Epilogue
Lewis
Bright blue skies stretched over our heads as far as the eye could see on the day we got married.
We had decided to tie the knot on the beach in Port Cillean, the same beach I had taken him to about a week after Valentine’s Day and asked him to marry me for real, with a ring and all.
We looked dashing in the matching wedding kilts in dark blue, grey, and yellow that we’d bought from Liam Bell, Fitz’s kiltmaker.
“Nervous, Puppy?” I whispered as we marched across the stretch of sand to the little table they had set up.
“Oh my God, yes, of course. You?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, though.” He squeezed my hand. “You were never my plan B, Lewis Sinclair. You are my home.”
Noah would be thirty in a week, and he chose me. I had no idea what kind of lucky gods had been conspiring in our favour, but Grace, Lone Fox’s wedding planner, had managed to get an appointment for us at short notice.
Or maybe we’re the only ones optimistic enough to have a beach wedding in March.
She had booked the cottage, the officiant, a wedding photographer, and our wedding dinner in a restaurant in a lighthouse a few miles away. She’d even organised flowers for Noah.
Grace had loved the idea when I suggested it. Seeing his eyes light up when she handed him the bouquet was everything I needed to know.
Our officiant, a Finwife in a floating silvery green dress, approached us. Dark curls framed her face and tattoos decorated her brown skin.
No wonder people let the Finfolk abduct them from the beaches if they look like this.
She was stunningly beautiful.
“Mr Bright, Mr Sinclair, welcome,” the Finwife smiled and extended both hands to us. “My name is Melléan, and I am honoured to be your officiant today.”
“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for making today possible.”
Noah beamed at her but tears trickled down into the scruff on his cheeks.
Yep, this is it, Puppy.
“You’re so very welcome.” Melléan squeezed our fingers. “Shall we start?”
“Yes,” my fiancé breathed.
Hazel’s camera clicked away as we stepped towards a little table with three chairs. Our officiant guided us to the ones facing the sea.
“Please take a seat.”
Her little speech barely registered with me and, before I knew it, it was time to get up and face my man.
“I stand before this couple and the sea on this day to unite them in the bonds of matrimony. If there be anyone present that may present just and lawful cause why these two individuals may not be lawfully wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”
I held my breath, but of course nobody spoke. The only things I heard were a few seagulls over our heads, the constant ebb and flow of the sea, and Hazel’s camera.
“Noah Campbell Bright, do you take Lewis Aarush Sinclair as your wedded husband? If so, please answer ‘I do.’”
“I do,” he said, loud and clear, a wide grin splitting his face.
The officiant turned to me.
“I do!” I blurted out before she got out a single word, and both human and Finwife started laughing at my mortified expression. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, baby. Can I kiss him already?” Noah squeezed my hands and spoke without looking at her.
“By the authority vested in me by Cillean the Wise and the Scottish government, I hereby pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss your man,” Melléan said, and I knew from how happy she sounded that our smiles were mirrored on her face, too.
Noah crossed the distance between us. He jumped up and flung his arm around my neck and used it to pull himself up to my mouth.
“I wasn’t marrying you because time was running out.” He said so quietly only I heard him. “I married you because I wasn’t letting you wonder for another day if I loved you.” He kissed me, and I lost all the cool I never had when it came to Noah Bright.
No. Noah Sinclair. My husband.
THE END