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“More than ready,” she told him, taking his hand.
And he led her into the room where their officiant waited.
A room filled with the life they’d built together. Art that made her heart hurt when she looked at it. Comfortable places to sit, to lie, to explore each other in every possible way. Rugs on their floors and happy plants.
The house they lived in together was filled with books. With laughter.
With enough love to light up the whole of London.
And often did, by Timoney’s reckoning.
Today they stood in the middle of a beautiful Christmas and gave themselves to each other in a new way.
And after they said their vows—after Crete kissed her and murmured marvelously possessive words against her lips that she took pleasure in returning—he swung her up into his arms and looked down at her, beaming.
Not an alien at all, this glorious man of hers. But her husband now.
And more than that, too.
But she would save her little secret for later. After they moved from this private moment that they’d wanted to be only theirs into the banquet hall where their friends waited. Her friends, that was, and Crete’s half siblings, because this had been a year of new beginnings in every possible way.
Because joy made even the unimaginable possible, day in and day out.
They would feast and they would laugh. They would dance as husband and wife. They would toast their new life and ring out those Christmas bells.
And then later Timoney would share with him that there was yet another new life they could celebrate in six months’ time.
“Hope and light,” Crete said to her, like another vow, as he carried her into the hall to the sound of cheers within.
“Hope and light,” she replied. “Forever.”
But every part of her was bright and awake and alive now, and ever would be. Because Timoney knew that for them, forever was just the beginning.
