Chapter 10 - The Real Vows
The cottage sat on a high dune overlooking the Atlantic near Cape Hatteras.
The wind off the water was sharp and clean, carrying the salty tang of the open ocean. Below us, the waves rolled onto the deserted sand in long, rhythmic lines of white foam.
There was no marquee tent. No cheap champagne. No string quartet playing slow, mournful songs.
Standing on the wooden deck of the cottage were six people.
Hayes was there, wearing a wrinkled linen shirt and khakis, holding an acoustic guitar he barely knew how to play. Vance was standing near the outdoor grill, laughing with his wife as they uncorked a bottle of vintage Napa cabernet that Colonel Bennett had secretly sent along with a handwritten note of congratulations.
And standing in front of me was Spencer.
He wore a simple white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the wind tossing his dark hair. There was no military posture now, no coiled violence waiting to spring. Just the man who had stood between me and the blast radius when my whole world had caught fire.
An elderly civilian magistrate from the local village stood between us, his Bible resting open on the deck railing.
"Do you have the rings?" the magistrate asked, his voice soft against the roar of the surf.
Hayes stepped forward, grinning, and handed Spencer a small wooden box. Not matte white paper with black marker. Just simple, polished cedar.
Spencer took my left hand. His fingers were calloused, strong, and warm.
"Marilyn," he said, looking straight into my eyes. "You spent your life building defenses because the people who were supposed to protect you left the gates wide open. You don't have to stand guard anymore. Your perimeter is secure. I’m your anchor, your shelter, and your home. For as long as we both live."
My eyes welled with tears, but for the first time in memory, they weren't tears of grief or exhaustion. They were tears of pure, unadulterated peace.
I slid the gold band onto his finger.
"Spencer," I said, my voice steady, ringing out over the wind. "You saw the battle lines I was fighting, and you didn't ask me to surrender. You stood beside me in the mud and helped me win the war. I don't need a fortress anymore, because my home is wherever you are."
"By the power vested in me by the State of North Carolina," the magistrate said with a broad, genuine smile, "I pronounce you husband and wife. Son, kiss your bride."
Spencer didn't hesitate. He pulled me into his arms, lifting me clean off the weathered boards of the deck, his mouth finding mine as the wind whipped around us.
Hayes hit a loud, triumphant, slightly out-of-tune chord on the guitar. Vance let out a booming cheer, popping the cork on the wine, spraying foam across the rail as everyone laughed.
Spencer set me down, but he didn't let go of my waist. He rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my cheek.
"How does it feel, Mrs. Bennett?" he murmured.
May you like
I looked out over the railing, past the dunes, past the breaking surf, toward the endless horizon where the blue water met the pale, cloudless sky. No loose ends. No debts. No shadows waiting in the wings.
"It feels," I whispered, wrapping my arms tight around his neck, "like we finally made it home."