Epilogue
Mirror Ball - Taylor Swift
It rained the morning of our wedding. The sky cracking open with thunderstorms rolling over the surrounding heather-covered hills, water pounding at the delicate glass of Rose Hall.
We’d been staying up in Scotland more and more, London becoming more of a fly-through and the town house there used mostly by Scottie and Nico. The hills and unpredictable weather called to Jonah and me, the place where we first fell in love.
What better place to say, “I do”?
I slipped into my wedding dress, a vintage cream silk I’d found in Paris, as soon as I woke up. I twirled around the room like a girl at her first céilidh, Jonah laughing from the bed before joining me, waltzing in his PJs.
Hours later, the quiet of late morning settled in, and the house held me in its hush.
My bouquet sat on the sideboard, peonies and bluebells picked yesterday from the edge of the garden. I traced the vintage lace trim of my sleeves, worn smooth with age, and listened to the creak of the floorboards beneath my heels, to the wind rattling the old house.
Jonah appeared in the doorway to the library, leaning against it as he watched me, a cup of perfectly made tea in hand. He looked impossibly handsome in a dusty brown tweed suit, the faintest tartan running through the fabric, his white shirt undone at the collar.
“It will clear by midday,” I promised, seeing a crinkle of doubt in his eyes. “It always does.”
We’d been together five years, five years of trailing him across continents to always return home. London first, then to Scotland – to the family house we’d made our own, complete with a tennis court for him and Scottie.
Jonah sat down beside me on the bench, his familiar cedar scent pulling me in.
He rested his head on my shoulder, following my gaze across the landscape – bare but beautiful.
Mountains carved by glaciers millions of years ago.
Peat banks cut for a hundred winters, warming homes and families.
Heather stretched across the hills, its lilac tones muted beneath the grey sky.
He murmured, “You always say that…and somehow, I always believe you.” He paused, pressing his lips to the bare skin of my shoulder before covering the skin with my tartan blanket.
“Even if it doesn’t clear”—he glanced at the rain-drenched glass, then back at me—“I’d still marry you in this storm. A hundred times over.”
“Good.” I grinned. “You’re not getting rid of me again.”
His laugh was a low grumble, rumbling like the thunder across the moors. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I took a sip of the hot tea, the liquid chasing away the chill. “You’ve gotten a lot better at this since I first met you.”
His eyebrow arched. “That was a very long time ago.”
“Feels like yesterday.”
Yesterday, the day before our wedding, we’d driven back to Ciallach, visited the pub and our old lodge, and joked with Archie and Maddie about when we’d finally “tie the knot”, all the while knowing we’d made our plans for today.
We sat together, time stretching soft and slow. Then, as if cued by the promise, the sky began to crack open – not with thunder, but light. The sun broke through around midday, and we didn’t waste any time.
We loaded into the four-by-four with Scottie and Nico, who’d come up for the occasion.
Jonah drove, navigating familiar back roads, turning off the main route and following worn tracks through the green Highland glen, air sharp with spring.
Scottie and I provided the entertainment, a karaoke of ‘Going to the Chapel’ and ‘White Wedding’, full of key changes and dramatic flair.
My favourite son-in-law, Nico, didn’t sing a word.
He also didn’t grumble, only looking over at Scottie with a look of adoration and mild despair, the kind reserved for someone you love deeply but who’s been singing the wrong lyrics, off-key, for ten straight minutes.
By the time we reached our spot, the wedding celebrant was already waiting for us. Spring had wiped the slate clean, the grass steamed in the sun, and the hills sparkled like they’d never known a storm.
And then it was time.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Kit Sinclair and Jonah Anders in marriage,” the celebrant began, their voice steady, reverent. I stood face to face with the man I had loved with every corner of my heart, the weight of it swelling in my chest.
“Today, you deepen that bond with a vow: to stand by one another, to lift each other up, and to walk forward as partners in every sense of the word.”
Beside me, Scottie was already in tears, quietly sobbing as Nico pulled her close with a soft laugh. She’d reacted the same way when we first told her we were together, tears spilling silently as we shared our story, holding us tight and telling us it was okay. That it was right.
Her easy approval meant the world.
With his hands in mine, we spoke our vows. Words we’d written from memory and instinct, from late nights and early mornings, from every small moment that had stitched us together. We smiled through each line, laughter catching in our throats, promises flowing as naturally as breath.
And all the while, I thought of the two people we once were.
Strangers who met by chance in a crowded pub, brave enough to spend eleven stolen days falling in love.
I thought of them slow dancing in the snow, clinging to hope like it was the last warm thing left in the world, praying not for forever – but just for one more day.
As his lips met mine and the celebrant pronounced us married, I realized I hadn’t only found peace in him, I’d found home. I’d found forever, and he loved me back.
It had rained that morning, soft and uncertain. Now, with sun-warmed grass beneath our feet, half-eaten strawberries scattered on the blanket, and a couple of Champagne bottles glinting in the light, the future was bright. Shining and glimmering only for us.
I’d found my heart, and then my home, and no matter how many years it had taken, all the pain it had caused, my family was finally stitched together, loved and secured for evermore.