Chapter 11
“I know you’re sort of famous,” Ash’s dad said, eyeing the back of someone’s very recognisable head through the marquee glass door. “But seeing world leaders and proper Hollywood stars at your wedding is very peculiar.”
“Sort of famous?” Ash replied with a grin.
She had been when she was just a footballer, but marrying royalty had taken fame to another level. Her wedding was going to be on the front page of every newspaper in the world tomorrow.
“Don’t get cocky,” her dad laughed. “You’re not Adele.”
“Adele’s here, actually. She’s singing later.”
He blinked. “Right. Well.” Her dad flicked the tail on his dark jacket, then smoothed down his pastel-lemon tie. “That’s exactly my point.”
Ash huffed a laugh, and for half a second, the knot in her chest loosened.
Only half a second, mind.
The Bentley ride with Cam and her parents along the procession route had been every bit as surreal as she’d feared: thousands of faces blurring past the tinted windows, every one trying to catch a glimpse of her.
However, standing at the marquee door, knees trembling, she was beginning to wonder if you could die of fright. Medical journals would have to be updated. Cause of death: getting married in front of approximately 900 people, three monarchs, and Adele.
Ash was used to the spotlight, of course. But the spotlight she knew came with grass under her boots, ten teammates alongside her, and an offside trap to fall back on.
Today, the only formation was her and Victoria. By tonight, she’d have a new team: the smallest, most important one she’d ever been a part of.
Breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four. The Lionesses’s psychologist had drilled it into her until it was muscle memory, and damn, was she grateful now. She let the breath roll out slowly through her nose, the way she did before a penalty.
Through the door, she could see Jen Campbell, the Lionesses’s manager, leaning in to murmur something to her partner, Amy O’Donnell, who was doing her best not to laugh.
When the two of them had got together — England manager plus Ireland manager had created headlines for a few weeks — football had nearly fallen off its chair.
Now they were just Jen and Amy, part of the landscape.
A bit like her and Victoria, eventually.
She hoped.
Jen had messaged last night, with some last-minute advice: “Good luck tomorrow. Remember, walk down that aisle like you mean it. Confidence is a muscle. You, of all people, know how to flex it.”
The marquee door cracked open and Shane, the wedding planner, poked her head through, headset askew. “Thirty seconds. Get ready.”
Thirty seconds.
Somewhere across the lawn, in a Palace built for moments like this, Victoria would be breathing deep too, smoothing her hands down her dress, readying herself to walk this same aisle.
Ash held the thought like a lit match. Whatever else was happening — the cameras, the dignitaries, the queen of pop in row six — Victoria was at the other end of this. That was the only fact that mattered.
Ash willed her skeleton to stay upright for at least the next hour, then she could renegotiate.
She turned to her dad. He squeezed her hand, his own a little clammy, which was somehow the most reassuring thing in the world. She’d tried to persuade her mum to walk her down the aisle too, but Debra had gone the colour of porridge at the very suggestion.
“In front of all those people? Absolutely not. I’ll be in the front row weeping into a hankie like a normal person, thank you.”
“I’m so proud of you,” her dad said, and his voice did the thing — that small, tight wobble that men of his generation do when they’re trying very hard not to cry in public.
“Your mum and I both are. We can’t wait to see you married and happy.
” He shook his head, looking her up and down.
“And in your ivory suit? You honestly look like a film star, too.”
Ash leaned in and kissed his cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave: the same one he’d worn to every parents’ evening, every cup final, every birthday. For one steadying second, she was a little girl again: nothing bad could happen so long as her dad held her hand.
She straightened. Squared her shoulders. Found her game face.
“Thanks, Dad.” She slipped her arm through his. “Let’s go and get me married.”
Ash made it to the end of the aisle without a single stumble, locking eyes with a couple of Lionesses, Auntie Jaz and her cousin, Beth, along the way. Task one: complete. She kissed her dad, then hugged her mum, whose coral fascinator set off her outfit perfectly.
Ash took her place at the top of the aisle, locking eyes with the waiting Cam, then shaking her hand.
“Ready?” Cam was suited and booted in the same tails and lemon tie as her dad, the colour popping gorgeously against her dark skin.
Ash gave Cam a firm nod. The cameras were on her, and she imagined all those people: Hyde Park, Trafalgar Square, half the bloody planet watching.
She was getting married, and she was happy to be there. She might as well give them what they wanted.
What was it they said? Fake it ‘til you make it?
Ash took a deep breath, then gave Cam a broad smile. “Born ready.”
Somewhere beyond the Palace gates, a cheer rolled through the air like distant thunder.
Then the bridal march struck up.
This was it.
Holy fucking shit.
A ripple of excitement surged through the marquee. Victoria had clearly arrived, but Ash was going to be the last to see her. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, pulling her shoulders back, standing tall.
When she opened her eyes and turned, Ash truly wasn’t prepared for Victoria.
It wasn’t just how regal and beautiful she looked, floating along in an acre of white satin.
It was also the slight stutter in her walk as she took the final three steps.
So small, nobody else would notice. The moment their eyes met.
Victoria’s quick blink that told Ash she wasn’t the only one who was bricking it.
But also, that just like Ash, there was no place she’d rather be.
Victoria kissed her dad, then gave her flowers to her lone bridesmaid, Astrid, a streak of lemon and pearls.
Then Ash stepped beside Victoria, took her hand, and kissed her knuckle.
The swoon from outside was definitely audible this time. Ash’s heart boomed so hard, she wondered if the TV cameras had picked it up.
“You look incredible, Ma’am,” she whispered in Victoria’s ear, breathing in her scent, wanting to stop time right there. “And your walk was perfect. Extraordinary composure under pressure.”
That made Victoria beam. “You look drop-dead gorgeous,” she whispered.
In the lead-up to today, Ash had been a mess of contradictions. Worried about this being too big, too grand, but wanting to give Victoria everything she desired. Concerned they’d pushed the monarchy and the country too far, but also wanting to change society for the better.
But now, stood beside the love of her life, none of that mattered. This part really was about the two of them, and their families. But mostly, their vows, their love, their promises.
Their wedding day.
Ash squeezed Victoria’s hand and knew with bone-deep certainty it was all going to be okay.
They turned to Moira, who was clad in soothing beige once more, but today she’d paired it with three strings of beads that clacked loudly when she waved her hands. Moira was demonstrative, and the constant sound eased any tension Ash was feeling.
The vows flew by in a blur of promises.
To be faithful, and to love you always.
To bring you tea even when you’re grumpy.
To call when I’m running late.
To not do keepy-uppies in the house.
To listen to your worries, and not always try to fix them.
To never, ever, call it ‘just a game.’
To always be by your side.
Then came the rings.
Victoria took Ash’s left hand, and Ash felt it: that quiet, deliberate pressure of someone holding her like she was something precious. Victoria’s own hand trembled too, and that undid Ash more than anything else had all day.
Victoria slid the ring onto her finger slowly, cool gold settling against Ash’s skin. A small, perfect circle closing.
When Victoria looked up, her eyes shone, and the smile she gave Ash: damn, that smile.
Private, almost shy, meant only for her in a marquee filled with people.
It floored Ash. The world narrowed to the woman in front of her: the same one who’d chosen Ash as her forever.
For one suspended second, Ash forgot the cameras, the crowd, the country. There was just Victoria. Just this.
I love you, she thought, so loud she was sure Victoria could hear it.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Then it was her turn.
Ash took the second ring from Cam with shaking fingers. She lifted Victoria’s hand — those elegant fingers she’d held a thousand times in quieter moments — and slid the band into place, this time with no yappy dog as goalkeeper. It caught the light.
Victoria followed its progress, and when she glanced back to Ash, her breath hitched.
Ash’s heart boomed, as she pushed down the tears that threatened.
They were happy tears, but still.
She wasn’t going to cry.
“You’ve exchanged rings, you’ve made your vows,” Moira told them, delight seeping from her. Her positivity was infectious. “All there is for me to do is pronounce you spouse and spouse. You’re officially married. Congratulations, both!”
Ash met Victoria’s gaze.
They’d been given very clear instructions from here. No kissing at this point. Save it for the balcony. There was a running order. There was protocol. There were, somewhere in this marquee, at least a couple of people whose entire job was to make sure things like this didn’t happen.
Ash didn’t care.
Because Victoria was looking at her, pure delight in her stare. The woman she loved had just become her wife, and the idea of standing here, inches apart, and not kissing her felt frankly insane.
Instead, she went with her gut, leaned in and pressed a kiss to Victoria’s lips: firm, brief, certain. It was a promise more than a kiss. You’re mine. I’m yours. We’re married.
Her wife — damn, that felt good to say — gasped softly against Ash’s mouth, and her fingers tightened around Ash’s like she never planned to let go.
As Ash pulled back, then glanced around, she clocked Shane the wedding planner, having what was almost certainly a small aneurysm. That was followed by the Queen, whose face was set to ‘See Me Later’.
Totally worth it.
Ash gave Victoria a wink, and everyone heard the cheer throughout the capital.
They turned as one to the congregation, where Ash’s mum stood up and clapped. Within moments, a couple more people joined in, and soon, the whole marquee was applauding.
Ash glanced at Victoria, thankful for her makeup, knowing she’d be blushing as red as the Ravens home kit without it. When the clapping from inside died down, the clapping from outside remained.
“Wow,” Ash mouthed to Victoria. “We did it.”
“We sure did,” she replied.
As they walked down the aisle, acknowledging friends and family and everybody in between, the cheers from outside only seemed to get louder.
The enthusiasm was so much that Ash briefly allowed herself to think that maybe, just maybe, this might work far better than anyone had dared to hope.
So long as she didn’t score an own goal in her final England match and become a national pariah.
At the door of the marquee, their guard of honour waited. On Ash’s side, a line of young Lionesses, barely containing themselves. On Victoria’s side, a line of queer teenagers from Victoria’s charity, eyes wide, grins in place.
“Ash, Princess Victoria, look this way, please!”
Their wedding photographer — a man committed to the cause in pastel pink trousers — dropped to one knee and started clicking.
And then Victoria, perhaps spurred on by Ash’s kiss, defied yet more royal protocol. She grabbed Ash’s hand and threw both their arms triumphantly above their heads.
The photographer’s grin split his face, and his shutter went wild.
Pure, unfiltered, ridiculous joy rolled through Ash like a wave breaking.
They were finally hitched, and it had gone without a hitch.
“Ready?” Victoria asked, eyes wide. Outside, she could already feel the swell of anticipation. When Desmond opened the balcony doors, the noise hit them like a physical force.
Victoria actually staggered half a step. Ash, a blur of golden hair and elegant lines, caught her elbow on instinct and grinned without looking. She was already a pro at this royalty thing.
The roar of the crowd rolled up The Mall in waves, a sound Victoria had heard a hundred times in her life, but never once like this.
Union flags as far as the eye could see.
Pride flags woven through them, snapping in the freshening breeze.
Somewhere a brass band was playing, swallowed almost entirely by the sheer volume of half a million people losing their minds in unison.
Victoria stepped forward and lifted her hand, and the noise somehow climbed higher.
She glanced sideways at Ash, and her love for her ratcheted up another notch. Every minute, just when she thought it’d peaked, it reached levels she’d never felt before. This whole getting married thing was wild.
Months and months ago, on New Year’s Eve, she’d dragged Ash out onto this exact balcony just before midnight. They’d both been tipsy on champagne, just about to declare their fledging relationship to the world.
Then, she’d told Ash that nobody would see them if they crouched down. They’d kissed under a blanket of stars, with the whole kingdom shuffling home to sleep.
Now, the kingdom was awake. And screaming.
“Stop staring and wave,” said her brother beside her, his voice dry as gin. His hand was in the air, royal smile fixed in place. “Some of us are professionals.”
“Some of us aren’t married yet,” Victoria shot back, not breaking her wave.
To their left, the King and Queen stood with the easy practised grace of people who’d done this their whole lives, her mother’s eyes suspiciously bright. Gran gave Victoria’s back a small, firm pat as she passed, then squeezed Ash’s arm.
Two of Victoria’s Kent cousins waved gamely from the wings. Astrid had somehow inserted herself near the doors, beaming like she’d personally arranged the entire monarchy.
“Go on, then,” Michael murmured. “Give them what they came for.”
The long-held tradition of the balcony first kiss. Even though they’d already technically jumped the gun, Victoria didn’t want to disappoint. She turned to Ash.
Ash, who’d been waiting. Who raised one eyebrow, slow and devastating, in a way that was just for her.
Victoria stepped closer, then took her wife’s face in both hands, and kissed her.
The roar that went up was unlike anything she’d ever heard in her life. A sound so vast and joyful it didn’t feel like noise anymore. It was as if the whole country exhaled, then cheered as one. It seeped into her bones, her blood, her everything.
Ash laughed against her mouth.
Victoria laughed right back.