He’s spent centuries hiding what he is.
Today, he doesn’t have to—I love him for whoandwhat he is.
“The couple has prepared their own vows,” the officiant says. “Julian?”
He takes a breath. Reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper—then sets it aside.
“I wrote something,” he says. “But I’m not going to read it.”
The guests murmur. My mother looks confused. I wait.
“Poppy.” He holds my hands tighter. “I lived for a long time believing I was cursed—that loving anyone would only lead to losing them.”
His voice catches. He pushes through.
“You proved me wrong. Not by being perfect, but by being real—being you. By seeing what I am and choosing to stay. By fighting for us when I was too afraid to fight for myself.” He lifts our joined hands, presses his lips to my knuckles. “I don’t know what the next chapter of my life holds, but I know I want to spend it with you.”
Tears stream down my face. So much for waterproof mascara.
“Your turn,” the officiant says.
I laugh through my tears. Try to find words.
“I had a speech, too,” I say. “It was clever. Lots of jokes about dating apps and fake boyfriends and how I never expected to end up here.”
Julian smiles. “You can still use it.”
“No. Because here’s the thing—” I take a breath. “You didn’t just change my life, Julian. You changed how I see the world. Showed me that love isn’t about control or safety or having everything figured out. It’s about choosing someone, every day. Even when it’s hard.”
I think about Damien. About the cliffs. About the choice Julian made and the weight he’ll carry.
“You chose me,” I say. “When you had every reason not to. When your whole history said it would end in tragedy. You chose me anyway.”
I lift our hands the way he did. Press my lips to his knuckles.
“So I choose you back. For as long as I have.”
The officiant is crying now, too. Half the guests are crying. Elena is not crying, but she’s doing something with her face that might pass for emotion.
“The rings,” the officiant manages.
We exchange them. Simple gold bands—his matches the one he’s worn on another finger for decades, a replacement for something he lost long ago. When I slide it onto his hand, I feel him tremble.
“By the power vested in me by the State of California,” the officiant says, “I now pronounce you partners for life. You may kiss—”
Julian doesn’t wait for her to finish.
He pulls me close and kisses me with such tenderness my knees nearly buckle. His hands tremble against my face, and I feel the weight of 257 years of loneliness dissolve between us. My heart pounds so hard I’m certain everyone can hear it—and Iknow plenty of our guests can. Tears well up, blurring my vision as I kiss him back, clinging to him like he might disappear if I let go.
And somewhere in the back of the chapel, through the cheers and the applause, I catch a glimpse of Nicholas Blackthorne watching Sage, his eyes holding the same desperate hunger I once saw in Julian’s.
But that’s another story.
THE END
(for now)
***
