She was a married woman. The courtship with Oscar had been short and abrupt, their engagement a surprise- coming after a long period of having not spoken to each other. Liadán could not believe the butterflies in her stomach. They'd been there all day, and no potion had been able to remove the unsettled feeling. It wasn't particularly bad, just... different. Liadán had not expected to genuinely care for her husband when she got married, and felt lucky and impossibly blessed to have found a man she could adore and respect. Proper breeding, good social standing, a man who did not mind the tarnishes on her reputation and name. Of course, now that her husband was a Wizengamot member, it meant flying the straight and narrow. But for Oscar, Liadán could do that. For Oscar, Liadán could do anything.

The wedding had been a small affair. Her closest friends, a handful of relatives from France, a few of Oscar's friends and colleagues, as well as the more important members of the Whitman clan. It was his second time down the aisle, a large wedding would not be appropriate. It was not quite how she had imagined it as a little girl, but it was perfect for their circumstances, and she felt beautiful. Her dress had been modest, the wedding band he slipped over her finger absolute perfection, and the ceremony had been simple. The reception had been a gay event, celebrating with close friends, and Liadán had to admit that she'd had one (or four) more glasses of wine than she should have. As the night came to a close and the last of their guests bid the farewell, Liadán found herself in Oscar's secure embrace as he apparated them back to his home in Kerry Cove.

Once her stance was secure, she leaned into him, smiling brightly, fluffing the skirts of her dress around her legs. "Never in a million years would I have imagined that I might one day become a Mrs. Whitman," she told him. Liadán liked the way it rolled off the tongue, was excited to be a wife- excited, but equally nervous, evidenced in the way her hands trembled , even as they were pressed against his middle. She looked up at him, then buried her face in his chest, inhaling deeply the scent that was her husband. Her husband. If only her mother and father were here to see this. They would be very proud of their little girl. But she need not let such thoughts spoil her evening. She would enjoy her wedding night and her honeymoon and worry about all of the rest later. There were lots of things to worry about now that she was married. Big and trivial things alike. But now she had a husband, a man in her life to help with those big decisions, and to ease some of her many burdens.

"You must call me Mrs. Whitman every day, Oscar my dear. I adore the sound of it!" Liadán scrunched up her nose and giggled at him, and pulled gently at his suspenders. "And you must tell me every day how beautiful I am and how much you adore me. And I will promise to tell you every day how handsome you are and how very lucky I am that you chose to take a chance on me. If we do that every day, our marriage will be a perfect one. Everyone will marvel at how in love the Whitmans are and be jealous of all that we have." Even in her happiness, Liadán could not change the fact that her small little world revolved so heavily around what others thought of her. "Perfect, perfect, perfect," she reiterated, lifting his hand to her mouth and kissing his palm.