Epilogue
Hayley
Apparently, if you kiss a man in a maze, flash half the castle, and survive three days of emotional warfare, they let you back in for free.
Or maybe Tyler just paid and let me pretend it was fate.
He’s nice like that.
Annoyingly romantic when no one’s watching.
No rings. No moving vans. No epic proposal under the rose arch (yet…not that I’d admit to thinking about it).
For now, it’s just us.
And for once, that feels like enough.
We’re walking the long path past the maze, hand in hand, when I glance sideways at him.
“All right. Spill it.”
He frowns. “What?”
“The duck story. The one that made you abandon me in the maze. I’ve waited six months and you’ve dodged it every time.”
Tyler groans. “Do we really have to do this here?”
“Tyler.” I stop walking and give him the look.
He sighs. “Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh.”
“Nope.”
He shakes his head, already regretting this. “I was walking one of the bridesmaids to the maze. She’d somehow got separated from the group and was carrying a plate of vol-au-vents like she was preparing for a siege.”
I snort. “As one does.”
“We were halfway across the lawn when this duck, I swear to God, possessed, fixates on her dress. Or the snacks. Or both. It starts charging at us like a feathery missile.”
I clap a hand over my mouth.
“So obviously, being a gentleman, I pull her out of the way, straight into a hedge. We fall. I’m apologising, brushing leaves off her, and apparently she thinks that’s an invitation to snog me.”
I’m wheezing now. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes. I tell her no. Politely. She calls me a tease, accuses me of leading her on, and then throws the entire plate of vol-au-vents at my face. All of them.”
I’m doubled over, laughing. “You got food-fight-ed at a wedding?!”
“Yep. I’m standing there covered in pastry while the duck looks thrilled with itself. By the time I made it to the maze, I was late, scratched to hell, and wondering if God was personally punking me.”
“So basically,” I say, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, “our origin story begins with a horny bridesmaid, a rabid duck, and canapés as weapons.”
“Pretty much.” He grimaces, but there’s the smallest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
I grin. “Best story I’ve ever heard.” I laugh so hard I nearly trip over my own shoe.
“I still can’t believe we didn’t win Most Authentic Performance,” Tyler mutters.
I snort. “I know. Bloody Brenda and Bernard.”
Today’s plan? Minimal expectations. Maximum snacks. Possibly a smug handhold around the gardens.
Except now there’s music from the east terrace, and the unmistakable clink of champagne flutes.
Another wedding.
Tyler leads me down the gravel path, and as we round the hedgerow, I spot a marquee strung with fairy lights and a crowd of strangers raising glasses.
I tug his sleeve. “Should we even be here?”
He flashes a grin. “What? You’ve never crashed a wedding before?”
Before I can answer…
“Oh, dear God!”
I know that voice.
Peacock materialises from the shadows like a pantomime villain mid-encore, draped in chiffon and wielding a clipboard like a divine weapon.
“I knew I felt a cosmic disruption in the champagne this afternoon. Of course you’re back! My favourite harbinger of drama.”
He flutters over, eyes sparkling. “Are you here to emotionally sabotage another buffet?”
“We’re just visiting,” Tyler offers, too calmly.
Peacock narrows his eyes.
“You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”
Before I can reply, he whirls on the waitstaff, shrieking, “It’s happening again! Sound the Gouda alarm! Camembert to defensive positions! Nobody touch the Brie! I repeat, NOBODY. TOUCH. THE. brIE.”
Tyler doubles over, laughter tearing out of him. I try to look innocent and fail instantly.
We’re gently herded back toward the rose garden, his hand still wrapped around mine, my heart still doing cartwheels.
I glance back at the human barricade surrounding the cheese tower.
I could take them.
But this time, I don’t need to.
I already got everything I came for.
And this time, it wasn’t the Stilton.
The End.