“Full circle,” I tell him. “You did just open the door for me.”
Nick leads us through Clarence House, and out to a pass-through into the courtyard of St. James’s Palace, the most senior of them all and the official seat of the monarchy. Portions of St. James’s were destroyed in a fire, but among the bits that still stand is the rectangular Chapel Royal. When Nick pushes open its doors, I see a ceiling fresco done by my old friend Hans Holbein—it feels right that he’s here somehow—and Gemma and Bea lighting tall white tapers at the altar. Nick and I face each other with the hugest smiles. Then he takes my hand and runs a finger over the Lyons Emerald.
“N and B,” he says. “A nice, normal wedding, just for them.”
“I think we need to let N and B out of the house more often. And not just for the Navy, or Paint Britain,” I say. “Our lives can’t always be Marj’s show to run, or Eleanor’s. I want to be what’s expected of me, but there has to be a way to do that while also making sure we don’t lose ourselves again. Don’t you think?”
Nick nods. “I can’t promise it will be easy, but I swear to you, Bex, I will always fight for you. For us. We’re a team.”
“We’re a team.”
I squeeze Nick’s hand. I am jittery with basically everything: nerves, anticipation, love, and a lurking fear that Richard will come bursting through the doors to put a stop to this.
The doors do, in fact, burst open, but it’s just PPO Twiggy and a small, balding man in a crooked clerical collar.
“Oof, sorry if I bumped into you there, Officer Thingy,” he slurs. “I’m a wee drunky, in point of fact. Usually off duty by now.” He hiccups. “Lovely to see you all. Which one of you is my cousin?”
Cilla rolls her eyes. “Right here, Cousin Bernard,” she says.
Bernard eyes the flame-haired Gemma. “You sure it’s not her?”
“Reasonably,” Cilla says, steering her cousin over to a nearby pew, and sitting him down with a pat on the shoulders. “Bernard, I know you’re half in the bag right now, but do you think you could toss together a quick wedding for my friends?”
Bernard squints over at us. “Crikey, they’re a bit tall.”
“Does that affect things, do you think?” Cilla asks patiently.
Bernard considers it. “Shouldn’t think so,” he says. “It’s mildly frowned upon to marry people when you’re as bladdered as I am, but…” He puts his fingers to his lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Freddie tries to stifle a laugh, the first sign of real lightness I’ve seen from him all day. “Is it too late to book Bernie for tomorrow?” he wonders. “The look on Gran’s face would be worth more than the entire Abbey.”
Next to him, Bea huffs, “I suppose I should not be shocked that there is not a more elegant solution to this muddle.”
“You wanted discreet,” Cilla says impatiently. “There’s nothing better than a man who might wake up tomorrow and think it was all a dream. Besides, this is the only vicar we’ve got. You want to keep faffing around or can we get on with it?”
Cousin Bernard has scooted toward Gemma. “Shall I take your confession?” he slurs, with a suggestive nudge.
“It’d make your ears bleed, Father,” Gemma says cheerfully. “And we need to get this sorted. We’re running out of time.”
“But Lacey isn’t here yet.” I feel a twinge of panic. Our relationship is still bent, but I can’t meet this milestone without her.
“Bex!” I hear, and there she is, like magic, breaking away from PPO Stout. We hug each other tightly, the most enthusiastic one I’ve gotten from Lacey in years, before I notice that she’s also trailed by my mother and Aunt Kitty (who has gone from jet-lagged to looking like she thinks she’s hallucinating). Both are wearing pajamas under their matching trenches, as if Lacey has dragged them out of bed at the last minute—which is probably exactly what she’s done.
“Hi, Nancy,” Nick says, coming down the aisle to meet her. “Sorry about the hour.”
Mom rubs her eyes. “Lacey said something about the wedding? Is it on?” she asks, yawning. “She’s a bit too keyed up to give good details.”
“It is happening right now, in fact,” Nick says, glancing over at me. “Once we tell Marj, tomorrow’s show might not go on, so…just in case.”
“Well,” Mom says after a beat. “That seems sensible.”
“I think I’ve missed something,” I hear Aunt Kitty whisper.
“Just a spot of blackmail,” Gaz tells her soothingly.
“Yeah, about that,” Lacey says. “Good news! I kind of did something.”
There is a collective groan. Even Bernard groans.
“That’s what got us here in the first place,” complains Bea.
“No, no, it’s good. I think,” Lacey says, flushing. “I saw Nick leave the party, and Clive wasn’t even that subtle about sneaking after him, and I just got so mad. I couldn’t believe he had the balls to show up acting like we’re still friends, and then stalk you, right there at Buckingham freaking Palace. So I followed him. When I got to Stout and Twiggy, they were more than happy to tell me where the three of you were.” She snickers. “Stout even slipped me a Taser.”
Stout suddenly seems very busy with a button on his coat.
“I was tempted to barge in and use it, too,” she says. “But then I got to the door and I could hear Clive talking. And I got a better idea.”
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, swipes at it, and pushes play. It’s a little quiet, and crackly, but it’s there: “I did the digging, I manipulated the sources, I got the story, all by myself. The Royal Flush is going to be bigger than Xandra Deane. And you’re at my mercy now.”
“I believe this is what they call being hoisted on your own petard,” Gaz says.
“How did you even get this?” Nick is clearly impressed, and frankly, so am I. Whatever I thought Lacey had been up to all evening, gathering evidence wasn’t on the list.
Lacey blushes. “It’s a little ridiculous,” she says, “and I didn’t even know if it would work. But I figured, why not borrow from the Douchebag Playbook that got us here? So I used the voice memo on my phone, and kind of jammed the end of it under the door. I spent that entire fight on my stomach in the hallway of Buckingham Palace, praying nobody would go to bed early.” She wrinkles her nose. “The Queen Mum did walk by, but she just poked me with her cane and told me a curtsy would have sufficed.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t crack you on the head with it,” Freddie noted.
“Anyway, I got almost everything,” Lacey finishes proudly. “I stopped just before the very end because I was afraid Clive would catch me when he left, and he would have stepped on me. Plus, I had to get to Pudge.”