Orla
Nothing settled after Danny’s blow-up; it just shifted into hospital appointments, rehab sessions, and tabloids that still couldn’t decide whether Tyler and I were doomed or delusional.
Danny went under the knife mid-September after I managed to throw my weight around and push him quicker.
I was there for every step until I had to leave for Shanghai with Tyler.
Holding his crutches, scribbling questions the surgeon hadn’t thought to answer, fielding his frustration when he realised just how long the road back would be.
Emma was still in physio, too, and had somehow managed to work her way onto my caseload, all sunshine and grit despite her own shoulder surgery, so most days I felt stretched in three directions at once.
Somehow, Tyler and I carved out space for ourselves in the middle of it all.
We ditched the hotel suites and landed in a penthouse flat near Wimbledon.
Far fancier than my little place in Balham, I’ll admit, but our names were on the letterbox, our mismatched mugs filled the cupboards, and slowly, quietly, a life was taking shape outside the chaos of the tour.
It still felt surreal. Buying a place that was ours.
With my husband. A few months ago I’d been kidding myself that I could keep this incredible human being at arm’s length, that I could compartmentalise him the way I always did everything else.
Before I knew it, we were unpacking boxes, arguing over where the toaster should live, and building a real marriage in the gaps between flights and matches.
The headlines kept circling, but we learned to live around them.
In all honesty, they were getting tired of their former headline stealer becoming domesticated and boring.
Slowly, between ice packs, media storms, and normal late-night takeaways on the sofa, we started to feel less like a Vegas headline and more like a married couple.
By the time December came, it almost felt like the dust had settled. Just in time for Jordan and Kate’s wedding.
If there’s one thing Jordan and Kate Taylor knew how to do, that’s throw a wedding, and I don’t mean in a shiny, white roses and candles everywhere, glossy magazine deal way.
That’s not what this was. I mean a proper Aussie-Welsh crossover celebration.
Tyler had been to plenty of high-end events in his time, but this was new territory for him.
It was equal parts tradition and chaos. A sleek, intimate vineyard ceremony, heartfelt speeches, a fancy dinner, followed by someone’s uncle doing the worm on the dancefloor.
Don’t get me wrong, they looked every inch the celebrity couple— all annoyingly perfect bone structure and effortless style.
Kate was the picture of elegance in a fitted strapless satin gown that clung to her tiny frame and soft curves like it had been sewn onto her—she was breathtaking.
Jordan, in a sleek, classic black tux, didn’t take his eyes off her once…
right up until the moment they got so drunk he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her off at the end of the night to do God knows what to his new wife.
Gwen and I had flown out to Melbourne the week before to take our duties as hen party organisers and chief bridesmaids very seriously or, in Gwen’s case, with the military precision of her husband.
“Listen, Ashford, this is the second and last time I’m doing this for you, so let’s do it right.”
Her excitement was palpable the minute we led her into that bottomless brunch.
The thing about Kate is she’s all professional, kind-hearted, and soft-spoken…
until she’s on a night out. Then, she’s bloody feral.
We had the time of our lives, dancing on tables, convincing handsome barmen to give us free shots but I will never forget the look on Jordan’s face when we called him to come retrieve her from a bush at nine p.m.
“Jesus, woman, it’s not even dark yet.” He laughed, knowing exactly what was ahead of him that night.
We didn’t hear from her the whole next day.
The wedding ceremony had been seamless and by evening the sky had become an inky shade of navy, the air still thick with the cooling summer heat as I sat at the edge of the dance floor beside a table draped in crisp white linen.
The grounds of the vineyard they’d chosen were stunning, the dance floor framed by rows of rustic vines, strings of twinkling lights swaying gently overhead, and the scent of something earthy and herbaceous drifting on the night air.
Glasses clinked and the sounds of champagne corks popping could be heard in the distance.
The day was perfect, completely and utterly perfect, and yet, deep down in my stomach, there was a pang I couldn’t quite ignore.
Don’t get me wrong, Tyler and I had been married four months, and I was still hopelessly in love with him. I wouldn’t change getting married that night in Vegas for the world.
But still, there was this ache. Not guilt, exactly—though my family had piled that on thick—but a longing for everything we’d skipped. The dress. The aisle. The look on his face when he saw me for the first time.
Maybe it was too much champagne. Maybe it was just me getting swept up in the day. But it was there.
Jordan and Kate were deep into their first dance, so wrapped up in each other that the rest of the world could have caught fire and they wouldn’t have noticed. The soft sound of the band playing their song floated out over the dance floor.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted Tyler heading back from the bar, two glasses of champagne in hand. He slowed halfway when he caught me watching the newlyweds, his eyes flicking to the dance floor, then back to me. I knew that look. It was the one he got when he’d just worked something out.
By the time he reached me, the easy grin was back in place, but there was something else in his expression, something quieter. He handed me my glass and dropped into the chair beside me, his hand finding the back of my neck gently.
“It’s been a good day, huh?” he said, nodding towards Kate and Jordan.
“Perfect.” I sighed trying to keep it light. People had now started to filter onto the dance floor to join the bride and groom. His eyes caught mine for a second then he held out his hand.
“Dance with me?” he asked, standing now. I uncrossed my legs, grinning, set down my champagne and let him lead me to the spot lit dancefloor. He placed one hand on the small of my back and held my hand in the other pulling me close enough so that I could hear his heart beating.
I rested my head on his shoulder and sank into him breathing in his scent for what felt like an age. “What are you thinking, O?” he murmured into my hair.
“Hmm?” I answered tilting my head up to look at him.
“I can feel that brain of yours working in overdrive. Something's making it tick.” He brushed his thumb against my chin.
“It’s nothing, honestly.” That was a cop out, we both knew it.
“O, I know you inside out,” he smiled softly. “I’ve been watching you all day. I can see what all this means to you.”
I let out a small laugh. “It’s been beautiful Tyler but I already have all I need.”
He didn’t look away from me. “We could do this, you know?”
I laughed. “We already did, remember? Vegas? Tequila? Legally binding hangover…” I answered.
He smiled and leant in to touch his forehead against mine. “I know that.” He kissed the bridge of my nose. “But we can still do the whole thing—the dress, your dad giving you away, the big Irish party”
My heart squeezed. “You’d want that?”
His smile curved in a way that always undid me. “I want whatever makes you happy Mrs Reed.”
His suggestion lingered in my mind for a while, louder than the music, heavier than the warm night air. And suddenly, I was picturing more than just the vineyard around us. I was picturing him in a suit at the end of an aisle, my family in the front row, his hand shaking as he reached for mine.
I’d told myself Vegas was perfect, and it was. But now, I wasn’t so sure that was our whole story.