Chapter 20 Claudette
Claudette
Michael had planned the Santorini trip for months, tracking my progress in physical therapy like he was monitoring stock prices. The second Maria cleared me for travel, he pulled up flight options on his laptop, trying to look casual while clearly vibrating with suppressed excitement.
“We don’t have to go immediately,” he’d said, hovering over the “book now” button. “If you need more time—”
“Book it.” I grabbed his hand before he could overthink it. “I want to see white buildings and blue water and eat food I can’t pronounce.”
He’d booked it before I finished the sentence.
Now I stood on a balcony overlooking the Aegean Sea, watching sunset turn everything gold, and couldn’t remember why I’d ever been afraid of anything.
The water stretched endless below our hotel, boats drifting like toys across the surface.
Behind me, Michael was on a call with his grandfather, his voice edged with exasperation.
Turned out his grandfather was incredibly interested, wanting to hear about our trips in full detail.
I took a photo, capturing the moment on his face before time could run away with it. Just because the light was beautiful on his face and I wanted to remember this exact moment.
My phone buzzed.
Pauline
How’s Greece? Send photos immediately. I need to live vicariously through your European vacation while I’m stuck in chasing stories.
Claudette
*selfie with the sunset with an absolutely smug smile*
She sent another text immediately, and I laughed reading it.
Pauline
I hate you. That’s gorgeous.
I pocketed my phone as Michael appeared beside me, call finished, shaking his head.
“What did he want this time?”
“To know if you’ve tried the honey cake from the specific bakery he circled on the map he made us.
” He wrapped his arms around me from behind.
“And whether we’ve taken a photo in front of the windmills yet.
“And if I’ve told you you’re beautiful at least three times today because—and I quote—‘a woman needs to hear these things, Michael, don’t be stingy with your words. ’”
“I love him.”
His chin rested on my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. “He also asked if I’m being romantic enough. Apparently he has concerns.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’m doing my best but I’ll accept notes.”
I turned in his arms, his hands settling at my waist. “For the record, you’re being very romantic. The windmill photo, the honey cake, telling me I’m beautiful—”
“I’ve only said it twice today. I’m behind schedule.”
“Better fix that.”
He leaned in close, his nose brushing mine. “You’re beautiful.”
“That’s three.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said again, kissing my forehead.
“Now you’re just showing off.”
“You’re beautiful.” He kissed my nose. “You’re beautiful.” My left cheek. “You’re beautiful.” My right.
“You’re—” I shut him up with a real kiss, laughing against his mouth. “Your grandfather has created a monster.”
“He’ll be thrilled to hear it.”
We’d been in Santorini for three days and I still wasn’t used to it.
The white buildings looked painted on, like someone had carved them from sugar and prayed the rain wouldn’t come.
Blue-domed churches appeared around every corner, each one more photogenic than the last. The narrow streets wound through villages in ways that made no logical sense, and we got lost at least twice a day.
I loved every second of it.
Michael found a tiny bookshop in Oia run by an elderly woman who spoke six languages and had opinions about all of them. He’d bought a battered collection of Greek philosophy that he insisted on reading to me each evening, despite not actually knowing Greek.
“That’s definitely not what Plato meant,” I said on our fourth evening, curled up on the balcony.
“How would you know? You don’t read Greek.”
“I don’t need to read Greek to know Plato wasn’t talking about really good souvlaki.”
He set down the book and pulled me onto his lap, the chair creaking under our combined weight.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” But his expression shifted into something softer. More serious. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“I know.” His hands found mine, fingers intertwining. “Claudette.”
The way he said my name made my stomach flutter. “Yeah?”
“I need to ask you something.”
My heart started beating faster. “Okay.”
He was quiet for a moment, then he spoke, “Vegas was real. You know that. Every word I said, every promise I made—I meant all of it.” He brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “But we were so scared that night. We were stealing time we didn’t think we had.”
“Michael—”
“Let me finish.” He took a breath. “I want to marry you again.”
The world went quiet in my ears.
“I want to stand somewhere beautiful with you and make promises we know we can keep. I want our families there.”
My eyes were burning. “You want to marry me again.”
“I want to marry you a hundred times. A thousand.” He cradled my face in his hands, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “But right now, I’m asking for just one more. On that beach house in California. I want to stand in that place and promise you the rest of my life.”
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
“So.” His forehead dropped to mine. “Claudette Ashford… will you marry me? Again?”
I kissed him like he was the answer to every question I’d ever asked. The sunset blazed behind us and somewhere in the village a church bell rang and none of it mattered because he was here and I was here and we’d made it.
Six months ago, I’d been relearning how to walk. A year ago, I’d been dying.
Now I was planning a future I never thought I’d have, with a man who’d refused to let me go.
Not a bad plot twist, all things considered.
The wedding was supposed to be small.
It was not small.
My mother invited everyone she’d ever met, my father kept adding colleagues “just in case,” and somehow the intimate beach ceremony I’d imagined had transformed into seventy-five people gathered on the sand watching me marry Michael for the second time.
I didn’t care.
I stood in the beach house bedroom where I’d spent those final weeks before surgery, looking at myself in the mirror, and couldn’t stop smiling.
The dress was simple—white, flowing, and blissfully free of complicated buttons.
My hair was down because Michael liked it that way. No veil because I’d never wanted one.
My mother appeared in the doorway and immediately burst into tears.
“Mom. You’re going to make me cry and ruin my makeup.”
“You’re so beautiful.” She crossed the room, tissue already in hand. “I almost lost you and now you’re getting married and I’m allowed to cry about it.”
“You’re allowed,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “But maybe cry a little quieter? I can hear you from outside.”
She laughed through the tears. “Your father’s worse. He’s been crying since we got here.”
“Where is he?”
“Outside rearranging chairs that are already perfect. He needs something to do with his hands or he’ll fall apart.”
I looked at her—at the woman who’d supported surgery even though the odds were terrible, who’d carried more than I’d ever know. “Thank you for everything. For all of it.”
“You don’t need to thank me. You’re my daughter. I’d do it infinite times.” She squeezed my hand. “But you’re welcome anyway.”
A knock at the door interrupted us. Jack appeared, looking uncomfortable in his suit, clearly sent to retrieve me.
“Everyone’s ready,” he said. “You good?”
“I’m great.”
“You sure? Because if you’ve changed your mind, I can create a distraction. Start a small fire. Nothing serious—just enough to clear the beach.”
“Jack.”
“I’m serious. Say the word and I’ll handle it.”
My mother smacked his arm. “Stop offering to commit arson at your sister’s wedding.”
I crossed to him and took his hand. “I’m marrying Michael. No fires necessary. But thank you for the offer.”
He studied my face like he was searching for doubt. Then nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
My parents flanked me as we walked toward the beach.
Through the house, out the back door, across the deck.
The ocean spread out before us, the afternoon sun turning everything gold.
White chairs filled with people I loved, all of them standing, all of them looking at me like this was a miracle instead of just a wedding.
Maybe it was both.
Michael stood at the front with the officiant, and the second I saw him, everything else disappeared. He wore a dark gray suit, no tie, top button undone because he’d never liked formality. His hair was slightly messy from the wind. His eyes locked on mine and didn’t look away.
I walked down the aisle between my parents, their hands steady on either side of me, and watched Michael transform, like he was seeing me for the first time.
When we reached the front, my father kissed my cheek. My mother squeezed my hand one more time. Then they stepped aside and Michael took their place, his hands finding mine, warm and solid and real.
“You look incredible,” he said.
“You look pretty good yourself.”
“I’m the luckiest man alive.”
“Correct assessment.”
The officiant cleared his throat gently. “Should we begin?”
Michael’s eyes never left mine. “Please.”
The ceremony was simple—traditional vows with a few modifications we’d written ourselves. Promises about choosing each other daily. About loving through hard things.
When Michael said “I do,” his voice broke. When I said it back, mine did too.
The rings were the same ones from Vegas. His grandmother’s ring that fit perfectly, his simple gold band.
We’d survived wearing these rings. It seemed wrong to replace them now.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said, grinning. “Again. You may kiss your bride—also again.”
Michael pulled me close and kissed me while everyone we loved cheered and the ocean crashed behind us and the world felt gentle in a way I’d forgotten was possible.
When we finally broke apart, I turned to see our families—my parents crying happy tears, Michael’s grandfather looking pleased like he’d been waiting for this day.
And there, in the back row, were Pauline and Jack.
They were close—too close for two people who supposedly couldn’t stand being in the same room. My eyes zeroed on Jack’s hand which rested on Pauline’s knee, and my mouth fell open. She was leaning into him, whispering something that made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
Then, like they’d forgotten they were at a wedding with witnesses, Jack turned his head and kissed her.
I made a sound. Possibly a squeak. Definitely something undignified.
Pauline pulled back first, her cheeks flushing when she realized I was staring. Jack just looked at me with that infuriating calm he’d perfected over years of being my impossible older brother.
“What—” I started. “When did they—”
“Claudette.” Michael’s hand found my elbow.
“Did you know about this?”
“Not today.”
“But they’re—look at them! They’re together and I have questions. I need details. All of them.”
“And you’ll get them.” Michael was already steering me toward the reception tent. “Tomorrow. Or next week. After we’ve had cake and champagne and you’ve thrown a bouquet at someone’s head.”
I glanced back. Pauline was smiling, flashing me a guilty look.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But I’m cornering her first thing tomorrow.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
The reception was chaos in the best way.
People talking over each other, the caterer we had hired pulling off miracles with seafood and wine.
Someone had set up speakers playing music I’d specifically requested—only slow dancing required because my balance still wasn’t perfect and I didn’t want to spend my wedding reception worrying about falling.
Augustus found me first, pulling me into a warm hug.
He handed me an envelope. “This is for you and Michael. Don’t open it until you’re on the plane.”
“What is it?”
“A wedding gift. Open it later.” He squeezed my hand. “You’re good for him. I’m glad that he’s found happiness with you.”
He walked away before I could thank him properly, probably exactly as he’d intended.
I found Michael surrounded by his business associates, talking about things that absolutely didn’t matter at his wedding.
“Excuse me,” I said, pushing through the circle. “I need to steal my husband.”
“We were just discussing—” one of them began.
“And now you’re done discussing.” I grabbed Michael’s hand. “He’s off the clock. Forever, actually. Talk to his assistant.”
Michael let me pull him away, grinning. “Sorry, my wife first.”
Wife. I would always love the sound of that.
The envelope from Augustus contained two first-class tickets to Bali.
Michael opened it on the plane and just stared at the tickets like they were written in code.
“He booked us a second honeymoon,” I said, reading over his shoulder.
“For three weeks.”
“He even picked the nicest resort. With private beaches and those little bungalows over the water.”
“This is very nice of him.”
“He’s a good man. He just hides it behind being cranky.” I kissed Michael’s cheek. “Your grandfather loves you. Accept it.”
I woke up the next morning to a photo of Hannah Pierce on the cover, looking elegant in a cream dress, diamond ring catching light, headline announcing her marriage to billionaire tech entrepreneur Garrett Monroe.
I studied the photo while Michael watched my face like he was worried about something.
“She looks happy,” I said finally.
“She does.” He repeated slowly, cautiously like he was trying to avoid anything that would get me upset. I almost laughed at it, didn’t he know that his love was so steady that I could never be insecure about it?
“Don’t look so tense.” I glanced at him. “Besides, Hannah was kind to me at the carnival and the mall. She could have been terrible and she wasn’t. I hope her marriage is everything she wants. You also mentioned how she encouraged you to find me, I’m definitely hoping she’s happy with her husband,”
“Yeah, me too. Just like I’m happy with my wife,”
“Cringe.” I wrinkled my nose and he chuckled.
He pulled me in and kissed me hard while dinner threatened to burn and the future spread out before us and the world kept turning like it always had.
We’d survived. We’d loved each other through dying and come out alive on the other side.
This was our ever after, and it was everything.
To be continued in Sealed