15. Camille
— ? —
Camille
We get married at sunset.
The beach is two hours from the city, a private stretch of sand Nathan found through a friend of a friend, isolated enough that we can do this without an audience.
The ceremony is small. Just a handful of people.
Maya as my maid of honor, crying into a tissue she brought specifically for that purpose.
Nathan’s closest friends from the hospital, including Dr. Morrison, who insisted on coming and gives a toast that makes everyone laugh and cry in equal measure.
A local officiant who tears up during our vows.
No Delmont family drama. No high-society spectators. No parents demanding unity or sisters stealing attention.
Just two people who found each other in the wreckage and chose to build something new.
***
The dress is ivory silk. Simple. Floor-length. Nothing like the elaborate gown from my first wedding, all those beads and crystals and layers that Jared’s mother picked out because she knew better than me what a Harrison bride should look like.
This dress I chose for myself. And when I see my reflection in the mirror, I don’t see someone performing a role. I see me.
Maya stands behind me, fussing with my hair.
“You look happy,” she says softly.
“I am happy.” The words feel strange in my mouth, foreign after so long. “Is that weird? After everything?”
“It’s not weird. It’s earned.” She meets my eyes in the mirror. “You survived something that would have destroyed most people. You didn’t just survive - you thrived. You rebuilt your career. You found real love. You’re allowed to be happy, Camille. More than allowed. You deserve it.”
The tears come before I can stop them.
“Don’t you dare.” Maya grabs a tissue. “I spent forty-five minutes on your makeup. You are not ruining it ten minutes before you walk down the aisle.”
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you too.” She dabs carefully at my eyes. “Now go marry that ridiculously hot doctor before I change my mind and steal him for myself.”
***
Nathan is waiting at the water’s edge.
He’s wearing a suit he already owned, charcoal gray, well-fitted, nothing new or extravagant. His only concession to the occasion is a tie I picked out, deep blue silk that matches the ocean behind him.
When he sees me coming down the beach, his whole face transforms.
I’ve been looked at by a lot of men in my life. Appraising looks. Dismissive looks. Possessive looks that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with ownership.
Nathan looks at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life.
I reach him. Take his hands.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi.” His voice is rough. “You look-”
“So do you.”
The officiant clears her throat. “Shall we begin?”
***
We wrote our own vows.
Nathan goes first, and his hands tremble slightly in mine as he speaks.
“Camille. I spent years watching you love someone who didn’t deserve you. I told myself it wasn’t my place to want you. That the right thing to do was stay quiet, stay distant, stay in my lane.”
He shakes his head.
“I was wrong. Not about staying away while you were married - I don’t regret that.
But I was wrong to think that wanting you was shameful.
That loving you from a distance was noble.
The truth is, it was just painful. And when you finally became free - when I finally got to tell you how I felt - it was the best day of my life. ”
His thumbs trace circles on my hands.
“I vow to protect your heart like it’s my own. To never make you feel small, or invisible, or like an afterthought. You are my first thought when I wake up. My last thought before I sleep. My every thought in between.”
He takes a breath.
“I vow to make the worst coffee in the city every morning and watch terrible reality TV with you every night. To argue about blanket distribution and toilet paper rolls and all the stupid little things that somehow make a life. To be your safe place, your partner, your home. For as long as I live. For as long as you’ll have me. ”
I’m crying. I don’t care.
“Nathan.” I squeeze his hands, centering myself. “A year ago, I thought my life was over. I thought I’d never trust anyone again. I thought that love was just another word for trap - a pretty cage that would shrink smaller and smaller until I disappeared completely.”
I look into his eyes.
“Then you showed up. Not with grand gestures or empty promises. Just with bad coffee and takeout and the willingness to sit with me in the dark. You never tried to fix me. You never acted like I was broken. You just... saw me. The real me. And you stayed anyway.”
My voice catches.
“You showed me what real love looks like. Not flashy. Not performative. Not conditional. Just showing up. Every single day. Choosing me when I couldn’t choose myself.”
I take a breath.
“I vow to be your partner in everything. To fight for us, even when it’s hard. To love you louder than my fear and longer than my doubt. To build a life with you that’s worth living - not a life that looks good from the outside, but one that feels good from the inside. With you. Only you. Forever.”
The officiant says something about rings. We exchange them. She pronounces us husband and wife.
And then Nathan is kissing me, and our guests are cheering, and the sun is setting over the ocean in streaks of gold and pink and orange.
And I am happy.
For the first time in years, I am genuinely, deeply, completely happy.
***
The wedding night is everything it should be.
We rent a tiny cottage right on the beach, just for us, just for tonight. Candles everywhere. Champagne chilling in a bucket. The sound of waves outside the window like nature’s own soundtrack.
Nathan carries me over the threshold like a cliché, both of us laughing.
“Hello, Mrs. Cole,” he murmurs, setting me down.
“Hello, husband.” The word feels new in my mouth. Exciting. Full of promise.
“I like the way that sounds.”
“So do I.”
He kisses me then, slow and deep, nothing like the urgent couplings of our early days. This is different. This is a man with all the time in the world, claiming his wife.
We don’t rush. We can’t rush. Not tonight.
He undresses me slowly, reverently, like unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting years for. Each button of my dress reveals more skin, and he follows with his mouth, pressing kisses to every inch he uncovers.
“I love you,” he says against my shoulder.
“I love you,” he says against my collarbone.
“I love you,” he says against the swell of my breast.
“I love you,” he says against my stomach, my hip, my thigh.
By the time I’m fully bare, I’m trembling with want and something deeper. Something that feels like worship returned.
“Nathan-”
“I know.” He rises, shedding his own clothes, and then he’s covering me, skin to skin, his weight a delicious pressure. “I know what you need.”
He enters me slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, watching every flicker of emotion cross my face. The stretch is exquisite, familiar now, but no less overwhelming. When he’s fully seated, we both hold still, breathing together, adjusting to the reality of this moment.
Husband and wife. Joined in every way.
“Move,” I whisper.
He does.
This time is different from all the others. Less frantic. More profound. Each stroke is deliberate, intentional, like he’s memorizing the way we fit together. His mouth finds mine, and the kiss matches his rhythm, slow, deep, consuming.
The orgasm builds gradually, a wave gathering strength far out at sea. When it finally breaks, I shatter quietly, clinging to him, his name a prayer on my lips. He follows moments later, his face buried in my neck, my name a groan he seems to pull from his very soul.
After, we stay tangled together, neither willing to break the connection.
“No regrets?” I ask, echoing a question from months ago.
“Not a single one.” He gathers me against him, his mouth warm against my hair. “You?”
“None. Not ever.” I trace patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow beneath my palm. “I love you, Nathan Cole.”
“I love you too, Camille Cole.” He grins in the darkness. “God, I love saying that.”