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At first glance, they all were pretty much the same. Just slightly different colors of paper, different fonts, different configurations of phrases.
I didn't notice anything off at first.
But then, for some reason, it jumped out at me.
"Wait..." I said, brows furrowing as I pulled one of the invitations closer, squinting at the names. "They have your name wrong," I told him, handing the envelope to him.
"N-No. It's r-right."
It was right?
My hand slapped down on the table, grabbing another invite, wondering if my eyes were tired, if I had been reading it wrong.
But nope.
It was right there.
Not Camden.
Cameron.
Cameron Deval.
I knew Deval was his last name, of course. Seeing as it was going to be my last name. I had thought to ask him that. You asked people their last names. You never thought to double-check on their first names.
Everyone called him Camden.
Cam.
He was Cam.
Except, he wasn't.
"Oh. My. God. I mean not to sound like Janice. But... Oh. My. God. I've been calling you the wrong name for almost three years? Why didn't you tell me? People tell their fianceés their real names."
"C-Cam is m-my n-name, b-babe. C-Cameron w-was a n-nine y-year old b-boy. M-Me, I'm C-Cam."
"Who picked a new name for you?" I asked, my head spinning for an entirely different reason.
"Liv," he explained. "I-It w-was w-where s-she m-met m-me."
Everything was falling into place. That made perfect sense. He'd saved her. Healed her. He'd stuck with her. And he didn't speak. But she wanted to be able to call him something. So she'd given him a name. He had just gone with it.
Then he became that person.
Cam.
"I've been calling you the wrong name in bed for almost three years," I mumbled, my cheeks heating up.
"B-Been m-meaning to c-change it for y-years n-now."
"Legally?" I asked.
To that, he gave me a nod.
"It's w-who I a-am."
So it was.
And so he did.
I married a man named Cam.
I had a son named Cameron.Annie - 5 yearsFive years.
That was how long it took.
For me to let down my guard.
For him to catch me without it.
The second I took a bite, I realized my mistake.
I wasn't sure I had ever had an actual, real-life spit take. But there was no denying that was what happened right that second.
It was supposed to be a chocolate.
It was a box of chocolates.
But the taste that flooded my mouth was undeniable.
Raw Brussels sprouts.
He'd gotten me.
And the look of pure joy across his face said he had been waiting for this moment, that he never forgot what I had said to him the first time we had met.
"I hate you," I told him, reaching for someone's abandoned drink on the bar top.
Soda.
Or so I thought.
Until soy sauce assaulted my tastebuds.
By the time I stopped gagging, West was grinning like an idiot.
"You love me and you know it."
"How does your woman put up with you?" I grumbled, wiping my tongue with a napkin.
"Because he knows I will chop off his cock if he touches my food," she replied. "Just for your personal reference, not only does he hate mayo, but he also has nightmares about pickles. And when you..."
Her voice trailed off as West ducked low, throwing her over his shoulder, slapping her on the butt, and declaring, "That's enough out of you," on their way out the door.
I was really, really happy that West found his person.
But I was also really, really dedicated to my plan for revenge.
I had to call up Maze for some tips...Camden - 10 years"You put that cookie down right now, young man," Annie's voice called. Not scolded. Annie never scolded. She just attempted to sound somewhat serious when she was trying to get a point across.
Cameron let out an exaggerated sigh, his whole body jolting with the disappointment.
"Don't pout. You had three already. And I am literally putting dinner in the oven right now."
But Cameron didn't want dinner.
Cameron inherited a lot from me.
He was often mistaken for three years older than his age because of his height, his wide shoulders. He had my dark hair. He had my seriousness.
And the kid had my sweet tooth.
Annie indulged it, spending her mornings baking something for him - and me - to have after he got home from school.
It turned out, she rivaled my grandmother in the baking department.
Cookies, brownies, pies, cakes, pastries, sweet breads. You name it, she made it.
Then she made Cameron go to the dentist three times a year for a cleaning. Just in case.
The girls, though, the girls were all Annie.
Blonde-haired, petite, slight, sweet, big-hearted, fucking angels.
It never ceased to amaze me at times.
To wonder what the hell I had ever done in my life to deserve not just one angel - Annie - but four of them.
I'd heard a lot about guys wanting sons, being afraid to have little girls.
That had never been a fear of mine.
