Chapter 9
Royal Wedding Day
When she was a little girl, Victoria never daydreamed about her wedding day like other girls did. No fantasies of white dresses, no Pinterest-worthy bouquets, no swooning over imaginary grooms.
Instead, she’d had a recurring nightmare. The one where she walked down a long, candlelit aisle towards a faceless man in a morning suit, the weight of the Crown bearing down on her shoulders. She always woke gasping into her pillow before she had to say “I do”.
It had haunted her well into adulthood. She’d lost count of the times she’d jolted awake, sheets damp with sweat, heart battering her ribs, only to sag into her mattress in dizzy, breathless relief that it wasn’t real.
This morning, she woke calm, rested. The grey London light was softer than it had been in days, the steady drum of rain against her windows finally easing into something gentler, almost apologetic.
The forecast had promised a break in the weather by mid-morning.
Victoria took it as a sign. The universe, finally, getting the memo. She hoped.
Which, frankly, was the least it could do, considering Astrid and Sofia had kept her up later than intended, trying to talk her into one last drink on her “final night of freedom”.
Victoria had heard the low murmur of their voices in the guest room well past midnight, that particular cadence of a married couple trading inside jokes in the dark, occasionally punctuated by Astrid’s filthy laugh.
She’d considered knocking, caving to their wishes and joining them for one last glass. But she hadn’t.
Instead, she’d decided that freedom was wildly overrated. Freedom was a cold side of the bed and eating dinner alone. Freedom was a lifetime of nightmares about faceless men and crushing duty.
She wanted the opposite. What Astrid and Sofia had. She wanted Ash, tangled up in the sheets, stealing the duvet, complaining about the temperature of the room. From tonight onwards, she was going to make damn sure that happened every single day for the rest of her life.
Her smile turned into something altogether less innocent as her mind drifted to the last time they’d been together.
To Ash’s face in the mirror, lips parted, cheeks flushed, her cocky composure crumbling spectacularly as Victoria took her from behind.
The way her eyes had locked onto Victoria’s reflection and held: half-disbelieving, wholly undone.
Victoria had wanted to do that for months. It had been so worth the wait.
Ash was the masc in their relationship, obviously — broad-shouldered, swagger-walking, signature-grin Ash — but Victoria had always believed fluidity was the way forward. Judging by the noises Ash had made, she wholeheartedly agreed.
Of course, Ash had also repaid the favour. With interest. Victoria shifted slightly under the sheets and felt the pleasant, lingering ache of it. She was sore in all the right places, in all the best ways.
Outside, the rain whispered against the glass, and a pale strip of light pushed its way through the curtains.
Today, she was going to marry Ashleigh Woods, with not a single faceless man in sight.
She grabbed her phone, grinning.
How’s my gorgeous wife-to-be this morning?
Ash messaged back almost instantly.
Still smiling about getting royally railed by the future queen. I can die happy.
I aim to please. You ready for today?
Yes, Ma’am. I hope you are, too. If you’re getting cold feet, tell me now and not at the end of the aisle, please.
I’ll be there. We’re getting married today. ?
Fuck me, we are. A small private affair. Exactly what I wanted.
I’m ignoring that. Have you written your speech yet?
Done.
Really? ChatGPT came up with the goods?
It’s all my own work, promise.
I’ll try to believe you. Anyway, I have to wake up the Swedish princesses. And Tanya is at the door. See you later, love of my life.
I’ll be waiting at the end of the aisle. ???
Victoria put her phone on the bedside table, still grinning like an idiot, and swung her legs out of bed. It was only halfway to the window that she truly clocked it. No rain.
For the first time in ages, nothing was hammering on the windows.
No gurgling drainpipes. No mournful drip from the bit of guttering nobody had got around to fixing in roughly two centuries.
Just silence, and somewhere far downstairs, the faint voice of a staff member having a small breakdown over peonies.
Victoria threw open the curtains, then gasped. The gardens were drenched and sparkling, every leaf doing its best impression of a Cartier window display. And behind the clouds, with the reluctance of a teenager being asked to come down and say hello to relatives, the sun was making an appearance.
“Fashionably fucking late, as always,” she muttered.
Three weeks of unrelenting London drizzle, every weather app on her phone a smug little parade of grey, every aide tactfully not mentioning the forecast. Then today, finally, the rain had decided to have a day off.
She breathed a gigantic sigh of relief.
Maybe their wedding would prove everybody wrong. She and Ash weren’t responsible for global warming. Or the moral downfall of society as they knew it. Perhaps, even, god loved the gays? That thought made her smile wide.
“Knock, knock!”
Of course, Astrid didn’t wait for an answer, instead coming in hot to Victoria’s room, arms wide, soon completely around her.
“How’s my favourite bride today?” Astrid kissed her cheek and hugged her tight.
When she released her, Victoria pointed at the window. “It’s stopped raining.”
“I noticed. About fucking time. English weather is batshit crazy.” Her friend’s hair stuck up at all angles, but she loved seeing this less official, less glamorous side of Astrid.
“Sofia is downstairs with the palace chef, driving him mad trying to help with pancakes. But he’s such a gentleman, he’d never tell her to fuck off. ”
Victoria was pretty sure that wasn’t part of his chef training. “We better go rescue Angelou, before he implodes from politeness.”
As she turned to grab her dressing gown, Astrid clasped her hand, making Victoria stop in her tracks.
“How you feeling? Excited? Nervous? Sick? I remember our wedding, and I felt all three. Having this much exposure magnifies everything. But at least in Sweden, we don’t have the right-wing nuts telling everyone crazy shit.
You do.” She squeezed her hand. “Just remember, today is your day. You’re brave as fuck, and you’re a queen in all but title. And I love you.”
Victoria’s bottom lip trembled as she pulled Astrid in for a hug.
More than anyone else in the world, Astrid understood the pressures of being the next in line to the throne and a lesbian.
Even if Sweden was more accepting, it still went against the norm.
Victoria closed her eyes and imagined today being over.
But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to enjoy the day, too. She was going to try her hardest to do so.
Today was going to be a trial, however she looked at it.
It wasn’t her day. It never would be. But she could have parts of it.
When she eventually saw Ash in the ceremony, that would be hers.
How much they loved each other was all hers, too.
Their first kiss away from the cameras would be all hers. Ash in her arms forever more: hers.
Victoria shook her head as she pulled away from Astrid, holding back tears. “Don’t make me cry so early in the day, please. Right now, I need coffee and pancakes, and you to tell me how beautiful I look.” She leaned in and kissed Astrid’s cheek. “Also, I love you, too.”