, dropped Victoria’s hand, then threw back her head. In the full-length mirror running across a whole wall of the studio, Victoria caught sight of them both: herself poised, Ash unravelling.

Was learning the waltz for their first dance a smart move? Victoria had been wondering that for the past hour. Ash had assured her she’d give it her all, which Victoria didn’t doubt for a second. But Ash was used to being good at things. England football captain, the golden girl. She was used to winning.

Victoria didn’t dare tell her fiancée, but she could not see her winning this particular match.

“Do you want to take five?” their instructor, Julien, asked from the corner, one hand hovering over his phone that was controlling the music.

Ash turned, eyes narrowed, and shook her head. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her face flushed with effort. “If we take five every time I step on Victoria’s toes, we might as well give up now. Cancel the whole fucking performance.”

Victoria crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “Is that what you want? Because we can. We can just sway to the song. A lot of couples do.”

Ash shook her head some more. “I’m not going to be defeated by this. I’m going to lead you around the dancefloor in front of everyone we know with skill and precision, like Patrick bloody Swayze. I will get in the zone if it kills me.”

Julien clapped his hands. “Okay, from the top. Ash, remember: it’s a box step. Forward on the left, side with the right, close. Then back, side, close. Three-four time, so you’re counting one-two-three, one-two-three.”

He demonstrated the steps with Victoria, gliding across the polished floor with ease. “You come in on beat one. You lead, Victoria follows. Maintain your frame: elbows up, shoulders down. Listen to the music, and let your body take over.”

“And if my body says, ‘I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing’?” Ash asked.

Victoria reached out, took Ash’s hand and pulled her close, settling into closed hold. Ash’s right hand found the curve of her shoulder blade.

“Then we break into freestyle and do whatever we want. This is our wedding. I don’t want you stressed. I want you relaxed and happy. Think we can manage that?”

Ash rolled her shoulders and grinned.

“Of course we can. Relaxed and happy are my middle names. I’m ecstatic to be marrying the love of my life, and showing that love through dance.” She raised an eyebrow. “I might trample her toes and her dance dreams in the process, but who’s keeping score, right? This isn’t the World Cup Final. On the day, I just have to say the right words, get married, have the entire world watch me do so, and then perform a waltz in front of the whole damn reception.” Ash dropped her head.

Were her eyes glassy? Dammit, if she was crying, Victoria was going to call this off. It wasn’t worth it. She wanted to marry Ash, not crush her. But then, just as quickly as she’d dropped her head, Ash raised it again.

And oh, those sparkling green eyes, that gorgeous face, that smile that could stop Victoria in her tracks.

“We’re not leaving here today until I’ve mastered this, and you’re fucking swooning. Okay, future wife?”

Victoria leaned in and kissed her. Everything was going to be okay, because competitive Ash was back in the room. This was just another obstacle in the road, and they hadn’t let anything defeat them yet. She and Ash were getting married despite the Pope decrying their union as unnatural. Despite world leaders shunning the ceremony for religious reasons. Despite it all.

Because nearly three years on from their first meeting, when Victoria had pinned a medal on Ash’s lapel, they were committing their future to each other. She and Ash were going to be each other’s person. If that meant Ash treading on her toes for four excruciating minutes, it was a price she was willing to pay.

They’d paid Julien to teach them all morning until they had the basics down. Victoria was streets ahead already. In the mirror, she caught Julien rolling his neck like a boxer between rounds. He might regret agreeing to this.

The tyres of the royal Rolls-Royce crunched over gravel as Victoria’s driver pulled up outside the Windsor Castle stables. Her security ducked out to check for lurking photographers, but there were never many here. It was one of the reasons her gran chose to base herself at Windsor whenever she came south, claiming central London was “far too busy, and the traffic fumes choke me.” She was right, of course.

With the country whipping itself into a frenzy about the imminent wedding, this break from rehearsals, fittings and tastings was much needed for Victoria, too. Some fresh air, the healing power of nature, and her gran to dispense some no-nonsense advice. Even if it was still drizzling.

She walked into the stables, the warm smell of hay and leather settling something in her chest, and nodded at the stable hand before greeting her mare, Artemis, with a strong pat on the neck. The horse huffed a hello in return.

In moments, her gran materialised at her side. Victoria leaned down and pulled her into a hug. Was Gran shrinking? It happened, she knew, but she’d never thought it would happen to her. Still, she was just glad Gran was here for the wedding. In the heat of all her royal duties, Gran kept her grounded, reminding her what was truly important.

“How’s my favourite bride-to-be?” Gran gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Victoria breathed her in, all comfort and lavender.

“All the better for seeing my favourite grandmother.”

“Glad to hear it.” A pause. “Shall we ride?”

Within minutes they were on horseback, sashaying out into the sprawling green of the Great Park, her gran astride the Queen’s mare, Venus. The drizzle had softened to a fine mist, beading on the manes of the horses and the brim of Victoria’s riding hat.