Happiness Can't Be Arranged

by grayautumnsky13

AU written for the Love From OQ Valentine's Exchange. Set during the Regency Period, Henry and Cora arrange a marriage for their daughter in an effort to save their family's name and estate.

42. Chapter 42

So. this is it... the last chapter. I just wanted to thank everyone for reading these last few years. I really, truly appreciate the support so many of you gave to this story. I'm not sure those who read on FFnet exclusively are aware, but there is a series of oneshots set in this verse after the main story ends to give you a little glimpse into their future. You can find it here directly beneath this story. 3

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In the month and a half since Chrismtas, their lives seemed to be in a whirlwind of change.

Some of it was expected, and other things were completely unexpected.

Announcing their "engagement" was an interesting experience. Her father responded as if were the first engagement, shaking Robin's hand and kissing her cheek as he waxed on and on about getting to walk his little girl down the aisle, as if he hadn't done exactly that the year before. Others called it quaint and amusing, and Mal only shook her head and grinned and called Robin a hopeless romantic—then, privately, confessed to Regina that she was happy she'd found someone willing to make a fool of himself over her. The boys, of course, were excited, though it seemed more to do with the wedding cake than the wedding itself.

Robin wrote a letter to his father—and as he read it back to her, she could all but see Richard's eyes rolling.

"Should I ask him to come?" he murmured tentatively as he looked up at her from over the top of the paper.

She'd bitten down on her lip as she considered it. For the vast majority of the time she'd lived at Sherwood with the Locksleys, Richard despised her—and worse, he seemed to despise Henry. His presence brought a feeling of tension and unrest, and that was on a good day. And yet, in those last few days she and Robin spent in his father's house, he'd made an effort to do better. He was kind to her, or at least attempted to try to be. He promised to look in on Henry's horse and complimented Robin's managing of the estate and its finances, and when it seemed he might take an opportunity to say something unkind, he bit his tongue. Though now she had a new-found understanding of why he acted the way he did—at least where she was concerned—and she empathized.

"Yes," she said at last. "What the worst he can do? Not come?"

Robin grinned and made a joke that his father turning down the invitation might be their wedding present—and then, he added a line, asking him to come if he found himself available and able to travel.

"I won't invite my mother," she said after a while, waiting for Robin to look back from the letter. "I know it goes without saying, but—" Her voice halted abruptly and she shook her head. "She'd think the whole thing was ridiculous anyway."

He hesitated for a moment then asked, "Do you want to invite her?"

"No," she murmured without hesitation. "But still, it feels odd that I wouldn't."

"You could tell her of our plans, then ask her not to come."

"She'd show up anyway just to ruin it."

Robin nodded, offering a slight chuckle to lighten the mood. "That would be a Cora-like thing to do."

She chewed at her lip and fumbled with her fingers. She didn't want her mother's approval, and truly, she didn't need it anymore. But still, that made her sad. There were so many things that she wanted to ask her—and though she couldn't imagine her mother answering any of them in a way that wasn't manipulative or that bore any resemblance to the truth, she still wanted to ask them. She wanted to ask how she could've done what she did to her own daughters, she wanted to ask why she hadn't given her up, too, why had she stayed in a marriage that only made everyone miserable. She wanted to know if she'd ever felt even a flicker of love for her—and mostly, she wanted to know if she was happy with her life's choices. Everyone did things they regretted—she knew that better than anyone—but most people felt a degree of remorse. If given the chance to undo their mistakes and take back whatever heartache they'd caused, they'd do it—and if they wouldn't, they at least had an explanation of why, some lesson they learned, or something good that had come from what they'd done. But she didn't imagine her mother had such an explanation, and she didn't imagine she'd ever considered or cared about the people she hurt. It was all about her—protecting herself, looking out for herself, everyone else be damned.

"I won't do it," she said at last. "It's not worth it."

Robin looked like he wanted to say something, looked like he was going to ask something that might keep the conversation going, so she'd shut him up with a kiss—and that was the end of it. They hadn't so much as mentioned her mother since.

Somewhere in the midst of wedding plans, they'd made the decision to stay permanently at the Hunting Lodge. Since their first stay there it had felt more like home than Sherwood. At Sherwood, they were eclipsed by his father—he was the master of that household, and in the end he dictated what would be done and when it would be done and who would be involved. Robin could still be involved in the estate, and though he wasn't overly excited about taking trips down to Sherwood several times a year to handle business matters, he decided it was the best solution for their family, and Regina agreed. And as long as Robin could do that they couldn't foresee a reason Richard wouldn't agree to it—especially given his sudden burst of benevolence.

Around the time they'd had this discussion, Robin received a letter from his father—really, it was just one line that read Do I have to pay for this "wedding." He'd replied with an equally curt You do not and not long after, he received another letter that read Congratulations, then. Should weather permit and Delilah be up for it I will attend. If I cannot, please know that I hope the two of you enjoy a happy day. At that, they'd pondered who "Delilah" was and hoped it was the dog he'd planned to get and not some poor debutante he'd brought home to laugh at his jokes.

The plans for the wedding itself, though simple, were all time-consuming.

They'd decided on a small ceremony set at noon on the day of their first anniversary with only family and a few close friends in attendance. They'd decided to forego a church wedding in town. Neither were religious and there were strict rules in place for those who used the property, and though it could be assumed that Robin, as the owner of the church's property would be given easier access, they decided it best to avoid it. Instead they chose the little sitting room at the front of the house—the room where Regina's daisy needlepoint hung over the mantle.

The room was chilly this time of year, even with a roaring fire in the hearth, but its many windows gave it a brightness that set a happy mood for the occasion. For decorations, they'd chosen festive evergreens with wintery white cirrhosa budding at the tips and creamy, soft white roses woven into the greens—the same roses that Regina had chosen for her bouquet and hair.

The menu was prepped weeks in advance—goose and with a blackberry glaze, venison with a thick gravy and winter vegetables, flaky loaves of bread and, of course, the cake.

The cake was Mrs. Beakley's own creation—and really, according to her and Roland, the focal point of the entire evening—and was, accordingly, far more beautiful than Regina expected it to be when it was first planned. Rummed cherries had been beaten into the batter, giving it a soft pink hue and rich flavor. It was set up in tiers that were all covered in a fluffy, white almond frosting, thin slices of honey-soaked almonds created flowers on the icing, and at the center of the top sat a cluster of almonds formed into a blossom.

Everything was set, and a great deal of care was poured into every detail—yet, the night before the wedding, Regina finds that she can't sleep. Her nerves are getting the better of her.

Flopping onto her side, she looks to the empty space where Robin usually slept. For a long time now, it's been difficult to sleep without him. But, alas, in the morning, she'd be up far earlier than he would. Belle and Ruby and likely every other woman on staff at the house would find their way to her bedroom for one reason or another. So, Robin elected to sleep down the hall in one of the other rooms. He'd teased her about wanting to do things properly—after all, the groom wasn't supposed to see the bride before the wedding—and when she reminded him that they weren't actually getting married and those usual traditions and superstitions shouldn't apply to them, he'd sheepishly admitted to simply wanted to sleep in a bit longer that morning.

She couldn't blame him.

If she had a chance for a little extra sleep, she'd take it, too.

So, after the boys were put into bed, they'd kissed at the nursery door and said goodnight, going their separate ways for the night.

Kicking back the covers, she gets out of bed and pulls on her robe, deciding that a cup of tea might help to settle her. She slides her feet into her slippers and makes her way down the long hall toward the stairs, and when she reaches the bottom, she can see a light flickering in the library.

Her brow furrows and a little grin tugs up onto her lips as she considers that Robin might be up and having a drink, but as she moves toward the library, she smells a familiar smell of cigar smoke and realizes that instead of finding her husband in the library, she'll find her father-in-law.

To everyone's surprise, Richard arrived that morning, and with him came a bouncy beagle puppy he called Delilah. He hadn't told them he was coming—and truly, they'd assumed the weather would be too rough, even if he wanted to come—yet, when he arrived, he seemed genuinely confused by their surprise, reminding Robin that in their last correspondence, he said that he'd come if he could. And he could. So he did.

Winston and Mrs. Potter rushed out to greet him as staff at a large estate were expected to, and in a very formal way, Winston welcomed him back, noting that it had been a long time. Mrs. Potter was less formal as she reached for Richard's bag, noting it'd been just shy of the twenty-year mark and she was wondering if she'd ever see him again. Then, as she smiled warmly, she noted how old he looked—something that turned him red faced and blustery as Robin chuckled softly to himself.

Mrs. Potter went in to find a room for him, and by the time the maids were done preparing it, he was ready for a nap—and that was the last time anyone saw him. Mrs. Beakley sent up a tray for dinner, and he'd eaten in his room before turning in early, explaining that the traveling had worn him out.

So it made sense that he was wide awake now in the middle of the night.

She hesitates before going in and before she fully decides to push forward into the room, Delilah notices her, her little ears perking up as her tail starts to wag—and Delilah's sudden liveliness makes Richard turn.

"Regina—"

"Can't sleep either?"

"The exact opposite. I could sleep and did, and now I'm all turned around."

"Travel has a way of doing that."

"Yes, that's why I avoid it. I feel better in my own surroundings, on my own schedule."

She nods, swallowing the lump of nerves rising into her throat as she comes into the library. "Well, we're glad that you came all this way for something so..."

"Frivolous."

Her lips purse. "Yes."

"My son is an awful lot like his grandfather. Frivolous affairs are to be expected here and there. I suppose he can't help himself. It's in his blood."

Regina nods. She's heard that Robin was like his grandfather before—everyone who has known the Locksley family seems to think so—and it's no secret that Richard and his father never got along. "He's a good man," she says after a moment, not really sure what to say but feeling defensive. "This whole thing is—"

"I'm not criticizing."

"Oh—"

Richard sighs. "I just don't understand it." He blinks, watching as she stands there a few feet away. "Are you… um… feeling alright, or—"

Regina blinks. "Um, yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just… having trouble sleeping."

Richard points to the bottle of whiskey just beyond him. "A drink could help."

"I was going to have tea," she begins, watching as his eyes fall to the glass in his hand. "But a drink would probably have the same effect." A bit awkwardly, she goes to pour herself a glass. She and Richard don't casually talk, and she's far from her comfort zone and has to remind herself that he's making an effort, and that's what counts. "It's hard to believe that I'm nervous about tomorrow."

"About the...um… the wedding, or…whatever you two are calling it."

"The wedding, yes," she murmurs as she sits down across from him. "It's more of a vow renewal, I suppose." She pauses to sip her drink. "Whatever it is, I shouldn't be nervous for it."

"I won't object, if that's your worry."

A little laugh escapes her. "Uh, no, I… I wasn't worried about that."

"Good."

She hesitates for a moment. "That… would be more of my mother's style, I'd think." At that, Richard looks up at her, staring with hard eyes at the mere mention of Cora. "She's… not coming, by the way. I don't know if anyone told you or if—"

"Did you have a falling out?"

She blinks. "Yes… when I learned to talk."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything—then, he laughs out in a burst and it makes her smile. "So you've… never been close?"

"No."

"That's… a pity."

"I'm not so sure." His brow cocks. "She's… hard to be around, at best. She's not a good person and I think being close to her would've only made that realization harder on me." Taking a breath, she tries to hold his gaze. "So, in some ways, it's a blessing."

He nods and takes a long sip of his drink, for a moment looking away from her and staring into the fire. "You look like her, sometimes, you know that?"

"I've been told."

"Mostly, you look like your father, but every now and then you get a look about you or you say something and—"

"I've… heard that often."

"I thought you were like her."

"I know."

Finally, Richard looks back and struggles to maintain eye contact. "When my son announced he was going to marry you, uh… well, the first time he announced it, I suppose… I struggled to, um… to separate you and your mother. I didn't know you and, well… to be frank, I didn't want to."

"I understand—"

"I didn't want to know your boy either." Her teeth clench as she remembers how cruel Richard was to Henry in the earliest days of her marriage to Robin, and how that cruelty had simply faded to indifference. "It wasn't fair."

"No, it wasn't."

"I just… couldn't get around it." This time it's Regina who takes a long sip of her whiskey as she tries to separate her anger over the way her son was treated from her more rational side that understands his actions were merely a reflection of how he felt about her mother. Misdirected as they were, it was never about her and it was certainly never about Henry—but before she can bring herself to comment, Richard continues. "Robin tells me he's a smart little boy."

"I'm a bit biased, and I'm afraid Robin is, too, but—yes, he is a smart boy."

"Good with numbers."

"Yes, he likes mathematics quite a bit."

"And you did, too."

She blinks finding herself caught off guard. "Y-yes," she murmurs. "Did… did Robin tell you that?"

Richard nods. "And others—"

"Others?"

He nods again, a tight little smile tugging up onto his lips. "Uh, I've had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Scarlett at the pub—"

"Oh, Will is—"

"Very complimentary of you." She feels her cheeks warm. She didn't expect that. "He says this whole railroad scheme that Robin's gotten involved in was your idea."

"I only suggested—"

"Some very smart moves." She brows arch and she finds herself nodding. "He told me that you're the one who had Robin put in the money up front, then charge other investors double the worth of the shares to recoup the initial investment quicker."

"Well, to make it a profitable venture—"

"See, that's smart." He takes a breath. "Robin needs that. He's always been such a dreamer. He's a good boy, but his head isn't in it. He picks things up quickly when he's taught, but he's not one to find his own way." Richards eyes narrow. "Your father once told me—now, this was years and years ago, you'd barely have been five years old—that he wished you'd been born a boy." Richard nods. "I didn't understand it then, but now I see why he said it."

"He… told me that a lot growing up."

"The world would've been kinder to you. You'd have done well for yourself."

"He told me that as well."

Richard clears his throat and looks back to the hearth. "You're good for him—for my son, I mean." And then, awkwardly, he looks back to her. "I didn't see that either, not at first."

Her breath catches. "But now you do?"

"Yes. Now I do."

For a moment, she doesn't know how to respond. It feels like such a victory, yet she still feels so unsettled. Her stomach flops and she feels like she wants to smile, but in the back of her head she can't quite stop thinking about whatever it was that happened between her mother and Robin's mother and how that altercation led to the way Richard perceived her. "I... I'm sorry about how my mother—"

Her voice halts as Richard looks to her.

"My father told me what happened at the Blanchard's party all those years ago and—"

"We don't need to talk about that," Richard says, cutting in with force. "There's no need."

"Alright," she murmurs, deciding not to push it and fully understanding that even with years between now and what happened, it's likely still painful for him. "But regardless, I am sorry."

He nods and again, a silence falls between them as they both sip their drinks and stare at the fire—and finally, it's Richard who breaks the silence. "You know, I was so, so angry with Robin for bringing you to Sherwood because I was convinced that you'd invite Cora back into my life and somehow she'd end up with everything she wanted."

"You mean the money—"

"Yes, it was always about the money for her."

"Everything always is."

"And who'd have thought I was the one to actually invite that threat by bringing her other daughter to live with me."

"To be fair, you didn't know—"

"I knew there was a daughter, not that it was Zelena."

She nods. "She was really just a companion?"

"Yes," he says easily. "I gave her a place to live and pretty things, and she kept me company when it was required. It was a nice arrangement for her. It's terrible she had to go and ruin it."

"Well, she is her mother's daughter."

A sardonic little laugh escapes him as he cocks his brow. "Indeed."

Downing the rest of her drink, her eyes narrow. She never imagined she and Richard could be this frank, and it's an opportunity to ask something she's wondered for a long time now. "Can I… ask you something?"

"I suppose."

"Why did you want me to have a child? For a time, you—"

He sighs. "Robin was an only child. Marian was always so sick, and I feared that Roland would be stricken with whatever it was that plagued her. With another child in the mix… I could have some influence and…"

"My mother couldn't swoop in and steal everything back."

"A child was an insurance policy, yes."

"So, it really was about protecting the Locksley fortune from my mother." She bites down on her lip, remembering how he'd responded when he thought she might be pregnant and the sudden turn his opinion took. "But things changed."

Richard shifts uncomfortably as he looks away from her. He doesn't have to explain. She knows exactly what brought the change in his. "Zelena told you about—"

"We don't have to talk about it."

"Fair enough. I don't really want to rehash it, either."

"No, I...uh… I suppose you don't." Finally, he looks back to her. "Will there… be more children?"

The question takes her by surprise and she finds herself laughing quietly as she shakes her head. "Truthfully, I can't say what the future holds, but as of now Robin and I are quite content with the family we have."

At that, Richard offers a huff and a nod, and though she can't quite tell if he's happy with her response or disappointed by it, it nonetheless makes her smile.

---

Robin is the first person into the sitting room, more than an hour before noon on the day of the wedding. He smiles softly as he takes in the evergreen hanging on the hearth and above the windows. Outside, there's a thin layer of fresh snow on the ground, and he can't help but take a moment to admire the way the shimmery sun shines down on it, making the snow look as if it were dusted with glitter.

Such a perfect February morning, he thinks.

Such a perfect morning for a wedding.

He finds his place and stands there, looking out at the empty linen-covered chairs and the open French style doors at the other side of the room where soon his bride will emerge.

A year ago, he'd stood in a similar spot in the chapel at Sherwood. But unlike today, he didn't stand there with eager anticipation for what was to come. Instead, he'd been filled with anxiety and dread. He simply wanted it to be done and over with so that it couldn't be undone. Half of him expected his father to stand up and announce his objection, the other half waited for Regina to do it herself.

Then, he barely knew her.

He knew her story and from that, he'd been able to surmise a set a values that she lived by, values that matched his own. A lot of what he knew was from hearsay or his own imagination, and he'd hoped he wasn't making the mistake of a lifetime.

And today, he'd never been more confident in anything he'd ever done.

He takes a seat in one of the chairs, bouncing his foot as he thinks of Regina upstairs, her hair being curled and her dress being put on, and all of the seemingly thousands of other things that had to be done to prepare her for the day.

He remembers the moment he first saw her at the first wedding. The chapel doors opened and heads turned to see the bride. Her father stood at her side and she clung to him. Her fingers were hidden beneath a lacy pair of gloves, but even at a distance, he could see them trembling and he could see the way they pressed into the fabric of their father's coat. She'd kept her eyes and chin down as the wedding march began to play, and from where he stood, he could see Henry nearly pulling her along.

She wore a relatively simple cream colored dress with puff sleeves and lace details. Matching gloves stretched up her arms, and a thick gold ribbon held a heavy cameo around her neck. It was pretty, but it didn't suit her nor did she look comfortable wearing any of it, and as he whispered that she looked lovely, she stared back at him as though he'd said something completely absurd. Looking back, it was likely something Cora had chosen; Regina had no say in it, and she probably didn't care to have a say in it.

This time, however, she'd had more than a say.

She and Ruby spent hours with their heads together, looking at fabrics and sketches. Bolt after bolt after bolt of fabric arrived at the house and on any given day he could walk into their bedroom and find Regina up on a stool with Ruby pinning things to her. Each time, it was never quite the same and he still had no idea what the finished product would look like.

But he knew, whatever it looked like, she'd be beautiful in it.

"Are you ready?" He looks up to see Mrs. Potter standing across the room. "Regina's not quite ready, but there's a little crowd out here ready to sit down."

He blinks and nods, looking at the clock on the mantle.

He's been daydreaming for nearly forty-five minutes. "Oh. Sure."

She grins and starts to turn, then looks back. "Are you nervous?"

"Excited."

"Good," she murmurs, disappearing momentarily into the hall before returning with his father in tow.

Robin shakes his head when no one else follows. "I assume you're the little crowd."

"I put off breakfast for this," his father huffs as he makes his way to the front of the room. "I'm more than ready to get on with it so I can have my eggs and toast." He stops as he notices the chairs are only on one side of the room. "Where are—" He blinks up at him. "There aren't sides."

"Less than twenty people will be here."

"But how am I supposed to know where to sit?"

Robin's eyes roll. "Well, it's simple. You find a chair that no one's in."

Now, Richard's eyes roll before he turns to assess the first row, and after a long moment, he chooses the third chair and sits down, shoulders square as he stares ahead.

Mal is next to enter and he watches as Robin's brow furrows when she takes a seat at the piano. "You didn't even hire a—" He sighs and crosses his arms. "Oh nevermind. It's not a real wedding anyway."

Robin and Mal trade smirks as Mrs. Potter leads in the next round of guests. Chip and Anna take seats in the row behind his father and soon Emily and Graham file in beside them—and he can't help but chuckle quietly as everyone makes Graham scoot down to make room when Elsa arrives.

Robin resumes his place at the front as Mrs. Beakley enters, hesitating momentarily before taking a seat in the back row where the house staff will sit, and he can't help but smile when Mrs. Potter walks over to her, shaking her head as she tugs her up and leads her to the front—and when he watches his father's eyes widen as the cook is seated beside him, he can barely stifle his laugh.

The boys are in next—running excitedly as they make their way into the room, then scatter in different directions. Henry goes to sit beside Mal at the piano—he'll be helping to play the Wedding March, after all— while Roland hops into Mrs. Beakley's lap, squirming with excitement when she pulls a few candies from her pocket, offering one to Roland and one to Richard.

Finally, Belle and Ruby enter—and that means Regina and her father will be next.

Ruby gives a little nod and the vicar—an old man with kind eyes—walks from the back of the room, and when everyone is in place, Ruby offers another nod and Mal and Henry begin to play. Robin draws in a breath, his eyes fixed on the French doors at the front of the room. He knows that he won't be able to catch a glimpse of her before she's down the stairs, but still, it doesn't stop him from trying as he shifts from foot to foot, his heart beating a little faster than before.

And then he sees her, standing beside her father in the doorway and smiling brightly as her eyes meet his.

His breath catches in his chest as everyone in the room turns to watch her walk to him in a creamy, lace dress with sheer silk sleeves and sage green flowers embroidered at the top. There's matching green ribbon beneath her bust that's tied in the back, its tails touching the floor, and the long string of pearls she's wearing draw everyone's eyes to the delicate bouquet of white roses and evergreens that she's holding as she passes them. As she comes closer, he can't help but notice it's the same dress she wore a year before, just changed to reflect her own style, personality, and choice.

"You look lovely," he whispers as she and her father reach him—the same thing he said at the first wedding, but instead of rolling her eyes at him, she blushes, demuring as a little giggle bubbles out of her.

The ceremony is a short one. The vicar greets everyone and thanks their guest for coming—and then breaking from tradition, he begins a medley of poetry from the likes of Blake, Wordsworth and Byron, calling them "beautiful words to mark a beautiful day."

They say traditional vows just as they did a year before, and when they exchange their rings, placing them on each other's fingers, they're practically giddy, barely able to wait for the vicar to announce their kiss. Breathless and still giggling, they part, turning face their guests. The boys clap and Mal looks on with a soft grin as his father sits upright and stoic while hers cries proud tears.

He and Regina make their way down the aisle, and as they spill out into the floyer, he pulls her to him, lifting her up and spinning her as they laugh together.

He knows this moment, with just the two of them, won't last.

There's a brunch planned, a party to prepare for, and guests to entertain, but for this one moment, he can't help but savor every second of it and memorize its every detail.

---

After the ceremony, everyone filed into the dining room for brunch. Richard had his eggs and toast, and Mrs. Beakley frowned as she looked at his bland little plate, offering up gravy and hollandaise and a myriad of spices that would give his food some flavor. All of which he awkwardly, but politely, declined—and all of which Henry Sr. gladly accepted for his own plate.

The mood throughout the meal was light. Chip did his best to make small talk with Graham and when he ended up in a conversation about hunting pheasants, Richard perked up, finally giving Graham a willing audience and leaving Chip, Anna, Elsa, and Emily to move onto other, more desirable topics.

They complimented the day's decor and the food, the poetry and the sweetness of such an anniversary celebration, and all throughout the meal, Robin couldn't help but note how comfortable Regina seemed, sitting across from him at the center of the table, making small talk with their guests—a feat she'd have found absolutely terrifying and impossible a year before.

When brunch was through, everyone went their separate ways, taking walks and naps or heading into town to spend the time before the party that evening. Regina was hurried up the stairs and he was shooed away, tasked with taking the boys outside to play so that they could burn off some energy. Eventually, though, John and Mal came to find him. Mal took Henry and Roland upstairs for baths while John helped him get ready.

He hadn't given much thought to his own outfit for the party—Regina and Ruby had picked and styled it—and it wasn't until he was staring at it as it hung on the back of the door that he realized a sword would be involved.

Now, he stands in the mirror, assessing his outfit for the night, wondering what the hell he's agreed to.

"It's quite a costume," John teases. "For a guy who barely likes wearing a waistcoat and cufflinks."

"She… wanted it to match her dress." His brow furrows. "I expected the older style, but…" He points to the sword. "I don't know what to do with that."

"Defend your bride's honor, of course." John says, smirking. "For what it's worth, everyone will be dressed like this."

Robin nods. It's true.

Regina's dress would be similar to the one that her grandmother wore at her wedding nearly fifty years before—a detail that was incredibly important to her and one that would likely be mirrored in many of their guests.

"Well, Mal was right—I will be making a fool of myself for her."

"And you'll be doing it gladly."

Robin grins, feeling a bit sheepish, yet resolute. "Absolutely."

He continues dressing without giving it much more thought, and then as John brushes specks of linen from his green, satin coat, he finds himself grinning at the finished result, feeling rather dapper instead of foolish. He turns from side to side as he looks at his dark breeches and leather boots that come up to his knees.

"You were so caught up with the sword you didn't notice the ruffley shirt," John says, raising a brow as he watched Robin admire himself. "Without the coat, you'd kind of look like a pirate."

Robin glares at him through the mirror, then focuses back on himself—he had a feeling that it didn't matter what he looked like. No one would be looking at him; instead, everyone would be focused on Regina.

When he's done dressing, they head down to the ballroom and find it full. The boys rush to greet them, giggling about the "belt buckles" on their shoes and the funny ruffles on his shirt. He laughs, too, as he scoops up Roland and takes Henry by the hand, and together, the three of them make their rounds, greeting guests and thanking them for coming, offering horderves and champagne as they wait for things to properly begin.

Then suddenly, the buzzing ballroom goes quiet.

A soft gasp ripples through the crowded ballroom as Regina emerges at the entrance—and though he can't yet see her, Robin feels his breath catch in his throat as eyes slowly turn from her to him. He takes a few steps forward, the crowd parting as he moves, and by the time he rounds the table, there's an empty pathway that leads from him to her–and at the end of it, Regina is standing there, looking radiant as ever.

She's wearing a shimmery green-gold dress with white lacy gown sleeves that hug her arms and fan out around her elbows. It's low cut and a bit of cleavage peeks out above the thin lace that lines the front of the dress.

She'd been worried the dress was too scandalous—though it was an older style that would've been perfectly acceptable for their grandmothers to have worn at court—and Belle suggested pairing it with a chunky gold and emerald necklace that matched the embroidered leaves that cascaded down the front of the dress, collecting at the bottom of her skirt. He didn't give much of an opinion on the matter when she'd asked him about it—though he'd secretly hoped she'd forgo the necklace–—and told her that it didn't matter because she'd look stunning either way.

And while that was completely true, now that he was looking at her, he was glad that she'd chosen not to wear the necklace.

Her dark hair is swept up and a few curled pieces hang down around her face, nearly touching her shoulders. Her neck looks so much longer in this style of dress, and as she stands there with her shoulders back, not trying to cover herself up or shrink behind heavy jewelry, he can't help but notice the confidence she exudes.

He feels tears welling in his eyes, his emotion surging as she bites down on her lip and looks around likely in search of him.

"Papa," Roland murmurs as he tugs at the back of his coat. "Mama looks so pretty."

Grinning, Robin nods, not taking his eyes off of her. "She does."

"Aren't you supposed to go and get her?" Henry asks. "And dance with her?"

Chuckling softly, he nods—he hadn't quite realized how firmly in place he was rooted or that she was waiting for him. "Oh… right."

He hears both boys giggling as he crosses the ballroom, holding out his hand to her as he nears—and as her fingers touch to his palm, he feels a little jolt, as if until this point he hadn't been certain that any of this were real or part of some wonderfully fantastical dream.

"You look…" He shakes his head as his voice fades, and he finds himself struggling for a word that adequately describes her. "You're stunning."

Forming her hand around his, her cheeks flush slightly. "You don't look so bad yourself." Looking down at himself, he laughs softly, shaking his head as he smooths his hand over his green velvet coat—and as Regina leans in to kiss his cheek, he's very much aware of the sword strapped to his hip. "It's not… too much?" she whispers. "I mean, this whole thing is…"

"Meant to feel like a fairytale."

"I feel a little silly dressed this way."

"You shouldn't," he says, pulling back and holding her at arm's length. "I mean it. You're stunning, and given the gasp that went through this room when you came in, I think it's safe to assume that I'm not the only one who thinks so."

Her cheeks flush a bit deeper and she nods—and in spite of herself, she can't stop her smile.

Admittedly, he wasn't sure what tonight would be like.

After all, they were hosting a party to celebrate their marriage despite already being married for a year now. The whole thing had been his idea—after all, he'd proposed at Christmas—but as they began the planning process and people began to react, he did wonder if the whole thing was a bit over the top. He hadn't said anything about it, though. And truly, this day wasn't about anyone else. But then one day in the midst of picking out the soft white roses that Regina held through the ceremony and sat atop the tables all around the ballroom now, Mrs. Potter reminded him that as long as there was good food being served and the drinks were endless, no one would care why they were attending a party. She'd grinned as he smiled, and then admitted she found the whole thing to be quite sweet.

And it was.

The whole thing was planned in a handful of weeks—though, he supposed, Regina had been planning this, in part, since she was a little girl.

The evening reception following the morning ceremony wasn't meant to be themed—not initially—but then they'd been picking out fabrics for tablecloths and a shimmery spool caught her eye. She'd laughed a little as her fingers touched it—and then he'd watched as her smile faded and she'd explained that it looked similar to the fabric of her grandmother's wedding dress.

At first, he was confused at why it seemed to be an unhappy memory, and then, she'd explained it.

Regina didn't remember her grandmother. She'd died when she was only six, but she did remember feeling sad when she died. Not long after the funeral, a fleet of carriages had arrived at Dragon Head with her grandparents' things and she'd watched closely as the footmen carried the trunks up to the attic. She'd peered around a corner, careful not to let her mother catch her, and she'd imagined all of the treasures those trunks must've contained.

She'd waited until the carriages left and until her mother had gone to change for tea, before she'd snuck up into the attic and eventually found the dress. Her heart had nearly stopped when she heard footsteps on the stairs–and then, to her relief, it was her father who'd discovered her, not her mother.

He'd pulled the dress out of the trunk and hung it up on a mirror so that they could both look at it, and as they did, he pulled her up onto his lap and confessed that he thought his mother would've liked that her only grandchild had admired such an old but beloved dress.

He told her how it'd been specially made in Spain and how it'd been one of his mother's most prized possessions, and then he suggested that perhaps, one day when she was older, she might like to wear it. Wide-eyed, she'd nodded and said that she would. Then her father had set her back down and together they'd gone through the rest of the trunk, finding the velvet green coat her grandfather had worn and the sword that had been given to his father by King Ferdinand VI.

There were other things in the chest, but as she recounted the story to Robin, she could no longer remember what they were–though she admitted she'd likely forgotten by the time her father took her down for tea as she'd been so enamored by the wedding dress.

And she had never forgotten it.

Every now and then, she'd sneak up into the attic and try it on—and despite only being a small child, each time, she was hopeful that this time, it might just fit her. Then, when she was twelve, she'd gone up to try on the dress and found Cora was standing there with a row of maids—and her grandmother's things were gone. She'd been numb as she watched the maids dusting the newly opened space and her mother's eyes had narrowed at her, her tongue clicking as she told her that she was far too old for costumes and nursery games.

So, when she'd spotted the fabric, with his encouragement, she'd bought the entire spool and had Ruby draw up a few sketches. The seamstress had worked endlessly on the dress over the course of the last few weeks, perfecting every last detail and making sure that it fit Regina just right—and though the dress consumed the preparations for the party, he'd never actually seen the finished product.

And now, he found himself glad that he hadn't.

"We should dance," he tells her, rubbing his thumb at the back of her wrist. "I think that's what everyone's waiting for."

"It is," she tells him, nodding and giggling softly as he takes a step back and bows to her—and then, as he pulls himself back up, he takes a few more steps back, pulling her along with him.

They stop at the center of the ballroom, and once again, he's very much aware of how many people are watching. As the music starts to play, he can feel their gazes, but as he stares into Regina's eyes and watches the way she smiles back at him—filled with so much excitement and love—he doesn't feel his nerves setting in as they usually do because all he can see is her.

She feels like she's floating as she and Robin dance to the music of a string quartet, and she barely notices when the rest of the guests join them on the dance floor—she's simply too caught up in what's been nothing short of an absolutely magical day.

That morning, she'd been awoken early by Belle and Ruby with Mrs. Beakley—who she was slowly attempting to think of as Betty—with a plate of apple turnovers and champagne. She'd laughed at the champagne, noting the time, but the other three had scoffed. After all, it was a day of celebration.

And that had set the tone for her day.

"Have I told you that you're stunning?"

"Only a hundred times by now."

Robin grins, his blue eyes sparkling as they twirl around the floor in each other's arms. "Hm, well I've thought it nearly a thousand."

She laughs. "You're hopeless."

"I know," he smirks. "That's something I've been told a hundred or so times."

She grins, knowing exactly where he's heard it before. "Your father is… really making an effort."

"I'm glad," he replies. "I hoped he'd be on his best behavior—"

"Well, he has been," she says, her eyes momentarily breaking his gaze in search of her father-in-law, and when she doesn't find him with a quick scan around the room, she looks back to Robin. "Did I tell you we talked?"

"When?"

"Last night."

"You and my father?"

"We sort of had a heart to heart—"

His brows arch up and she laughs. "He was pleasant and… awkward." She laughs again, her head dipping forward to rest momentarily on his chin. "He was so uncomfortable," she adds looking back up. "But to be honest, I was too."

"What did you talk about?"

"A lot of things," she murmurs, sobering a bit. "You and me… our marriage."

"Ah, two of my favorite topics—"

"My mother, too."

"Oh," he says, frowning. "I like that one less."

"Well, we're all in agreement on that."

"What did you say, or… what did he say?"

"We talked about Zelena and… the things that happened all those years ago with my mother and your family." She takes a breath. "I apol—"

"None of that was your fault."

"I know, but it still needed to be said."

"Did he accept it?"

Biting down on her lip, she nods as a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "He did."

Robin looks genuinely surprised, and before she can continue and tell him the rest of their conversation, he looks away, suddenly aware of her father standing behind them. He smirks as Robin notices him, then asks for a dance with the beautiful bride.

A bit reluctantly, Robin nods, stepping away and handing her off to her father—and as her father takes her hand and pulls her close, she watches as Robin finds a new dance partner near the dessert table—or two, really—in their sons.

"So, was it everything you dreamed it would be when you were a little girl?"

"Today?"

"No, just the scones at breakfast—" A chuckle bursts from him as he squeezes her hand. "Yes, Regina, today. Of course, today, your wedding day!"

"Well, it isn't exactly—"

"But it is, Regina. It is. You might've been married before, but today marks a new chapter of your life—a chapter that you will write for yourself." He chuckles again, this time softer. "I know you thought of it when you were little. I watched you play—"

She draws in a breath, remembering how she used to make Daniel play her groom. They'd been married in the garden and the stables, beneath the apple tree and by the little stream at the edge of Dragon Head's property. She always wore flowers in her hair and pretended to be in a fancy gown, once Mal even curled her hair. Daniel had been reluctant then—and years later, when they'd run off to Gretna Green, spending almost all of their money on the license, he'd been more enthusiastic, but it was overshadowed by their circumstances.

On the way, she let herself dream. They didn't have much, but in her mind, there was no way a wedding couldn't be dreamy and romantic. She'd never admitted how disappointing that wedding had been.

It was pouring rain and cold and by the time they'd arrived at the small chapel, and they were soaked. The only vicar who'd been willing to marry them was drunk and slurred through the vows, rushing through them, then ushered them out the door without inviting a kiss or announcing their new married state. They'd stood there for a moment, outside of the chapel in the rain as she fought back tears and told herself how stupid she was for being upset over something like this, and then with nothing else to do and no money to celebrate even with a drink at the pub, they'd simply turned around to make the journey back south to his cousin's tavern, their new home.

Then, of course, she'd been the reluctant one fraught with worry at her first wedding to Robin.

"It was," she nods, letting herself smile. "This is… exactly what I imagined when I was little." Her smile warms, growing sincere. "Right down to the flowers in my hair. It was perfect. Everything was."

"I noticed—"

"And the dress," she murmurs, "Did you notice anything about it?"

He nods. "I'm… a bit surprised to see it after all these years. I thought it was lost or sold or—"

"It's not the original." She grins as his father's brows arch and he looks down at her. "Ruby made it. I described it and she… worked her magic."

"Magic, indeed—" His expression changes to something serious, yet still happy, though she can't quite pinpoint it. "You deserve that, Regina—you deserve a little magic, and true love is the most powerful magic there is."

"You're such a romantic—"

"I've been called worse."

She laughs. "I didn't mean it as an insult."

Leaning in, he stops and kisses her forehead. "My time is up and a line is forming—"

Her brow creases. "What are you ta—"

She stops and looks beyond her father to see Henry and Roland standing behind him—and then, as he steps aside, she holds out her hands, offering them to her sons before twirling them around and around until they're dizzy and giggling.

---

Somewhat miraculously, she manages to slip away from the party unnoticed.

She hadn't wanted to disrupt anyone, so she'd gone alone, slowly taking off her dress and hanging it up in her wardrobe beside the wedding dress she'd worn earlier in the day. She took her time with it, going layer by layer and moving with care until she stood simply in her chemise.

For a moment, she just stares at herself in the mirror, wondering how tangled her hair would be if she took it down—and then, as she thinks of Robin's lips gliding over her jaw, his fingers gently pressing at her neck, a smile draws onto her lips and she decides to leave it up. Taking it down can be tomorrow's problem.

Content with her decision, she reaches for the bottle of her favorite lotion that sits on the shelf beside her wardrobe, and when she opens it, she breathes in the soft scent of the eau de cologne that was mixed into it, remembering the day she and Robin bought it in some tiny little shop in a village somewhere between the Hunting Lodge and Sherwood as they made the long trek back after one of their getaways. It's strange to think that it was only a handful of months ago, and at the time the pretty little bottle with its fancy label seemed like such a luxury—an excess that she didn't need, and truly, it wasn't a matter of needing or wanting it, she didn't think she deserved it. But Robin had leaned in, resting his chin on her shoulder as she stared down at the little bottle in the glass case and told her she should get it. She's scoffed, but before she could argue he whispered a low let me spoil you before asking the clerk to add a bottle to their order. Again, she'd tried to protest, but never quite found her words, and when she got home and set the little bottle on the shelf with the rest of her things in the dressing room, she'd felt nearly giddy—and it amazed her that the little bottle of pleasant-smelling lotion somehow managed to make her feel differently about herself.

She rubs it on her arms and legs, working it into her skin before pulling off her chemise to do the rest of her body, glad she'd had a bath and done some grooming earlier that day when she'd had the benefit of help. She finishes up and reaches for the satin-lined robe she wears every night, thinking of how tempting it would be to just crawl into bed and have a little nap before Robin eventually comes looking for her. And as she considers that, she finds herself laughing at the thought of herself, all spread out and probably drooling upon his arrival.

It wasn't exactly the image she wanted him to stumble upon, so she pushes away the temptation and moves to the fireplace, pulling back the screen. The embers are still glowing from the fire that morning. Slowly, she kneels down and reaches for one that's only half lit, giggling to herself as she suddenly thinks of Roland and how much he loves doing this, how his eyes never fail to light up in amazement as he watches anyone make a fire. She thinks of the way he watches intently, crouching down beside whomever is doing the work to get a closer look as the embers—or what he and Henry call dragon's breath—spread, webbing out as the littlest branches catch fire and the flame grows bigger and bigger until one of the logs catches, slowly but surely turning from dark to bright, glowing orange as it radiates its warmth.

Tentatively, she reaches for one of the tiny kindling branches that sit in the basket by the fire. She lights it, then cups her hand around it as she goes around the room, lighting the rest of the candles that sit on the mantle, desk, and bedside tables—and she can't help but smile at the warm glow that takes over the room.

She feels the warmth taking over the room, finding it already more comfortable as she goes back to the dressing room to finish getting herself ready for Robin.

As she reaches for the little box of cosmetics that reside on the shelf with the lotion, she kneels down in front of the mirror, choosing a powder for her face—and as she brushes it on, she finds her thoughts wandering to their first wedding night. She thinks of the maids who wanted nothing to do with her tugging at her hair and clothes, wanting to go as quickly as possible. They hadn't spoken to her, just at her, and she distinctly remembers being told "Mr. Locksley" asked for certain things—including the sheer robe that left nothing to the imagination.

Then, she'd held back tears as they made comments about her body—too thin, too pale, too many imperfections, the faded stretch marks on her abdomen proof of a character flaw. Now, though, she wonders if any Mr. Locksley had asked for anything, since their comments seemed much more in line with the things that Cora said to her—and it certainly would have suited the narrative her mother wanted her to believe. It would've suited Cora for Regina to believe that her new husband was a womanizer and a brute because if she believed that, then an alliance between them would've never formed and her mother would have remained in control.

Taking a breath, she looks at herself in the mirror and uses her fingers to blend in the powder. She supposes her mother's schemes and her father-in-law's possible meddling don't matter now, and there's no reason to dwell on it. She'd never have an answer, anyway. And the plan—whomever came up with it—had failed, backfiring miserably. If anything, today was proof of it.

Robin hadn't fallen for it. Even that night he'd been so soft and sincere in his interactions with her. He was respectful and gave her space, he offered her time to adjust to her new life, and though she didn't quite see it then, he did something that few people had ever done for her—he treated her as a person, not a possession.

She returns the powder to the box and reaches for a little tin of pink-tinted beeswax, carefully removing the cap and balancing the container in her palm as she uses her little finger to smear the wax onto her bottom lip. She presses her lips together, rubbing them to spread around the wax, then she wipes away the excess and spreads it over her cheekbones. She rubs it in carefully, blending it in so that it looks as if she's perpetually blushing—and as she assesses her handiwork, she finds herself giggling, thinking about how much her mother would disapprove of this.

Returning the beeswax to the box, she sets the box back on the shelf and shrugs off her robe, shivering as the cool air engulfs her naked skin as she finds the lace robe that she commissioned from Ruby and surprised Robin with a few months before. She pulls it on and shivers again as she turns to the mirror, staring at herself as she smoothes her hands over the lace and curls her fingers around the satin ribbon that's meant to tie it—and in spite of herself, the echoes of those maids commenting about her frail body and pale skin creep back into her mind.

Since then, she's gained weight—something that she knows was needed. Even after returning to Dragon Head, she wasn't eating as regularly as she should have. Then, her stomach had been perpetually in knots as she tip-toed around her mother as if the thinner she was, the easier it would be for her to fade into the background and be ignored.

She ties the robe, then unties it—something she repeats again and again and again as she assesses what she likes better and considers what she thinks Robin would like better—and then she thinks of the last time she wore this robe. Her cheeks warm as she remembers his hands slipping inside of it as he pulled her to him, his fingers kneading and caressing her skin. And the memory makes her smile.

Open, she decides. He'd definitely like it open—and really, she would, too.

It seems vain to admit that she likes the way she looks in it, but she does. It's well-tailored, fitting perfectly at the shoulders and more snugly around her breasts. It cinches a bit at her natural waist before flaring out at her hips, creating a sort of triangle around her, framing and accentuating different parts of her body and drawing in the eye.

And as her own eye draws in, she can't help but note how much healthier she looks and how much more confident she feels than she did a year before.

It's not long after she finishes getting herself ready that she hears the door open, and excitedly, she bites down on her lip as he calls her name.

"Just a second," she calls back, wanting to give him a couple of minutes to take in the room. "I'm just… freshening up a bit."

"Oh, alright," Robin murmurs back. "I suddenly looked up and… you were gone."

"I snuck away."

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Wonderful—"

"That's good—"

She takes a breath and steps out into the room. "I just… wanted to get away from the crowd for awhile."

"Understandable," he says as he turns toward where she stands. "I think I—" He stops, suddenly noticing her. She grins as his eyes travel up and down her, taking her in as his own grin brightens. "You… you look…" He laughs as their eyes meet. "I think you've set some sort of record today for rendering me absolutely speechless."

"Well, this isn't anything you haven't seen before."

"No," he murmurs, shaking his head. "And yet, somehow… I just can't get over how beautiful you are."

She feels her cheeks warming as she steps toward him. "If you want to go back down to the—"

He reaches for her hand, tugging her to him as soon as she's in reach. "I doubt I'll be missed."

She grins and nods. "Things are still… going on down stairs?"

"Oh, yes. Everyone's still drinking and dancing and having quite a good time."

"Even your father?"

At that, Robin laughs. "Um, yes. Yes, it seems so, though I don't know that someone who didn't know him very well would be able to tell that."

"No?"

"He's sitting off in a corner with your father, looking quite bewildered and amazed at whatever your father was saying to him—"

"My father can have that effect on people, especially after a few drinks."

Robin nods and his expression changes. It's not so much that his smile fades away, though, instead it just changes, suddenly looking more serious. "I talked to him for a bit."

"Oh?"

"He, um… he let me know how frivolous this all was."

"He likes that word."

"Yes, he does," Robin murmurs. "And, um… he told me he thinks my mother would have enjoyed today, that… um… that she'd have been proud of me."

Regina feels her chest tighten and she holds on to him a big tighter. "Of course she would've been proud of you. You're a good man and…" She can't help but smile. "... and I am so, so lucky to have you."

"Mm, well, I think I'm the lucky one," he says as he leans in to rest his forehead on hers, breathing her in as his hand slides into the robe and over her hip. "So lucky."

She leans in the rest of the way, brushing her lips over his—and as she closes the space between them, his hand slides over her hip and around her back, pulling her even closer as she kisses him.

Regina's arms link loosely around Robin's shoulders, her fingers brushing against the hair at the nape of his neck as they kiss. His lips slide away from hers, coasting over her jaw as her head instinctively falls back and forces his lips higher. A little giggle escapes them both as he nips at her earlobe, his tongue giving it a little flick before he ducks down a bit, pulling her closer as his lips find a particularly soft spot beneath her jaw.

A breathy sigh escapes her and again, her head falls back—and as his lips slip to the side of her neck, she smiles. This is a spot she particularly likes. She's not sure what it is exactly, but the feel of his lips suckling hard at her skin makes her crave him all the more, and she finds herself pushing even closer, her body pressed up against the soft fabric of his green satin coat as her fingers rake through his hair.

And then as she steps in, her foot slides around his ankle—she means it to be a sexy move, yet when something hard and cold presses into her skin, she finds herself jumping back and away.

Startled, she looks down between them and laughing out at the literal sword still situated on his hip and poking into her thigh. For a moment, he doesn't understand why she's stopped, then he follows her gaze and bursts out laughing, too.

"This thing was your idea, you know."

"Mm, I don't remember being this specific. I just… described the coat and shirt, and—"

"I distinctly remember you telling me that your grandfather wore a sword."

She shrugs a bit coyly, enjoying teasing him. She did say it. It was one of the very few things that she remembers of him, and everyone said he was the old-fashioned type and heavily influenced by Spanish customs and traditions instead of British ones.

"If you mean to tell me I've walked around like an idiot with this thing all day and night, I—" He stops his face growing adorably serious. "I nearly took out a table of champagne glasses earlier."

She bites her lip to stop herself from laughing. "Oh. Ohh, no—"

"Mrs. Beakley would've murdered me, I think."

Giggling, she nods, her eyes falling back to the sword. "What is it even for?" she asks, her brows arching as she considers this particular piece of his costume. Until now, she's never questioned it, and she imagines in their grandparents' day it was some sort of show of power or masculinity or something else equally ridiculous. "I can't imagine fifty years ago there was any real need to…" Her mind goes blank as she blinks up at him. "I don't know… defend the property from rival families or thieves or… bears or—"

He spits out a short little laugh. "Bears?"

"I don't know, maybe." She shrugs, feigning indignance. "You don't know any better than I do."

Robin laughs, his blue eyes sparkling in a way that makes her knees feel weak. "John says men wore them to defend their lady's honor." He grins a bit mischievous. "And I wouldn't want someone stealing you away now, would I?"

"Well, that could never happen, and you do a perfectly good job of that without a sword fastened to your hip."

"Yes, but… it does look sort of smart, doesn't it?" He steps back and strikes a pose, his chin tilted upward and his fist proudly on the hip opposite the sword. "I mean, it's a pain in the ass and looks absolutely idiotic, but… it's… it's kind of…rakish and—"

"Please stop."

Her lips purse and he stares at her for a moment, then, in one fluid motion, his thumb slips beneath a little leather flap and a moment later, the sword falls loose into his hand. He tosses it onto one of the chairs by the hearth and strikes the same pose as before, grinning proudly as she laughs.

"Better," she says, holding out her hands. "Now come back here."

He drops the pose and moves back to her, taking her in his arms as his hands claps at the small of her back. "Is this better?"

"Much," she says, smiling up at him. "Well, except…"

Her hands slide up his chest, her fingers pressing against the silky fabric of his shirt as they seek out its buttons. Slowly, her fingers work to undo them. Biting down on her lip, she casts her eyes upward, watching as he watches her—and when he feels her gaze, he grins.

Finally, when the shirt is undone, she presses her palms against his bare chest, slowly pushing upward to his shoulders. He helps her by shrugging back his shoulders as she pushes against the fabric, and soon his coat and shirt are in a forgotten heap on the floor.

He kisses her again, this time a bit harder and more intensely. She works at his belt, finding it difficult to concentrate on the motions necessary to loosen it—then, when it's finally done, she pulls back, remembering the knee-high boots that he's wearing.

For a moment, he doesn't quite understand, blinking at her—and then he follows her gaze. "Oh, damn it—"

She grins. "Sit back—"

"I had this image of sweeping you up in my arms and carrying you off to bed and—"

"And you can do exactly that once we have you out of these boots."

"You know, I always think of how much trouble it is to get you out of your clothes—"

She grins as he sits down in the chair opposite the hearth. "Is this something you think of often?"

He blinks. "If I'm being honest, yes. Nearly whenever you get dressed, especially if you're wearing something new or… something I haven't had the pleasure of peeling off of you."

"Should I consult Ruby on how to make easy to remove pieces, or—"

A grin pulls up at the corner of his mouth. "Sometimes I like a challenge." He chuckles softly to himself. "Tonight isn't one of those nights, though."

"Relax," she murmurs, grinning as her hand falls to his knee. "You've had to maneuver around petticoats and chemises and—"

"Oh, god. The ones you sew up drive me insane, I can't ever—"

She interrupts with a laugh. "You've… mentioned that before."

"But at least you had the forethought to… get ready for tonight to avoid that sort of thing." He smirks as their eyes meet. "Honestly, I'm not sure why we both went with clothes at all."

At that, she laughs. "I'm sure the rest of the world is glad that we did."

He huffs, but concedes. "Oh. Right. All of those people."

Her eyes roll, but she smiles as she looks to his boot, thinking about how much easier this task is than removing her corset on her own was. "My corset alone would've been an adventure for you," she tells him, grinning up at him as her hands move up and down his calf, loosening the boot and tugging it off. "Luckily for me—and well, maybe for you, too, I'm quite flexible."

His brow arches up and a slow smile edges onto his lips as he considers that while she removes the other—and then she grins up at him as she unbuttons his socks from his breeches. Her hands rub up over his knees and back again, and when she's done, she looks up at him and pushes his knees apart. Then, grinning a bit coyly, she reaches for the buttons at the front of his pants.

Robin lets out a low moan as her fingers slip inside, her hand forming around his cock. She strokes him for a few minutes, watching the way his expression changes as she touches him—it's clear that he's enjoying it—and as she pulls his cock out, she sees him take a breath as though preparing himself for what was inevitably to come.

She considers teasing him for a minute or two—but they've already had enough distractions. She's ready to move on.

Her tongue flicks around over the tip of his cock, circling it a few times as she looks up at him, watching the lazy little grin that forms on his lips. Leaning in closer, she pushes her mouth downward slowly, taking his cock into her mouth—and as her lips slide against him, he lets out a little groan.

Truly, and maybe selfishly, she's never enjoyed this part of intimacy. It was always the thing she could give easily without having to give anything of herself—but in turn, she never got anything for herself, either. Yet with Robin, she finds that she enjoys pleasuring him.

Eventually his hand finds its way into her hair as he holds her head. Every now and then, he mutters something under his breath she can't quite make out, but nonetheless encourages her to go on.

He's hard now—fully erect in her mouth—and often, she'd pull away here, wanting him to finish later, in another way. But tonight, she continues. There won't be any interruptions and no one expects them up early—after all, for all the teasing about how this wasn't a real wedding, it was treated as such by everyone in the house. They'd be given the morning to themselves with the unspoken understanding of what transpired the night before.

Her hand moves faster now though, as it glides easily up and down his shaft, her tongue and lips focusing on the head of his cock, sucking and licking in a way she knows that he likes—and when she feels him shift his hips and let out a low groan as he unsuccessfully tries to pull back, she sinks down, once more taking him fully in her mouth as he comes.

Slowly, she pulls herself up, licking at her bottom lip as she peers up at him, slumped back in the chair and grinning down at her.

"Come 'ere," he murmurs, sounding almost drunk as he reaches for her. "I want to hold you."

She grins and moves to his lap, taking a breath as she leans her forehead against his, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her and the quick, drum-like beating of his heart as he comes back down from his high.

Eventually, her lips find his, and for awhile, they trade soft, lazy kisses. Their tongues slip and slide against each other and their hands explore one another. One of his hands sits on her hip, pressing gently against her skin as the other kneads a bit harder at her breast, every now and then rolling her nipple between his fingers. Her hands, in turn, slide up and down his bare chest, rubbing over his shoulders and at the line of hair at the base of his neck. There's no urgency in any of it. It's tender and relaxing, and truly, she would be more than content to stay just as they are for the entirety of the night.

But soon, she feels Robin's cock coming back to life. She reaches for it as they kiss, slowly cupping her hand around it and sliding it up and down the shaft, slowly but surely making him hard again—and then, when she breaks the kiss to look at him, he offers a sweet yet devilish little grin. His arm slips under her legs as he stands—a motion she fully anticipates, yet completely takes her by surprise—and he carries her over to their bed. He lays her down, then quickly removes his breeches before joining her.

She rolls onto her side, her foot finding its way over his calf as her hand slips over his cheek, coaxing him closer as they kiss—and then, as she feels herself moving in one direction, Robin seems to be going in the other.

"Oh. I… I forgot…" He rolls onto his back and reaches for the nightstand, then stops and looks over at her.

She knows exactly what he's looking for—he's looking for her little box of lemon sponges and tea leaves, and of course the caps he wears whenever they're intimate. "Where—"

She blinks and her lip catches between her teeth. The box was moved that morning while she was getting ready—and rather intentionally, she hadn't moved it back.

"I… I realize how out of character this may seem, given my previous insistence, and it's entirely possible that I'm just drunk on the moment, but—" she feels her cheek flushing—a ridiculous response given who she's talking to and what they're in the midst of doing, "—I want to feel you tonight."

"But—"

"Truthfully, the tea should be enough to... handle things."

"Handle things," he murmurs, a slow grin working its way onto his lips. "I don't mind going to—"

"I know you don't. But the caps are just an extra precaution, really, and—" Again, her cheeks warm as she pushes away the incredibly awkward conversation she'd had about this that morning. "I want to feel you inside of me. Just this one time. Just… just tonight."

He hesitates for only a moment, and then his lips come crashing back onto hers. She falls back against the pillows, her arms wrapping around him as they kiss—and then, as her legs open, he pulls back just enough to slowly push himself into her.

Her breath catches as his cock sinks inside of her, and a low moan pushes from her lungs as he fills her—and then, after giving her a moment to adjust, his hips begin to move. He rocks slowly in and out of her. At first, his thrusts are short—but her hips begin to move in rhythm with his and her fingers press firmly into his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, his thrusts becoming longer and harder.

She's barely aware of the sounds she's making—whimpery sighs and low moans—but they seem to encourage him. He pushes up one of her legs, giving himself more access to her and slightly changing the angle, allowing him to go deeper.

Her own hand travels down her abdomen, two of her fingers rubbing roughly at her clit as he pleasures her—and then, as she feels herself coming closer and closer to the edge, she lifts her hand away, wanting this feeling to last.

Robin grins coyly as he notices and pulls himself up a bit. She follows suit, sitting up with him still inside her, and though it takes her a second to find a way that's comfortable, she soon does and begins to rock her hips. It's slower than before but just as pleasurable. Robin's lips are sliding from her jaw to her neck and across her clavicle, then back again—and when she leans back, his lips finally find her breast. His tongue circles one nipple as his fingers roll the other.

Her whole body tingles as he touches her and though the slow rhythm is nice, it soon isn't enough.

She's never really been one to ask for what she wants in bed—it's been a slow progression for her, and sometimes it's still difficult for her. But Robin is patient and gentle and when he senses that there's something she wants or isn't saying, he asks—or, in this case, he takes a risk and tries something new.

Her breath catches and she gasps as he lays back, shifting her on top of him. It's not the most graceful of moves, but it does the trick—and as she looks down at him, she feels herself blushing. His eyes are soft and full of desire as he takes her in, looking at her bare skin as she slowly sinks back down onto him.

She feels her heart beginning to beat a little faster as she rocks her hips, and a little moan escapes her as her eyes close. She lifts her arms and her hips move a little faster as she uses his cock to pleasure herself. Her hands find their way into her hair and her head falls back.

And as her movements elicit a low oh, fuck from Robin, she moans and rocks harder before leaning back a little more. His hands find her hips to steady her as she fucks him. She gives her movements less thought, her desire taking over as his cock glides easily in and out of her—and finally as his cock hits upon that sweet spot inside of her, she feels her muscles beginning to clench around him.

He obviously feels it, too, as she continues to ride him, and she hears him practically growl his pleasure, encouraging her to keep going—and she does until she can't stand it any longer.

She falls forward and Robin's arms wrap around her, holding her and continuing to fuck her as she comes—and then, as her own orgasm is winding down, her muscles still constricting around his shaft, she feels him tensing inside of her—and then as their hazy eyes meet, she smiles, offering a little nod of consent before he explodes inside of her.

For a moment, they lay there together, both breathing heavily, completely spent.

A lazy but satisfied grin edges over her lips as she rolls off of him—and he grins back. He leans in and kisses her, and she kisses him back, once more allowing her hands to explore him. Her fingers trail over his chest and arms, over his shoulder blades and into his hair. As he pulls back, breaking the kiss, he grins again, his eyes shimmering coyly as he shifts himself toward her feet. A little giggle escapes her, but before she can say a thing, he leans in, burying his face between her legs. It's not long before another orgasm overtakes her—and as he crawls back up the bed to lay beside her, she finds it nearly impossible to keep her eyes open, falling asleep cuddled up against his chest.

The next morning, as expected, they're able to sleep in—but despite having the option, neither of them take it. They're up as early as they usually are, but instead of getting up and getting their day started as they usually would, they have a lazy day in bed, kissing and giggling together and pleasuring one another in various ways.

The morning ends with a long soak in the tub—and then, almost regretfully, they dress themselves for the day and head downstairs.

Hand-in-hand, they enter the dining room—and instead of finding a table full of guests as they anticipated, they find their fathers sitting with scones between them and Mrs. Beakley filling their coffee cups as her eyes roll. It's only then that Regina realizes just how late in the day it actually is.

"Well, well," Mrs. Beakley calls out, grinning as her brows arch. "Look who's finally decided to grace us all with their presence." The two old men stop and look to the doorway as the older woman's smile warms. "You've missed was breakfast, but I kept plates warm on the buffet."

"Oh, that wasn't necessary—"

"It's necessary," she cuts in, moving toward them and grabbing hold of Regina's hand. "I enjoy using food to make people happy, dear, just humor me even if you aren't hungry."

"I'm actually famished," she admits. "I could barely eat yesterday with that corset as tight as it was."

"Well then, sit! Eat! There's more in the kitchen!"

Robin chuckles softly and nods as they join their fathers at the table—and his eyes narrow when the two old men resume their conversation, nearly ignoring that anyone else is around.

"Don't mind them," Mrs. Beakley tells him. "They've been like that all morning."

"Curious," he murmurs in reply.

It's then that her father seems to take notice of them. "A little mystery and intrigue never hurt anyone."

Regina laughs. "Those somehow sound like infamous last words."

Richard sighs and shakes his head. "No use in building it up—"

Robin's brows arch. "Always the practical one."

"There's nothing wrong with practicality, and now that things are done, there's no use in dragging it out."

They all chuckle softly as Henry frowns. "Killjoy."

"You're in good company," Robin murmurs. "That's what he calls, Regina, too."

She grins at her father-in-law's response—he doesn't seem to know how to respond to the comparison drawn between them, shifting uncomfortably as he looks away.

Mrs. Beakley sets two plates down, and immediately, Regina breathes in the scent of cinnamon apple scones. Her stomach growls as she reaches for her fork—but Robin still sits back, his eyes narrowed.

"You two had your heads together last night, too," he says. "Should we be concerned?"

Their fathers respond in unison—her father giving a loud scoff as his father quietly rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, and then there's a pause as Richard shifts, reaching into his coat pocket.

"I, uh… well, we, I suppose… um… I've got a little something for you both."

"A wedding present," her father adds, beaming.

"A belated one—"

"It's not belated, Richard. They were married—"

"—a year ago." Henry's eyes roll as Richard hands Robin a little envelope. "It, um… it's not much."

Regina's brows arch as Robin takes the envelope, briefly catching her gazes before turning his attention to the envelope. She holds her breath as his finger slips beneath the flap, then as Robin peeks inside, he lets out a little gasp. "These are… tickets…?"

"Tickets?" she asks, her brow furrowing as she looks between their fathers. "What for?"

"They're steerage tickets," Richard says, his voice void of any excitement. "It, um… it was brought to my attention that, uh… the two of you never had a proper wedding trip."

"So, we figured now was the time to make up for that," Henry explains. "You set sail for Spain in March!"

Regina's brows arch as she reaches across the table and takes the envelope from Robin, pulling out the tickets and examining them—and sure enough, on the third day in March, they'd be departing, set to arrive two weeks later.

"This is too much. We can't—"

"Sure you can accept it," Richard cuts in, his voice firm. "It's...um…it's all set up for you, so if you don't go—"

"I've contacted a few of my cousins. You'll stay in Barcelona for a time, then when you're tired of that, you'll go up to Madrid, or wherever you choose. An old friend of your grandfather's has a son who runs a little inn near Valencia." He grins as he looks between them, brimming with excitement as if this were a trip he'd be accompanying them on. "Oh, and, of course, you could go the other way. Ceuta isn't far from Gibraltar—oh, what fun that'd be!"

"They'll find their own way, Henry," Richard murmurs as Mrs. Beakley's hand falls to her father's shoulder and she chuckles softly. "Um, you'll have a bit over a month there. We thought that'd be—"

"More than enough," Regina cuts in, looking between them with a sincere smile. "Thank you."

"Yes. I… I can't believe you did this."

"We wanted to get it to you yesterday, but the blasted tickets were late—" Richard's voice halts as Henry sighs, waving off his annoyance as if this were something that had already been rehashed between them. "But it's here now. That's what matters."

Taking a breath, she gets up and kisses her father's cheek—and then, she looks to Richard. "I suppose we aren't yet at a place where I could kiss you."

His eyes widen as his face goes red, and from the corner of her eye she can see Robin trying his damndest not to laugh.

"I, um… I could settle for a handshake," he says, sticking out a stiff hand—and when she takes hold of his, she grasps tightly, silently offering her thanks—and not just for the wedding gift, but also for his budding acceptance of her and her place in his family.

She returns to her seat and Richard makes an excuse of needing to leave to go and check on Delilah. It isn't long after that that her father follows Mrs. Beakley down to the kitchen to begin the preparations for the late luncheon that's planned for the day—and likely to give the (not so) newlyweds some time alone.

"I… thought he was going to explode," Robin admits as soon as they're alone.

"He's trying."

"And I very much appreciate that."

"I do, too," she murmurs, a slow grin working onto her lips.

"It's about damn time."

She nods—a year ago a gift from her father-in-law would have been completely unthinkable. "But… things take time," she murmurs, suddenly caught up in memories of moments throughout the last year, especially those regarding her father-in-law. A year ago, she thought him to be a cruel man, and she'd held that opinion for a long time. But now, looking back, she could easily see that it was never as one-dimensional as it felt. There was so much of his story she didn't know, layers she couldn't see—and like him, she'd been too caught up in her own pain to see his. When she'd arrived at Sherwood, she was broken—and as it turns out, so was he. Years of pain had festered, turning him into something that he wasn't.

A year ago, it'd been hard for her to think of herself as lucky, but now, it's impossible for her to think of herself in any other way, because unlike Richard, there were people around her to love her enough to save her from her own worst self.

"I think… in some ways, everything happens for a reason and when it's supposed to," she says, looking back to Robin. "Just look at us," she adds, though she's thinking more about Richard than them. "Our paths could've crossed so many times, and yet, they crossed when they did—when they were meant to."

"Yes," he replies easily, smiling gently and noting her seriousness. "I very much agree—it really is all about timing." He lifts his tea cup and hoists it up—and giggling softly, she does the same, gently clanking her cup against his. Still, she's not fully at a place of acceptance, but she's closer than she was, and she gets closer to it every day.

They finish their breakfast—and then, in spite of having had such a lax morning, they still find themselves curled up in the window seat of the bay window in the library anyway. Robin's back is propped against a pillow, and she rests against his chest. His arms are curled around her and she holds onto his hands, her knees bent and her skirt covering up his legs like a blanket. Their conversation flits back and forth from dreamy preparations and expectations for their upcoming trip to the more practical, realistic things they'll need to consider if they're to be away for so long.

Somewhere in the middle of that, she catches a glimpse of Richard walking out on the lawn with Delilah bouncing ahead of him—and then when she notices both Henry and Roland running toward the puppy, she sits up a little, paying closer attention as Richard hands Henry a stick, pointing just before Henry throws it. Delilah takes off running—flopping, really—and the boys laugh, and though they're at a distance, she can see Richard laughing, too.

"Well, I'll be damned," Robin murmurs, obviously watching just as she is.

"How sweet—"

"More like stunning—"

"Stop," she says, shushing him. "He's trying."

"And I'm glad for that. I'm still amazed, though."

She nods and leans back against Robin. "Grief does… strange things to us," she murmurs.

Leaning in, he kisses the top of her head. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They're both no stranger to the pain of losing someone you love. She often focuses on how Robin saved her from the darkness—but she rarely considers that she did the same for him. He'd been just as lost as her—barely living, just going through the motions—and though it manifested differently for him than it did for her, it was still there, and still painful. Had they not had each other, there was no telling where they'd be now or what might've happened to them—and she was glad neither of them would ever know the answers to that.

A smile pulls onto her lips as she watches Richard crouch down while Delilah proudly returns with her stick. She starts to bark excitedly as Richard offers the stick to Roland, and once more, the puppy happily runs to fetch it as soon as it leaves his hand. Her heart swells, and tears well in her eyes as she continues to watch them all play, and she feels a flicker of hope for what the future holds for all of them.

She smiles a bit wistfully to herself at the notion of the future, realizing that suddenly her past is no longer at the forefront of her thoughts. What had once been so imposing and heavy, what once threatened to ruin her, all seem so distant now, surreal even, as though it were all part of a bad dream she'd finally awoken from. A year ago, a morning like this one would have seemed so impossible—and now, there was something beautifully ordinary about it.

Leaning in, Robin presses a quick kiss to her hair, his fingers almost rubbing absently over her wrist as they watch their sons play on the lawn, and she finds herself filled with gratitude that good can come from broken.