Chapter 8
The hotel bar was the kind of place that whispered money rather than shouted it: dark green velvet banquettes, brass fixtures polished to a soft glow, a marble counter veined with gold.
Crystal decanters caught the low light along the back shelf, and somewhere a vinyl record turned, something jazzy and unhurried.
The air smelled of old leather, along with the vases of red and white roses scattered across the bar and tables.
It wasn’t lost on Ash that the colour choice was patriotic, for their wedding.
The capital was currently festooned with bunting and flags, Union Jacks and St George’s Crosses flapping valiantly in the never-ending rain.
“What is wrong with you today? I mean, apart from the fact that you’re marrying the future Queen tomorrow with the whole world watching.” Cam smiled at her own joke, swirling her bottle of IPA. “I dunno, you seem… spaced out. Not very Ashleigh Woods. Not very Lionesses captain.”
Just hearing the word captain again made Ash’s clit pulse, which was really not what she needed around Cam. But she couldn’t tell her that.
Nor could she tell her the unvarnished truth about why she was so scattered.
The fact that last night had been so special.
She’d been royally railed by Princess Victoria, and it had completely skewed her focus.
Thank goodness she’d managed to write her vows this afternoon, after she snuck out of the house on the way here, laying flat in the back of a royal car so the press didn’t see her.
Last night, she’d needed something to take her mind off tomorrow. Now, she had that, and it had inspired her vows. But there was still the small matter of her speech to write…
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the Lionesses captain right now. I’m not today, nor will I be tomorrow. I’m currently a woman about to get married in the full glare of publicity, so excuse me if I’m a little freaked out.”
Cam held up her massive hands — the ones that had saved England so many times — palms out in surrender. “Okay. Whatever you say. I don’t want to rile up the bride.”
The bartender arrived with two fresh beers, sliding them across the marble towards Cam and Ash, condensation pooling beneath the bottle.
“Thanks, Ricardo,” Ash told him, slipping him a generous tip. The bar was mercifully empty save for the two of them. They’d hired the whole place for privacy. Just Ash’s parents, her aunt and uncle, and her two cousins the other occupants, and they were due down for dinner soon.
“So.” Cam took a swig of her fresh beer. “Your speech.”
Ash suddenly knew what the phrase ‘hot under the collar’ meant. She picked at the corner of her label. “What about it?”
Cam cocked her head. “That’s not an answer, mate.” She narrowed her eyes. “Ashleigh Woods. You’re the person who is always prepared. Look me in the face and tell me you’ve written that speech.”
Ash looked her dead in the eyebrow. She couldn’t quite bring herself to eyeball her best friend.
“Oh my fucking god.” Cam put her beer back on its mat. “You’re getting married in”—she checked her watch—“sixteen hours, and you haven’t even started.”
Ash held up her index finger. “Not true. I’ve got notes.”
”Notes.”
”Bullet points.” She paused. “Vibes.”
Even she knew how that sounded coming out of her mouth.
”Vibes.” Cam’s tone was incredulous.
Ash waved a hand like it was nothing, but her jaw tightened, and a headache limbered up at the base of her skull. She’d thought cracking the vows was the breakthrough she needed. But when she pulled up a blank page to write her speech, the cursor had blinked at her, and she’d drawn a blank.
“I wrote the vows this afternoon.” But what if they weren’t as good as she’d first thought? She pushed that nagging doubt aside.
“That took everything out of me. The speech is…” Ash waved a hand. “It’ll come. I’ve done post-match interviews on live telly with a torn hamstring. I can wing a speech.”
Cam didn’t buy it for one second. “You cannot wing a wedding speech, Ash. Your mother-in-law is the Queen.”
Ash’s stomach churned. She might be sick. “Thanks. I’d forgotten.” She scowled at Cam, whose eyes were wide.
Behind them, the door to the bar swung open, and Ash’s family arrived in a small, chattering herd.
Her mum first, in a soft cream jumper and her good jeans, already misty-eyed at the sight of her daughter.
Her mum’s sister, Jaz, was by her side, in a silk blouse she’d clearly bought special.
Just behind them were her dad in a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a brown leather belt that matched his shoes, along with Uncle Dave in a polo shirt stretched tight across his stomach.
Bringing up the rear were Ash’s cousins, Kelly and Beth, the latter already filming something on her phone.
”There she is.” Her mum crossed the room and cupped Ash’s face in both hands. ”There’s my little girl.”
Ash rolled her eyes. “Mum. I saw you two hours ago.”
”And you’re still my little girl.” She kissed Ash’s forehead, then her cheek, then her forehead again, like she was checking for a fever. ”My beautiful, beautiful girl.”
”Steady on, Deb.” Her dad gave Ash’s shoulder a squeeze that turned into a hug halfway through. When he let go, he shook Cam’s hand.
”All good?” he asked.
”All perfect,” Ash lied.
“I wouldn’t quite say that,” Cam added.
Her dad frowned. “Why? What’s up?”
“Has there been a bridal emergency?” Her mum clutched Ash’s arm.
“You could say that.” Cam pointed at Ash. “This bride hasn't written her speech."
”Cam!” Ash gave her mate what she hoped were pointed daggers.
“What?” Cam replied. “You need all the help you can get.” She waved a hand. “What is it they say? Eight heads are better than one?”
“Precisely nobody says that.”
“Ashleigh.” Her mum’s hand went to her chest. ”You told me you were writing it this week. You’re getting married tomorrow.”
Why did everyone keep stating the bleeding obvious?
“I’m well aware.”
“Right.” Her dad pushed up his sleeves like he meant business. “I’ll get the drinks, the rest of you, go sit at that table over there, and we’ll have a family meeting to drum up some ideas.”
Beth waved her phone. “I’m already on Gemini and Google seeing what they suggest.”
They all sat at the table, and once everyone had a drink, her dad placed a stack of napkins and a pen in front of Ash.
“Were you trying to write on a screen?”
Ash nodded. “And my phone.”
Her dad shook his head. “Write it down. Something about doing that makes the words flow better. For me, anyway. Less distraction.” Ash nodded, and clicked the pen so the nib popped out. She scribbled on a napkin, then looked around the group expectantly.
“It says here to open with a joke,” Beth said, not looking up from her phone. “A funny one. Get the crowd onside.”
“Thanks, Beth.”
Kelly took a thoughtful sip of wine. “What about: “I always knew I’d marry above my station. I just never knew that the person in question would own a station.”
Debra frowned. “Does she own a station?”
Kelly shrugged. “She’s the future Queen. I’m sure if she asked nicely, someone would give her one.”
Ash’s jaw tightened.
“What about.” Uncle Dave leaned in. “You stand up, right, you look at Victoria, and you go: ‘When I first met you, I thought, she’s out of my league. Turns out she’s out of everyone’s league. Literally. She’s a princess.”
Maybe Ash should have put her foot down about this family conflab.
“Do a bit about how football has helped you,” her dad said quietly. “How it taught you about teamwork, partnership, putting others first. All that.”
“I’m not turning into Gareth Southgate, Dad.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Talk about her eyes,” her mum said. ”And her beautiful face. All women love that.”
Ash winced. She didn’t want to objectify her wife straight out of the blocks.
”Talk about her arse,” Beth said.
“Beth!” Jaz scolded.
“What? Have you seen her arse?”
Jaz waved her daughter’s comment away, then turned to Ash.
“Don’t listen to any of them.” She reached over and placed her hand on Ash’s arm.
“This speech is about the two of you that you know. Subtle nods, nothing too much, but it should be personal. Not about her arse.” Jaz gave Beth a pointed look.
”Talk about the moment you met. The moment you knew,” Jaz continued over the rim of her gin. “That’s what people want at a wedding. Not the jokes. They want moments. Magic. People want to believe in love again.”
The table went briefly quiet.
Ash looked down at her beer.
The moment. There’d been about a thousand of them.
The morning she woke up at Balmoral, staring at Victoria in the morning light.
The afternoon Ash had walked back into Victoria’s cottage on Boxing Day, when everything changed and they both knew.
The morning she’d found Victoria asleep on the sofa in one of Ash’s Lionesses shirts, mouth open, snoring like a small industrial appliance.
That smile she reserved just for her. How nobody knew what a pool shark she was.
And the one before all of them. The moment that started it all, when Victoria pinned her MBE onto her lapel, and the world had tilted on its axis. Ash had thought she was imagining it. It turned out, she wasn’t.
“Ash?” her mum said gently.
“Yeah.” Ash cleared her throat. She was, humiliatingly, blinking hard. “Yeah. I’ve got it.” On her napkin, she simply scribbled ‘moments’.
“You’ve got it?”
“Yes. I know what I’m going to say. I’m going to go with moments. Those snippets of time that only Victoria has ever given me.” She grinned at her aunt. “Thanks for putting it so simply.”
“You’re welcome,” Jaz replied with a grin. Her dad reached over and squeezed the back of her neck, the way he’d done since she was eight years old and had scored her first goal.
“Course you do, kid,” he said. “You always do, in the end.”
Cam grinned at her over the top of her beer. “Bullet points and vibes, my arse.”
Ash laughed then. Loud and proud. “Shut up, Cam.”
“Love you too, Captain. But I think you better finish that beer and write your speech, pronto.”