Epilogue
A YEAR LATER…
St Margaret’s Chapel, in Edinburgh Castle, was tiny.
It had thick stone walls, a lovely archway in front of the altar and small wooden pews that could only accommodate a handful of people.
Which wasn’t a problem. The people who meant the most were all here, from both sides of the English Channel.
Luc had two-year-old Maddie sitting on his knee, possibly because there was no room on her mother’s lap. Sophie was in the late stages of her second pregnancy.
Ellie and Julien, who had become firm friends when Tilly had moved in to live with Angus in La Maisonette until they could find a house of their own, were also here with their three children.
Moira’s baby had thankfully arrived just in time to allow his parents to attend this wedding and was currently sound asleep in his mother’s arms, with proud father Douglas almost unable to take his eyes off his newborn son.
Monique, the family friend who was like an aunt to Tilly, was sitting alone at the moment because Tilly’s mother would be arriving with the bride.
Angus blew out a breath, emotions threatening to become too much. He was indescribably happy, of course, but there was so much else in the mix.
Excitement that this day had finally arrived.
Gratitude that Tilly seemed to still be as much in love with him as he was with her.
Enormous hope for the future.
But a tinge of sadness for the past.
Angus wished his father could have been here, but it felt like his spirit was very close because Angus and Tilly had chosen to make their vows in the very same chapel his parents had been married in. It was also why Angus had chosen to wear the McLeod tartan for this ceremony.
He found himself lifting his gaze to the small stained-glass window above the altar, as if he’d just missed catching a glimpse of a passing ghost. How good would it be if his dad could see that his dying wish had come true?
That his son was no longer afraid to truly love.
His words were silent. Private.
You were right, Da. Love is the key.
He might still be nowhere near the most romantic man on earth but Angus McLeod knew that romance wasn’t only to be found in clichés.
It could actually be completely invisible.
The only nod to a wedding being about to happen here was the vase of pretty white flowers on a stand beside where the black-robed minister was standing but, in this moment, it was the most romantic place on earth as far as Angus was concerned, because he was about to marry the love of his life.
He fully expected Tilly to arrive in the most romantic dress she could possibly find, of course.
All ruffles and roses and hoops and sparkles, but that was who she was and he wouldn’t change a single thing about the woman he loved so much.
He just hoped there would be room for the dress as they stood in this small space side by side.
They’d known from the start that it would be a push to include a bridesmaid and best man, so they’d chosen not to.
They’d been in total agreement on what this wedding was about.
Them.
Pledging their love and their belief that only death could part them. Promising to make the most of every day they had before then. At some point, Angus knew they would catch each other’s gazes and it would a reminder of a very private vow they’d already made to each other.
That they’d never let that cake lose its icing.
Not that it ever would. Not with Tilly’s expertise in romance. Or Angus’s newfound realisation that romance could be as little as a passing touch, a shared glance or a kiss when you were standing in a freezing mountain stream – as long as it carried even a whisper of true love.
He could feel that love filling his heart as he saw Tilly’s mother slip into a pew at the back of the chapel and knew that, in just a heartbeat or two, Tilly would be walking into the chapel and into the rest of his life.
When she did, her dress was nothing like the princess bride vision he’d imagined.
Tilly had never looked more beautiful. Or more like a ballerina.
She was wearing an incredibly beautiful but very simple ivory dress, with soft folds of fabric falling from a delicate, narrow lace insert under her bust. The same lace had been used to make small, sheer sleeves.
Her hair was loose and shining and the only decoration she wore was a thin line of diamante sparkles on a headband.
This was pure Tilly.
And she was… perfect.