Page 83 of A Proposal in Provence

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 inthis 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.

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