Page 27 of The Forever Match

Victoria slid the ring onto her finger slowly, cool gold settling against Ash’s skin. A small, perfect circle closing.

When Victoria looked up, her eyes shone, and the smile she gave Ash: damn, that smile. Private, almost shy, meant only for her in a marquee filled with people. It floored Ash. The world narrowed to the woman in front of her: the same one who’d chosen Ash as her forever. For one suspended second, Ash forgot the cameras, the crowd, the country. There was just Victoria. Just this.

I love you, she thought, so loud she was sure Victoria could hear it.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Then it was her turn.

Ash took the second ring from Cam with shaking fingers. She lifted Victoria’s hand — those elegant fingers she’d held a thousand times in quieter moments — and slid the band into place, this time with no yappy dog as goalkeeper. It caught the light.

Victoria followed its progress, and when she glanced back to Ash, her breath hitched.

Ash’s heart boomed, as she pushed down the tears that threatened.

They were happy tears, but still.

She wasn’t going to cry.

“You’ve exchanged rings, you’ve made your vows,” Moira told them, delight seeping from her. Her positivity was infectious. “All there is for me to do is pronounce you spouse and spouse. You’re officially married. Congratulations, both!”

Ash met Victoria’s gaze.

They’d been given very clear instructions from here. No kissing at this point. Save it for the balcony. There was a running order. There was protocol. There were, somewhere in this marquee, at least a couple of people whose entire job was to make sure things like this didn’t happen.

Ash didn’t care.

Because Victoria was looking at her, pure delight in her stare. The woman she loved had just become her wife, and the idea of standing here, inches apart, and not kissing her felt frankly insane.

Instead, she went with her gut, leaned in and pressed a kiss to Victoria’s lips: firm, brief, certain. It was a promise more than a kiss. You’re mine. I’m yours. We’re married.

Her wife — damn, that felt good to say — gasped softly against Ash’s mouth, and her fingers tightened around Ash’s like she never planned to let go.

As Ash pulled back, then glanced around, she clocked Shane the wedding planner, having what was almost certainly a small aneurysm. That was followed by the Queen, whose face was set to ‘See Me Later’.

Totally worth it.

Ash gave Victoria a wink, and everyone heard the cheer throughout the capital.

They turned as one to the congregation, where Ash’s mum stood up and clapped. Within moments, a couple more people joined in, and soon, the whole marquee was applauding.

Ash glanced at Victoria, thankful for her makeup, knowing she’d be blushing as red as the Ravens home kit without it. When the clapping from inside died down, the clapping from outside remained.

“Wow,” Ash mouthed to Victoria. “We did it.”

“We sure did,” she replied.

As they walked down the aisle, acknowledging friends and family and everybody in between, the cheers from outside only seemed to get louder. The enthusiasm was so much that Ash briefly allowed herself to think that maybe, just maybe, this might work far better than anyone had dared to hope. So long as she didn’t score an own goal in her final England match and become a national pariah.

At the door of the marquee, their guard of honour waited. On Ash’s side, a line of young Lionesses, barely containing themselves. On Victoria’s side, a line of queer teenagers from Victoria’s charity, eyes wide, grins in place.

“Ash, Princess Victoria, look this way, please!”

Their wedding photographer — a man committed to the cause in pastel pink trousers — dropped to one knee and started clicking.

And then Victoria, perhaps spurred on by Ash’s kiss, defied yet more royal protocol. She grabbed Ash’s hand and threw both their arms triumphantly above their heads.

The photographer’s grin split his face, and his shutter went wild.