JULIEN
The tie chokes me worse than any zombie ever could. I yank at it, cursing under my breath as Cameron slaps my hand away.
It’s been eleven months of building this cottage into a home.
Living, laughing, and surviving.
And now I’m standing on the balcony, waiting to marry the woman I never thought I’d have.
“Stop fidgeting.” Cameron readjusts the strip of fabric around my neck. “You nervous?”
“No.”
“Liar.” Cameron grins, adjusting his own tie.
We’re all wearing the cleanest clothes we could find—button-downs that almost fit, pants without holes. Nothing fancy. Nothing that screams wedding. But that’s not what this is about.
I wouldn’t have believed this moment possible. Marriage wasn’t on my radar. Never had been. The life I led didn’t leave room for soft things like wedding vows and forever promises.
And Dakota?
She was supposed to be a complication. A duty. My brother’s fiancée. Ex-fiancée.
Now I can’t imagine my life any other way.
Can’t imagine waking up without her curled against my chest. Can’t imagine a future that doesn’t include her singing, or the way she touches her wrist when she’s nervous, or how she looks at me like I’m a reason to live for.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Cole comes through the balcony door. “The chickens got out again.”
I roll my eyes as he strides over, brushing chicken feathers off his sleeve. “You have one job today. One.”
“Those little bastards are smarter than they look.” He slaps my shoulder. “You look like shit.”
“Fuck off.”
“What he means,” Cameron says, “is he didn’t sleep.”
Cole’s eyebrows shoot up. “Pre-wedding jitters or zombies?”
“Neither.” I scan our surroundings. We haven’t had any major problems yet, but you never know.
“Anyway, your bride’s almost ready.” Cole comes to stand beside us. “Rosa’s making final adjustments. Sienna’s trying not to cry. Ari’s documenting everything for posterity, whatever that means now.”
“How does Dakota look?” I ask.
“Like she’s about to marry your dumb ass.” His mouth quirks. “Beautiful. Terrified. Happy.”
“She shouldn’t be terrified.”
“Neither should you, but here we are. I mean, given your history with weddings…” He produces a flask from his jacket, unscrewing the cap. “Liquid courage?”
“It’s not even noon.”
“It’s the apocalypse. Time is meaningless.” He takes a swig, offering it to Cameron and me, both of us waving him off. “Never thought I’d see this day.” He recaps the flask, tucking it away. “You, getting married. Zombie apocalypse seemed more likely.”
“Funny.”
“I’m serious. You spent years convinced you didn’t deserve this. That caring about someone meant putting them in danger.”
“I was right.”
“Were you?” His eyes sharpen. “Dakota survived. You both did. Together.”
Like it’s that simple.
Except maybe it is.
“We should get into position,” Cameron says. “Rosa’s giving me the look through the window.”
I follow his gaze. Sure enough, Rosa stands inside, tapping her wrist with exaggerated impatience.
Around us, the balcony has been transformed. Chairs arranged in rows—mismatched, scavenged from different rooms, but lined up with care, even if most of them remain empty. Wildflowers in mason jars mark the aisle. And an arch made from branches and vines is where I’ll stand.
Where Dakota will meet me.
Cameron takes his position under the arch, a book in his hands. Not a Bible. We don’t have one of those. Dakota, understandably, banned all of them, as the mere mention of them still makes her flinch. Instead, it’s some collection of poetry Sienna found in a library.
I move to stand before my brother, Cole falling in next to me. My hands find my pockets, fingers brushing the ring again.
“You wrote vows?” Cole asks quietly.
“Something like that.”
“Something like that isn’t very reassuring.”
“I’ll figure it out when I see her.”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be concern. Hard to tell with him.
The balcony door opens.
Arianna emerges first, followed by Sienna. Both are wearing a simple blue dress, probably from the same supply run where we discovered the rings. They both take their place on the other side of the arch.
Then Rosa appears in the doorway.
And beside her, Dakota.
Everything else falls away.
She’s wearing white. Actual white, somehow, in a world where everything’s stained and torn.
The dress fits her perfectly, flowing to her feet, sleeves capping her shoulders.
Her hair falls loose down her back, a few small flowers woven through the dark strands.
No makeup. No jewelry except the small pearl studs from Rosa, which she always wears.
She doesn’t need any of it.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Just like the purple flower she found the day I knew I was done for.
They begin the walk down the makeshift aisle.
Dakota’s eyes find mine.
She smiles.
The real one. The one that transforms her entire face, lighting her up from the inside.
I force air through my lungs, focusing on breathing.
They reach the arch, and Rosa releases Dakota’s arm, pressing a kiss to her cheek before leaning up to kiss mine too.
“You take care of her,” she whispers.
“With my life,” I promise.
“Good boy.” She pats my face, then shuffles to her seat, dabbing at her eyes.
Dakota steps up beside me. This close, I see the slight tremor in her hands and the way her breath comes a little too fast. Nervous. But not scared. Not running or disappearing.
Staying.
Cameron clears his throat. “We’re gathered here today because the world ended and we didn’t, and that seems like something worth celebrating.”
Scattered laughter ripples through our small group.
“Marriage has always been about choosing someone,” he says. “Choosing to build a life together, even when, especially when, everything’s uncertain. And if that doesn’t describe our current situation, I don’t know what does.”
Dakota’s hand finds mine. I lace our fingers together, thumb brushing across her knuckles.
“Julien and Dakota have been through hell.” Cameron’s eyes meet mine, then shift to her. “Separately and together. They’ve fought zombies, survived losses, and made impossible choices. And through all of it, they chose each other.”
We kept choosing this. Choosing us.
“So today, we’re making it official.” Cameron sets the book aside. “Julien, you want to go first?”
Public speaking has never bothered me. But this? Standing here trying to put into words what Dakota means to me?
That’s terrifying.
I turn to face her fully, both her hands in mine now. “I’m not good at this.”
“Eloquent,” Cole mutters behind me.
Dakota squeezes my hands. “You’re doing well.”
“I haven’t started yet.”
“Exactly.” Her mouth twitches. “Low bar.”
Sienna snorts behind her.
I take a breath. “You were supposed to marry my brother. I was supposed to walk away. Keep my distance.”
Her thumb traces circles on my wrist.
“But I couldn’t,” I say. “I can’t promise you safety.
Can’t promise tomorrow, or next week, or any of the shit people used to promise at weddings.
” I force myself to meet her eyes. “But I can promise I’ll fight like hell to keep us alive.
Both of us. I’ll choose you every time. I’ll watch your back, and you’ll watch mine.
I can promise that I love you. More than I thought I was capable of loving anyone. ”
Her eyes glisten.
“And when you disappear into your head, I’ll pull you back.” I bring her knuckles to my lips. “Every time. For as long as we’ve got.”
She blinks rapidly, a single tear escaping to track down her cheek. I release one hand to brush it away with my thumb.
“Your turn,” I whisper.
She nods, taking a shaky breath before speaking.
“I spent my whole life being what everyone else needed me to be. Then you showed up.” She squeezes my hands tighter.
“You made me feel like wanting things wasn’t selfish.
Like taking up space wasn’t a crime. Like I deserved to be someone’s first choice. ”
My chest aches. Good pain. The kind that comes from something expanding instead of breaking.
“I can’t promise I won’t disappear sometimes.
” Her voice drops lower, more intimate, like we’re the only two people here.
“Can’t promise I’ll always be brave or that I won’t still struggle with choosing myself.
But I promise I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep showing up, keep choosing you, keep fighting for this life we’re building together because you’re my home. And I never had that before.”
My throat’s too tight to speak. To hell with protocol or ceremony structure. I need to touch her. I bring her closer, resting my forehead against hers.
“Rings,” Cameron prompts gently.
I fish the band from my pocket, holding it up. The gold catches sunlight, warm and solid. Sienna hands Dakota a matching one.
“Repeat after me,” Cameron says. “With this ring—”
“With this ring,” I echo.
“I thee wed.”
“I thee wed.” I slide the band onto her finger, the fit perfect, like it was made for her.
She repeats the words, voice clear and certain, sliding the matching ring onto my finger. It’s heavier than I expected. Foreign. But right.
“By the power vested in me by absolutely nobody—” Cameron grins. “—I now pronounce you husband and wife. Julien, kiss your bride before I have to watch Abuela cry more.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I cup my wife’s face, thumbs brushing her cheeks, and kiss her. Not gentle. Not tentative. Deep and claiming and full of every promise I just made. She melts against me, hands fisting in my shirt, kissing me back with equal intensity.
“Save some for the honeymoon,” Cameron says.
Dakota buries her burning face against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, never wanting to let go.
Cole approaches first, clapping me on the shoulder. “Congratulations. Try not to screw it up.”
“Helpful advice.”
Arianna kisses Dakota’s cheek, murmuring something I don’t catch that makes Dakota smile. Then Rosa’s there, wrapping us both in a hug.
“My beautiful grandchildren.” She pats our faces with both hands. “Finally.”
“We’re not technically—” I start.
“Hush. You are now.” She beams up at us. “I expect great-grandbabies within the year.”
Dakota makes a strangled sound. “Rosa!”
“What? I’m old. I don’t have time to wait around.” She shuffles back to her seat, still smiling.
Sienna bounces up next, throwing her arms around Dakota with enough force to stagger them both. “You’re stuck with him now. No returns, no exchanges.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“And you—” Sienna points at me. “Hurt her, and I’ll castrate you with a rusty knife.”
“Noted.”
Cameron’s hug is briefer, more composed, but no less genuine. “Happy for you, man. Both of you.”
I lower my voice so only he can hear. “Thanks for stepping up. For all of it.”
“Someone had to keep you from being a complete disaster.” He claps my back. “That’s what brothers do.”
The afternoon dissolves into an improvised, imperfect celebration, but it’s ours.
Rosa produces a bottle of wine she’s been hoarding. Cole vanishes into the cottage and returns with actual bread, cheese, and fruit from our latest supply run. Arianna even made a cake. We eat and drink and pretend, for a few hours, that the world outside our fences doesn’t exist.
But eventually, the sun begins to sink, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and the group slowly disperses.
Dakota and I stand alone under the arch, my arms wrapped around her from behind, her back against my chest, swaying in a slow dance.
“We’re married,” she says.
“We are.”
“That’s insane.”
“Completely.”
She turns in my arms, tilting her face up to mine. “No regrets?”
“Not one.” I kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips. “You?”
“Just one.”
I freeze. “What?”
“That we didn’t do this sooner.” She shrugs. “Now I’ve wasted months not being able to say ‘my husband.’”
Relief floods through me. “Say it now.”
“My husband.” She tests the words, rolling them around like hard candy. “My husband, Julien Mora.”
“My wife.” I like how it sounds. How it feels in my mouth. “Dakota Mora.”
“Oh god.” She hides her face in my chest. “That’s my name now.”
“Having second thoughts?”
“I like it.” She pulls back, eyes bright. “Take me inside.”
I scoop her up, one arm under her knees, and she yelps, grabbing my neck for balance.
“Carrying my wife over the threshold.” I head toward the cottage. “Isn’t that traditional?”
“It’s perfect.”
I kick the cottage door open, carrying her through. “My wife.”
She squirms in my arms. “Stop saying it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like—” She waves a hand vaguely. “With that tone.”
“What tone?” I know exactly what tone. The one that makes her breath catch.
“That smug, self-satisfied, I-got-what-I-wanted tone.”
“I did get what I wanted.” I shoulder our bedroom door open. “You. Married to me. In my bed every night.”
“Our bed.”
“Say that again.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “Our bed.”
“Mm. Like hearing you claim things.” I set her on her feet beside the bed, hands finding her waist. “What else is ours?”
She tilts her head, considering. “This room.”
“Getting warmer.”
“The future?” Her voice drops. “Whatever’s left of it.”
“Yeah. That’s ours.”
“No matter what happens.”
“No matter what.” I trace the line of her jaw.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not planning for disaster. Not calculating odds or preparing for worst-case scenarios.
I’m just living.
With her.
My wife.
Forever.
Thank you so much for following Dakota and Julien on this journey.