Chapter Twenty-Four
Dot
The doorbell rings exactly at six.
Because of course it does. Camden has never once been late for anything in his life—except realizing that I was hopelessly in love with him.
He’s standing on the porch in a dark suit that fits him too well for me to form a coherent thought. The open collar shows the edge of his throat, and his tie hangs loose, like even his clothes have given up resisting him.
“Wow.”
“Likewise.”
His gaze sweeps from my hair to the hem of my dress before softening into a smile that steals the air from my lungs. “Ready?”
I nod, even though I’ve been ready since I woke up this morning and somehow feel completely unprepared. He opens the car door for me, and the faint scent of his cologne fills the quiet. I try to focus on the music instead, some mellow jazz station, but my pulse is louder.
We don’t talk much on the drive. His thumb brushes the back of my hand where it rests on the console, a small, steady pressure that grounds me.
After everything that’s happened, just sitting here beside him feels monumental.
I want to tell him I’m sorry again, that I’ll never take him for granted again—but the words knot up in my throat.
The car slows, and when I glance out the window, I freeze.
The valet stand glitters beneath the soft gold lights of Gemelli’s. My brain takes a full three seconds to process what I’m seeing. This is the Gemelli’s—Vegas royalty of restaurants. People get married faster than they get reservations here.
“Camden.” I turn toward him, wide-eyed. “How did you get us in? Did Dante pull strings? Or did you bribe someone? Please tell me you didn’t bribe someone.”
He smirks and adjusts his cufflinks. “I didn’t.”
I blink. “You didn’t?”
He shakes his head once. “Nope. I made the reservation three months ago.”
The world tilts. “Three months?”
“Give or take a few days.” He glances over, still calm, still infuriatingly sure. “I didn’t know what we’d be by now—friends, strangers, something in between—but I knew I’d want to celebrate something with you.”
Awareness flashes before my eyes. Three months ago, my entire world turned upside down. I was a wreck, orbiting grief and chaos, convinced no one would ever choose me. And the whole time, he was out here making space for a future I didn’t even believe existed.
He steps out and circles around to my side, offering his hand. “After you, Dot.”
When I take it, warmth hums through my chest. The hostess greets him like he belongs here—“Mr. Beck, right this way”—and I follow, half floating, half terrified I’ll trip and ruin the moment.
The dining room unfolds like a dream: crystal chandeliers, white linen, candles flickering in glass bowls that mirror the lights of the Strip through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Camden pulls out my chair, and when I sit, the view makes every nerve sing in celebration. “Cam,” I whisper. “This is… perfect.”
He smiles, all quiet confidence and slow gravity. “That was the idea.”
The waiter brings champagne before we even order. Camden thanks him like a man who knows his way around this kind of restaurant—confident but kind. I stare at the bubbles rising in my glass, terrified I’ll say something that ruins the spell.
“Are we celebrating something?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend.
He studies me over the rim of his glass. “We are. But you’ll have to be patient.”
Patience has never been my strong suit. Especially not when his eyes keep flicking to me the way they are now—like he’s memorizing me. I’ve seen that look before, but never with this much weight behind it.
The waiter returns with menus, and I pretend to read while sneaking glances at Camden.
His hair’s a little too long, curling just behind his ears.
His suit jacket stretches across his shoulders in a way that makes my heart tumble.
And that little line between his brows deepens every time he catches me watching him, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
When the waiter disappears again, Camden leans in, forearms on the table. “You look beautiful, Dot.”
I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “I’m pretty sure everyone in here looks beautiful. It’s, like, a prerequisite for getting through the door.”
He tilts his head. “No. You’re radiant. And you’d light up any room, even one as over-the-top as this.”
The compliment sinks into me slow and sweet. My instinct is to deflect, to joke, to make myself smaller. But I can’t do that with him. Not anymore.
Instead, I reach for my glass and whisper, “You’ve always seen me when I didn’t think anyone could.”
His lips curve upward. “That’s because you’ve always been worth seeing.”
Something swells in my chest—grief, love, disbelief. All of it at once. For so long, I thought I had to earn love. That I had to be easier, quieter, better. But sitting here, in this impossible restaurant, I realize Camden’s loved me through every messy version of myself.
We talk about everything and nothing after that. About Soot’s new obsession with stealing plastic tabs. About the dogs and how Bo refuses to sleep in her own bed now. About my dad’s recovery and how the tribute concert somehow made everything hurt and heal at the same time.
Cam listens to every word like it matters. Like I matter.
When the plates arrive, I’m not sure either of us is hungry anymore, but we eat anyway. He keeps sneaking bites of my pasta, and I let him. I even pretend to be annoyed just to see him smile.
Halfway through dessert, he clears his throat. “There’s one more thing I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
My fork stalls mid-air. “Okay?”
He shifts slightly, one hand reaching inside his jacket. “You remember how I said I made this reservation months ago?”
I nod, unsure where this is going.
His voice drops, low and steady. “That was the same day I realized I’d love you for the rest of my life. That it felt good to plan a future.”
For a second, I think I must have misheard him. The room feels too still, too golden. My blood turns to liquid heat.
“You—what?” I whisper.
Camden slides something small and black onto the table—a little box, perfectly square. The kind that makes every woman in a crowded restaurant suddenly forget their own name.
He doesn’t open it right away. Instead, he runs his thumb along the edge, looking at me the way he did at the lemonade stand when we were kids—like I hung the moon and he’s shocked I haven’t noticed.
“I booked this place months ago,” he says softly. “Before the accident. Before the hospital. Before we were even… us. I didn’t know if we’d still talk. I didn’t know if you’d ever see me that way.”
He smiles, small and sheepish. “But I knew that if I ever got lucky enough to sit across from you like this—if I ever got to make you laugh, or watch your eyes light up again—I’d want to do it somewhere worthy of you.”
My throat tightens. “Camden…”
He finally opens the box. The ring inside isn’t gaudy. A simple band, delicate but strong, with one perfect emerald-cut diamond that catches the light and tosses it back.
“I don’t need big crowds or grand gestures. I just need you.” His voice wavers slightly, and I realize he’s nervous—my calm, grounded Camden, trembling for once. “You once told me that everyone you’ve loved either left or broke you. I’m not leaving, Dot. Ever. You are my home.”
Every woman in that restaurant probably fell in love with him a little bit. Too bad—he’s already mine.
The tears I’ve been fighting all evening spill over. “God, you’re going to ruin my makeup.”
He laughs quietly, relief flickering in his eyes. “That a yes?”
“Let me think about it,” I tease, even though my voice breaks halfway through.
Camden pushes his chair back and kneels right there on the restaurant floor. There’s a collective gasp, the sound of champagne flutes clinking and whispers spreading. He doesn’t care. He’s not doing it for them.
“I love you, Dorothy Shaw,” he says, steady now. “Every version of you. The girl with the lemonade stand. The woman who saves stray dogs. The one who doesn’t know how incredible she is. I love all of you, and I always will. So… will you marry me?”
I’m crying too hard to speak. The room disappears—waiters, lights, everything.
I slide off my chair and kneel in front of him, face to face, the ring wedged between us. “I can’t believe you booked a table for a girl who didn’t even know she loved you yet.”
Cam grins through a shimmer of tears. “I had faith.”
My laugh breaks apart into a sob. “Then yes. A thousand times, yes.”
The room erupts in applause as he slips the ring onto my shaking hand. I don’t even notice the cheers or the camera flashes. It’s only Camden. The man who waited. The boy who always believed I was worth it.
He kisses me once, soft and certain, and whispers against my lips—
“Right on time.”
* * *
By the time we pull into the driveway of Camden’s condo, I’m staring at my left hand like it’s made of starlight. The ring winks back at me every time the streetlights pass, and it still doesn’t feel real.
When he kills the engine, I glance up. “So… we’re at my fiancé’s condo right now,” I say, testing the word. “Fiancé. Weird. Fancy. Feels like I should have an accent to say it properly.”
Camden smirks, stepping out and circling around to my door. “You could try a British one, but please don’t.”
He opens my door, and before I can move, he bends down and scoops me into his arms. Just lifts me clean off the ground.
“Cam!” I squeak. “What are you doing?”
He grins, eyes warm and mischievous. “Carrying my fiancée over the threshold.”
I blink at him. “We’re not married yet.”
“Practice makes perfect,” he says, completely deadpan, and starts walking toward the building like he’s been planning this moment all his life.
I smack his chest lightly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love that about me.”
I sigh dramatically against his shoulder. “Unfortunately, yes.”