Ruth was getting dressed in one of the anterooms of the church. Her maid of honor was gleefully assisting. "Thank you for holding my shoe, Claire," she said, removing the white satin high heeled pump from the six-month-old's baby hands.

Catherine sat with her little daughter on her lap, keeping Ruth company. "Are you excited? Nervous?"

"Both, actually. I'm not sure why," Ruth confessed.

"It's your wedding day!" Catherine reminded her.

Ruth smiled softly. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"And that's very exciting! You and Dad are perfect together. I know you haven't got doubts after living with him for going on three years. So why are you nervous?"

"No, I don't have doubts, of course not. I love Harry more than anything. We've got a life together. And a family," Ruth added, smiling at Catherine and at Claire. "But this is just such a big event. Harry and I have never had an event before, where we're the center of attention. I was away, you know, when he was knighted."

"I'm sure he'd have loved to have you there."

"I'd have loved to have been there. He does do formal extremely well. Unfortunately the first time I ever saw him in a tuxedo was when we had to do our spook thing with some Russian diplomats." Ruth frowned, not having any fond memories over the terror and torment brought by the Gavriks' visit to London.

Catherine saw Ruth's expression change and stood up, holding Claire on her hip. "Alright, whatever you're thinking about, you stop it. This is a happy day full of happy things. And I know you don't like a fuss being made about you, but you're the bride, and that's the rule."

Ruth sighed in good-natured resignation. She handed her necklace, the one Harry had given her to match her engagement ring, to Catherine to help her out on. She took the baby in her own arms and kissed her chubby pink cheeks.

"You are so good with her, honestly," Catherine noted. "And she absolutely adores you. Don't tell anyone I said this, but Claire gets on better with you than she does with my mum."

"I suppose she takes after Granddad that way," Ruth quipped. That made Catherine laugh. "And I'm glad she likes me. That's why I wanted her to be my maid of honor."

In another part of the little church, Harry was pacing back and forth. His best man was sitting patiently nearby.

"Harry, you're fit enough as it is, you don't need to exercise while waiting for the ceremony to start."

The nervous groom rolled his eyes and stopped walking around and leaned against the wall. "I don't like waiting," he grumbled.

"Yes, I know," Malcolm replied.

A knock came at the door, and Harry called for the visitor to enter. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Harry actually smiled. "No, not at all, come in."

Graham walked in and went right up to his father, and the two men embraced warmly. Harry felt a lump form in his throat, for he had never believed that such a thing could be possible. But he quickly gave a little cough to hide his emotion.

"Good of you to come."

"Of course! Ruth would have killed me if I missed it. And so would Cat and probably you, too."

"Yes, probably. But I am glad you're here, regardless."

Graham smiled at his father and looked him up and down. "Nice suit. Not like ones I remember you wearing," he remarked.

Harry nodded. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit—rather than pale gray or black—and it was complete with the three-piece waistcoat that Ruth had mentioned she liked on him. He even bought new braces to match. The tie had been one he and Ruth picked out together. She had gotten the idea for the flowers she wanted and planned the whole wedding around that. "Ruth likes it," Harry told Graham simply.

"And what's she wearing, then?"

"No idea. She wouldn't let me see it. And actually, she bought it in London with Catherine and made her keep it at her house rather than ours so I wouldn't be able to snoop."

"She's a clever one."

"That she is. All I know is that it isn't too formal and she will not be looking like a pavlova."

Graham laughed, suddenly picturing Ruth in some white monstrosity and looking like a giant meringue. "Well we can all look forward to seeing her. But I should get back to Sharon. You can meet her after. Ruth was right about her, I did need to take the risk."

"Ruth is usually right about most things. And she's the least risk-taking person I know, so if she tells you to go for it, you know she means it."

"She's not taking a risk today,"Graham pointed out.

"Maybe she is. I'm not the surest bet in the world. I'm afraid she's getting the bad end of the bargain."

"I doubt Ruth sees it that way, Harry," Malcolm chimed in.

"And she sure loves you," Graham added.

Harry smiled, feeling himself grow warm all over. He was getting married. To Ruth! It was years in the making and the day had finally arrived and all he could focus on was the absolute joy he felt at the prospect of marrying this woman he adored. Even if there was a small voice in the back of his head warning him that something might still go wrong and Ruth might come to her senses and bolt for the door, leaving him heartbroken as she had the last time they attended a service in this church.

But of course, nothing tragic happened in the twenty minutes Harry spent waiting. The minister—a woman, to Ruth's absolute joy—came to collect him when it was time. Harry waited in the back as Malcolm walked down the aisle first to the Bach concerto that Harry had selected. He watched his friend fidget a bit uncomfortably as the crowd of people all watched him. It wasn't much of a crowd, less than fifty total, but it was much more of a showing than Harry could have ever expected. They really had created a new life for themselves. Wes Carter was the only person from their old life, other than Malcolm, who had been invited, but Wes was on holiday with his grandparents in Spain and couldn't attend the wedding. Everyone else seated in the pews were friends that Harry and Ruth had made since leaving Five. Their neighbors in Suffolk, Ruth's university friends, Harry's editor and publisher. He smiled pleasantly at all the kind, familiar faces as he walked down the aisle to take his place at the altar.

Catherine came down the aisle next, carrying the maid of honor. Claire was babbling happily. She was a beautiful baby, and Harry loved her so much he thought he might burst. After the first disastrous evening watching her, every interaction Harry and Ruth had only since had happy, fun experiences with their grandchild. And they were both overjoyed to have her as a part of their wedding. The crowd laughed and aw'ed at the adorable baby.

The music changed to the Wedding March, which Ruth admitted she hated but would have felt odd walking down the aisle to anything else. Everyone stood and turned to see the bride. Harry felt his jaw drop. Ruth wasn't wearing a wedding gown, but instead a beautiful skirt suit of white silk. The skirt flowed around her legs with a feminine swish. The jacket was perfectly tailored to show off her slim figure and highlight the curves of her body. It was cut low enough to show off the exquisite diamond and sapphire necklace Harry had bought for her, that nestled just above the valley between her breasts. Her hair was softly curled around her shoulders, and she wore a small, delicate hat that matched her satin shoes. She carried a bouquet of lily of the valley, bluebells, and lavender. The colors matched the blue and purple tie that Harry wore with his suit. But the most remarkable think about the bride's appearance was the brilliant smile on her face. Harry had never seen a more incredible sight in all his life.

The music faded away as Ruth took her place beside him. "Hello," she whispered.

"You look beautiful," he murmured in her ear. He smiled at the way she blushed.

The minister began the ceremony, and Harry barely heard a word of it. He just still could not get over that this was real, that he was actually marrying the love of his life. He tried to remember if he'd told Ruth, that she was the love of his life. Surely she knew anyway. But one thing Harry had learned in their life together, in looking back at the mistakes of their rocky beginning, was that Ruth liked to be told, liked to hear him say the words, even if she already knew. They didn't need the words. They never had. But they were still nice to hear.

Ruth handed her bouquet to Catherine, who deftly kept it out of Claire's hands and mouth, and turned to face Harry and take his hands. They gazed into each other's eyes as they repeated after the minister, reciting their vows. It was a fashionable thing, they'd been told, for couples to write their own vows. But both Ruth and Harry were far too private for a public display of their feelings. No, the traditional would be best.

Before they knew it, they were exchanging rings. Ruth's was a simple band of platinum and inlaid diamonds. Harry's was a matching plain platinum band. Ruth thought she heard his voice catch just a bit when he said, "With this ring, I thee wed."

Their first kiss as husband and wife was by far the most triumphant, beautiful thing in the world for them both. Everyone was cheering and applauding and Ruth could hardly even kiss him, she was smiling so much.

Harry pulled away, beaming from ear to ear. He offered his arm, saying, "Lady Pearce?"

Ruth laughed, curling her hand on his elbow. "Thank you, Sir Harry."

The newlyweds had a few moments to themselves, smiling and kissing and feeling delirious with joy. They didn't speak at all. But they both kept looking at their left hands, admiring the rings they'd finally gotten to put there.

Everyone reconvened soon after at a nearby restaurant that Harry had rented out. Catherine and Fabian greeted them first as they arrived. "You two looked so perfect and wonderful!" she gushed. "I could hardly keep from crying!"

"Any thought to you two getting married?" Harry asked.

"I thought you said it didn't matter if we were married or not," Catherine scolded.

"It doesn't. But I must say, I'm much more in favor of marriage now than I used to be," he replied.

Catherine laughed, "Oh gee, I wonder why."

Ruth had found Graham and his girlfriend, Sharon. He congratulated the bride, and Sharon was extremely polite and kind. Ruth noticed the way she watched Graham, the way her attention was simply drawn to him at all times. It reminded her of the way she'd been with Harry on the Grid all those years ago.

Once everyone was seated at their tables, the best man stood up for his toast. Malcolm had a few pages in front of him and began to read his remarks. "Harry once told me that I had the proper poem for any occasion, and since I myself am not gifted with words of my own, I thought to use my talent for using the words of others. The problem is, Ruth and Harry aren't really the type to be summed up with just one poem. I'll tell you, I had a devil of a time trying to find what might be appropriate for their wedding toast. And I'm afraid I could only narrow it down to three.

"Now, this first one is I think most fitting because our Ruth is a Classics expert, and as you all may know, both Ruth and Harry have spent quite a bit of life caught between love and war. And not to mention that Harry once gave this book to Ruth for her birthday. I recite for you all now, Book One, Elegy Nine of Ovid's Amores, entitled 'Love is War':

Every lover's in arms, and Cupid holds the fort:
Atticus, believe me, every lover's in arms.
The age that's good for war, is also right for love.
An old soldier's a disgrace, and an old lover.
That spirit a commander looks for in a brave army,
a lovely girl looks for in a love partner.
Both keep watch: both sleep on the ground,
one serves at his lady's entrance, the other his general's.
A long road's a soldier's task: but send the girl off,
and a restless lover will follow her to the end.
He'll go against mountains and bend into stormy rivers,
he'll push his way through swollen snowdrifts,
he'll not rely on excuses, like angry northerlies,
or waiting for suitable stars to take to the waves.
Who but a soldier or lover could endure
cold nights or dense snow mixed with rain?
One's sent out to spy on attacking forces:
the other keeps eye on his rival, his enemy.
This one lays siege to strong cities, that one his harsh friend's
entrance: one breaks down gates, the other doors.
Often it helps to attack a sleeping enemy,
and strike the unarmed mass with armed hand.
That's how Rhesus and his fierce Thracians were killed
and forfeited the leader's captured mares.
Lovers, for sure, will make use of a husband's sleep
and employ their arms while the enemy slumbers.
Getting past watchman's hands, and enemy sentinels
is work for soldiers and wretched lovers.
Mars is chancy, Venus uncertain: the fallen can rise again,
while those you think could never be thrown are beaten.
So if you've called all lovers idlers, forget it.
Love is all experience and ability.
Great Achilles burns for stolen Briseis –
while you can Trojans, smash the Argive wall!
Hector went into battle from Andromache's arms,
it was the wife who placed the helmet on his head.
The great lord Atrides, they say, seeing Cassandra
that Trojan Maenad, was enraptured by her flowing hair.
Mars too, surprised, felt the blacksmith's chain mesh:
there was never a greater scandal in heaven.
I myself was lazy and born to idle leisure:
bed and shade both softened my mind.
Love for a lovely girl soon drove the idler
and ordered him off to earn his pay in camp.
Now see me, active and fighting nocturnal wars.
If you don't want to be idle, fall in love!"

There were a few chuckles in the crowd at that. Harry, still holding his bride's hand, gave her a smile and a gentle squeeze. He recalled how, when they had first retired from Five, Ruth worried that he may become bored with the quiet life. He should have remembered Ovid's words: If you don't want to be idle, fall in love. For he had fallen in love so very deeply, and he'd not been bored for a day. Oh perhaps he was still idle here and there, after all, he was retired. But in all his life, he'd always had the excitement and the importance of his duty to the job, but his love for Ruth had pushed all other concerns aside. He would have burned the world for her sake, and she knew it, and that was part of the reason it had taken them so long to get to this point. He'd gone to war, he'd been a noble soldier in the protection of the realm, he'd even been made a knight for it. But nothing ever had true meaning until he had her.

Malcolm's toast continued. "I suppose my poems should be read chronologically. I know this is perhaps a bit obvious, but in my search for a proper poem for their wedding, thinking of Harry and Ruth seemed to give this one new meaning. This is Sonnet 116 by the Bard himself, William Shakespeare:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

Ruth felt her breath catch in her throat at Malcolm's beautiful Shakespearean reading. He was right, it was incredibly fitting for Harry and herself. For from the beginning, when love had sprouted between them, it had been unbreakable. Perhaps it had altered and bent; after all, she and Harry had survived the unthinkable through their years together and their years apart. But never had their love faded. It was the one constant in Ruth's life through all the horror and tragedy and joy and grief and pain and triumph.

"And finally, I'll not steal your attention too much longer, I could not resist describing Ruth and Harry's romance with the greatest Romantic of them all, Keats:

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death."

Malcolm raised his glass and gave a final toast, "For a love that has lasted the ages, for two people who survived in spite of the forces tearing them down, for a marriage that triumphed over all odds. To Ruth and Harry!"

Champagne and delicious food and well-wishes flowed freely all through the evening of celebration. Neither Ruth nor Harry could remember having more fun with a crowd of people before. But the hour grew late, and people started to head off. Harry thanked those who were left and whisked Ruth away to the hotel he'd booked for them for their wedding night.

They made love passionately and for as long as they could manage. Finally, they fell asleep, exhausted and sated.

Harry awoke the next morning with Ruth still curled up in his arms. He gently kissed her forehead and traced the rings on her left hand. Ruth blinked awake and said, "Good morning, husband," in a groggy voice.

"Does it feel any different?" he asked, nuzzling his face in her hair.

"It does, actually. Does it for you?" she asked in reply.

Harry frowned, shifting slightly. "No, I was just teasing you. We've been waking up together in various states of undress for over two years, Ruth. Why does being married suddenly feel different?"

She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers to show off her wedding band. "I'm not used to wearing a ring. I know I've had the sapphire engagement ring for a while, but the wedding band itself feels different. And now every time I see it or feel it, I'm reminded that I'm your wife and you're my husband. And I didn't think I'd care about that so much, but I really do. I like having this physical reminder of you all the time. It's been two years, yes, but I still haven't fully broken the habit of keeping secrets from the world. So being able to wear this ring for the world to see is terrifying and wonderful. The fact that I'm now Lady Pearce is terrifying and wonderful. So yes, it does feel different to wake up married. But in a…in a good way."

And with that, Ruth leaned up and kissed him. Harry kissed her right back and found that he agreed with her. It was different to be married. But most certainly in a good way.