Oliver really loved me. And in this way that was just ours.

“And”—my voice was a little shaky—“that’s why you’re leaving me at the altar? Because you want to be with me so much?”

“It’s unconventional, I confess.” His eyes glimmered with something that might have been laughter or might have been a few stray tears. “But then you’ve never been a conventional person. And I’m…perhaps not as conventional as I thought I was.”

“You’re a mess,” I told him.

“Oh, a complete one. But I’m your mess, Lucien. And always will be. If…” He hesitated, his stern mouth softening in that way that felt very particularly mine. “If you still want me.”

How could anyone not want Oliver Blackwood? Unlike Bridge, I’d never bothered to imagine what it might be like to be proposed to. But I couldn’t imagine it feeling better than this.

“Fine,” I told him. “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll not marry you.”

And I guess the lack of sleep and the wedding-day stress and the whole not getting married after all had finally caught up with Oliver. Because he pulled me tightly into his arms and started laughing. “Lucien O’Donnell, you have made me the happiest of men.”

There was a knock on the door, and the nice humanist minister stuck her head briefly back in. “One minute, guys.”

“We’ll be right out,” I called from where my head was buried in the crook of Oliver’s neck.

I don’t know if we actually waited a minute, but then Oliver gently untangled us, took my hand, and led me through to face all the people who we loved and who loved us and who we’d massively inconvenienced for no reason.

Mum, Judy, and Eugenie were in the front row, two of the three doing an excellent job of not licking the other guests. The Blackwood contingent was on the other side, Mia looking genuinely happy to be there, Miriam looking like social expectation in a cream dress. A couple of rows back, I caught sight of Bridge, wearing an enormous hat and already crying on Tom’s shoulder. The James Royce-Royces, of course, were far more interested in Baby J than anything that could possibly be happening around them. And from there it was just a supportive blur of older friends, nearish relations, and the coworkers who’d insisted on coming.

At the front of the room, our best men were waiting for us. Priya, in deference to the occasion, had worn her formal Docs. And the moment she laid eyes on us, she gave me the oddest little smirk, like she knew something was up. Like she’d probably always known.