Chapter 25
The weeks leading up to the wedding moved both slowly and quickly at the same time.
Some days Camille felt as if time had stopped—every detail needing attention. Other days entire weeks disappeared in a blur of fittings, phone calls, and endless decisions.
Aaron, she had discovered, approached wedding planning the same way he approached directing a film.
Systematically.
He had spreadsheets.
Actual spreadsheets.
“You made a production schedule for our wedding?” Camille asked one evening, staring at the document on his laptop.
Aaron didn’t even look embarrassed.
“It’s a very efficient way to track logistics.”
“You scheduled the flower delivery down to the minute.”
“That’s how you prevent chaos.”
She leaned over his shoulder.
“You also color coded everything.”
“That’s for visual clarity.”
Camille shook her head.
“You are unbelievable.”
Aaron turned and kissed her cheek.
“And yet you’re marrying me.”
~*~*~*~
Two weeks before the wedding, Camille’s parents came to visit again. This time, they arrived separately.
Her father came first.
He looked different—less flamboyant than usual, dressed simply in a navy blazer and an open-collar shirt. There was none of his usual polish, none of the easy swagger. He stood in the doorway, almost uncertain.
“I won’t stay long,” he said.
Camille stepped aside. “Come in.”
They sat in the living room. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Carlo cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
Camille waited.
“About God.”
She remained quiet, giving him space.
“I don’t pretend to understand everything,” he continued slowly. “But I do know something.”
“What’s that?”
“That I haven’t lived the way I should have.” His voice was steady, but stripped of its usual charm. “I’ve wronged a lot of people. I’ve swindled them… taken what wasn’t mine.”
Camille felt her chest tighten, but she kept her expression gentle.
“That realization,” she said softly, “is where repentance begins.”
He nodded, his eyes dropping. “How do I even begin to undo something like that?”
She smiled, not dismissively, but with quiet assurance. “You begin by throwing yourself at the feet of Jesus and asking Him to save you. He will guide you from there.”
Carlo looked at her, listening now in a way he never had before.
“I was just reading about a man named Zacchaeus,” she continued. “He was a tax collector in Jesus’ time. He cheated people—took more than he should, grew rich off their suffering. Everyone knew it, but no one could stop him.”
Carlo’s gaze flickered, understanding.
“But when Jesus came into his life, everything changed. He saw his sin clearly for the first time—not just the weight of it, but the mercy offered to him. And out of that, he chose to make things right. He repaid those he had wronged—four times what he had taken.”
Silence settled between them.
Carlo nodded slowly. “Thank you… for that.” He paused. “It gives me something to think about.”
Camille gave a small nod. “I’ll be praying for you.”
He didn’t respond right away—but something in his expression had shifted.
~*~*~*~
Later that afternoon, her mother arrived.
Rita swept into the house with her usual dramatic flair—but even that felt softened somehow, as though the edges had been rounded.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she admitted, almost immediately.
Camille raised a brow. “About what?”
“The gospel.”
Rita sat down carefully, smoothing her skirt—an uncharacteristically restrained gesture.
“I’ve spent my whole life managing things,” she said. “Fixing problems. Controlling outcomes.”
She exhaled slowly.
“But what you described… surrendering to God…” She shook her head slightly. “That’s not something I know how to do.”
Camille reached across and took her hand.
“It starts with humility,” she said gently. “And confession. Just coming honestly before Him.”
Rita swallowed, her composure slipping just a fraction. She nodded.
“I think… I need to do that.”
Camille squeezed her hand, her heart full—not with certainty of what would come next, but with hope.