Epilogue
The sun has set on the horizon and all that’s left is candlelight and laughter.
My bare ankles brush against the hem of my dress as I swing them up on the sunbed.
Pip designed the dress. Light and flowy and perfectly me.
I’ve spent half my life in designer gowns, I didn’t need one today too.
The hem has already been dipped in sand and salt water from our post-dinner stroll along the beach, but I couldn’t care less about the damage.
From here, I can hear our guests on the patio, only our family and closest friends.
I close my eyes as I listen to them laugh over the gentle break of the waves.
Occasional flashes of light emanate from behind me, Anya’s camera capturing the memories that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
We didn’t want lavish, we didn’t want lots of strangers we don’t know fawning over us. We wanted this. Simple. Us
The wedding party consisted of Ffion as my bridesmaid and Sammy as Robbie’s best man, and Fi took her role incredibly seriously.
My parents took some time to come to terms with it, of course.
Dad wanted us to get married at the stadium which Robbie (very firmly) said ‘absolutely bloody not’, and Mom wanted us to rent out an exclusive island and invite Vogue.
In the last few years, I’ve been much better at establishing boundaries with both my parents, and my wedding boundary was ‘if you don’t like it, you don’t have to come’.
Turns out not seeing their only child get married was actually the line they weren’t ready to cross.
So, they both stood in their wedding finery on the sand as we shared our vows, although unlike the other guests, their shoes stayed firmly on.
It’s also been highly entertaining to witness them blending in with the Kings. Whenever my mother has tried to mutter a sly critique, Sian has jumped in with effusive compliments and steered her away to get another drink, shooting me an eye roll and a wink as she does.
Footsteps approach, and I know without opening my eyes exactly who has found me. The rest of the guests are on the makeshift dance floor we erected on the patio, but I escaped out here, knowing he’d follow
“Thought I’d find you out here,” my husband says. I bite my lip to stop my grin as I turn my head to face him. Towering over me with his shirt rolled up to his elbows and hair mussed from dancing (and my hands), he looks just as delicious as he did the first time I saw him. “Budge up, Mrs King.”
I couldn’t hide my smile even if I wanted to.
I shift forward so he can straddle the bed behind me, tugging me closer to his body and encircling me in his arms. I lean back, burrowing into his warmth and resting my head on his firm chest. From this position, our rings line up perfectly.
He proposed last summer after the World Cup.
We hadn’t seen each other in months, as he’d been training with the national team, but I made it to every one of his games.
Even though they were knocked out at the Quarter Finals, the team still had a hell of a welcome back to Wales when they came home, and we spent the rest of the summer with his family.
Then, one day, we went for a walk along the cliffs at Rhossili, and as we looked out at the setting sun, he slid a ring onto my finger and it’s stayed there ever since.
I know he’s remembering the same thing I am as he gently brushes the pad of his thumb across the delicate emerald, and the gold of my wedding ring cushioned underneath it.
I bury further into his arms, tugging them tighter across my body.
After a little deliberation, Robbie signed a further five year contract with the Rebels, which he thinks will see him out until the end of his career.
The team is performing at an all time high and a few more league titles are almost definitely on the horizon.
He’s come to terms with it, accepting that he won’t be able to play forever, but apparently retirement looks a lot more appealing now than it has been before.
We’re both in agreement that when he does retire, we’ll head back to the UK.
I can write my songs from anywhere in the world, and apparently, recording them in a different timezone than my parents is the secret sauce to making some good fucking music.
I like to think I get better with every album anyway, but since things finally settled with my parents—and since my relationship with Robbie— the music has just been flowing.
It used to feel like I had to pry open the door to my creativity with a crow bar, but now it as simple as turning the key.
“How’s the party?” I ask.
I feel his breath of laughter against my cheek. “Ffion is trying to get them all to choreograph a dance as we speak.”
“She’s got a bright career ahead of her, that one,” I snicker. “You didn’t want to join in?”
“I tried, but she said I have two left feet,” Robbie sighs. “Brutal. Jackson Harper keeps getting ‘good job’, and I get ‘Uncle Robbie, you’re better off just watching’.”
“But you are so good at watching.”
“I definitely love watching you dance.”
“Maybe if you’re lucky, I could be persuaded back onto the dance floor.” I go to swing my legs off the bed, but he tightens his grip and buries his head in my hair.
“Hmm no,” he muses. “I forbid it. Stay out here with me instead.”
He’ll get no complaints from me on that one.
“I saw a shooting star,” I tell him, burying further into the crook of his neck as we gaze out at the horizon, stars blinking into view.
He huffs a laugh. “Oh yeah? What did you wish for?”
I squeeze his arms tighter and tilt my head to take him in. It might be dark out here but the moon perfectly reflects the shine in his eyes as he tilts his head to mine.
“This,” I tell him, reaching up for a kiss.