PPO Stout came over and opened my car door, reaching in a hand to help pull me to my feet. Cilla and Nick and I had flown back from the wedding as soon as the festivities ended, and they blearily followed me out of the car and each took an arm to help me hobble up our front steps.

“I should have bought bigger shoes for this,” I said. “And my back is killing me. I feel like one of those people who chains themselves to monster truck tires and pulls them around, except they do that on purpose. For fun.”

“No more lugging anything for you,” Nick said. “We’re home now. Nothing to do but rest until Mars Bar and Toffee Crisp decide to—”

“WELCOME HOME!”

Nick stiffened, but I fully shrieked. And then we relaxed at the sight of Gaz, Bea and Gemma, and Lacey and Olly and my mother, who was staying with us in the countdown to the twins’ arrival, waiting for us in our foyer. Gaz bounded over and folded Cilla into his arms as Lacey rushed to hug me.

“You almost broke my water!” I scolded, but I was laughing. “Where’s Danny?”

“My sister’s watching him,” Olly said as he shook Nick’s hand and patted him on the opposite arm. “We didn’t think you’d be up for his brand of chaotic energy after such a big weekend.”

“Sorry for the to-do,” Gemma said, nudging in for the next hug. “Gaz wanted to bring you some snacks, and we decided to have a bit of fun with it.”

“I didn’t want to have fun with it,” Bea said. “I wanted to bring over some legal paperwork to do with the hospital and birthing suite and all our logistical arrangements, and they thrust the fun upon me.”

“Pastries are in the living room,” Gaz said. “In exchange, of course, for wedding gossip.”

“I told you, it was blessedly gossip-free,” Cilla said. “Also, that nondisclosure agreement was quite draconian.”

“You look so tired, sweetie,” Mom said, taking my hand. “Sit down and let us wait on you while you tell us all about it.”

“I’ve been poring over the papers,” Gemma said, trailing me into the living room. “Daphne looked stunning. Everyone is going to be wearing that neckline now.”

I heaved myself down onto the couch with an unladylike grunt and took the copy of the Mail she’d brandished. The front page bore the formal portrait of Daphne and Freddie in a drawing room at the palace, beaming at the camera—him in his uniform and her in an ivory silk Valentino with a high, gentle cowl neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves, her sixteen-foot lace-edged train curling around in front of them. Down in the bottom corner, there was a photo of me and Nick entering to take our seats for the religious ceremony.

“I look like the broad side of a barn,” I moaned.

“A very beautiful, stately barn,” Nick said, sitting next to me and placing my feet in his lap so he could untie my sneakers.