EPILOGUE
BAIRD
One year later
It was the second time I’d watched Maia walk down the aisle toward me. Last time, there were cameras everywhere, Blantyre ballroom was decorated with over-the-top glamour, and there were people in attendance from Pennington’s who we didn’t even know. As special as it was to make her my wife that day, it wasn’t what we would have planned.
The truth was, I wanted Maia to have the wedding of her dreams and, unfortunately, the so-called scandal surrounding ours did cast a pall over it that neither of us could quite shake.
For the past year, we’d let it go. Life as husband and wife made it easy to let the shit that didn’t matter go.
But that didn’t mean that I didn’t want Maia to have her dream wedding, so six months into our marriage, I surprise proposed again and asked her to renew her vowswith me. Under normal circumstances, of course, that would be nuts. However, our friends and family understood.
The last twelve months had been a whirlwind.
Fred Burbank faced pressure from many corners of the football world, including the public, after Callan exposed the truth of why my contract would end early. There was a fucking uproar and Burbank offered me a two-year contract to stay on with Caley United. As at peace as I’d felt walking away for Maia, there was still a part of me that wanted to see if the game still mattered enough to continue. I decided on a one-year contract because deep down, I knew it would be my last year.
We made it my best fucking last year because for the first time in decades, a non-Glasgow team took the title. Caley United won their first Professional League championship in twenty-five years.
It was a good way to retire.
Maia continued to do well at Pennington’s, despite the craziness of the campaign. Sometimes she worked long hours, which was tough because I missed her, but it was worth it to see how much she got out of her job. When she had to leave the country for fashion weeks, it was difficult because I couldn’t get the time away from the club to join her, but I hoped now that I’d retired, I could work my schedule so I could travel with her.
We both wanted to be able to see a bit more of the world. I’d traveled with the team but rarely got to see much of the cities we played in.
I’d given up my flat, and Maia had given up hers. It was harder saying goodbye to her place on Hart Street Lane because that was where so many big moments happened between us. It was the place she realized she loved me back.
But we needed our own place. When one of the leases on my favorite rental that Callan and I bought years ago finished, we bought Callan out and took the flat for ourselves. It was a large two-bedroom just above Dean Village, a very nice starter home for us. Once we decided we were ready for a family, we both agreed we’d like a house, which meant probably moving out of the city center. Neither of us was quite ready for that, though Maia didn’t want to wait too much longer to have kids because of her age.
I was genuinely happy with whatever Maia wanted to do.
To be honest, I still couldn’t quite believe that she was mine. I was a lucky, lucky bloke, and I’d never take for granted that my literal dream woman loved me back.
That was why, even though this was the second time she’d walked toward me in a wedding dress, I got choked up all over again.
Maia’s last wedding dress had been this sexy number that fitted to her curves like a lacy glove with a dramatic train. She looked like a fairy-tale princess. The dress suited the over-the-top venue and décor.
This time, as she walked barefoot on the grass between two rows of storm candle holders that denoted the aisle between the guest seats, her dress fitted this smaller, private ceremony. We’d gotten permission to get married in the privacy of Queen Street Gardens. The gardens were across the road from Joss and Braden’s townhouse, and they’d generously offered to hold the reception at their place.
Our friends and family were seated in the gardens, our wedding mostly hidden from public view by the trees that surrounded us.
I was in my kilt, but I didn’t wear it with the full regalia—kilt jacket, waistcoat, shirt, and fly plaid—like last time. This time I wore a navy shirt with my kilt. My hair had grown out and was tied up in a knot.
Callan stood at my side; Beth and Lily in their summery bridesmaids’ dresses stood opposite us after having walked down the aisle first. Maia’s dad accompanied her, her arm through his as he brought her forward and held out her hand to me.
I murmured my thanks and then looked deep in those spectacular eyes of hers and told her she looked beautiful. Because she did. She always did.
As stunning as her last dress had been, this one felt more like My. It was softer with some lace on the bodice and arms and scattered over the skirt, but it had a fuller skirt and no train. Less drama.
She still looked like a princess, though.
My princess. My wife.
Maia beamed at me, eyes filled with nothing but trust and love and even after a year, it made my heart turn over in my chest. Without thinking, I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her a wee bit too passionately.
She laughed as she pulled away, and I heard our friends and family titter. “Too soon for that,” Maia teased, gently pressing me back.
I didn’t let her go fully, though. I held her hands in mine as we turned to the humanist celebrant, Anthea, we’d hired to marry us.
