That's enough.
15
FALLON
The ocean brought us together. We're keeping each other.
Six months of wedding planning taught me that Holden approaches marriage the same way he approaches missions—with precision, organization, and an unexpected romantic streak he tries to hide behind practical concerns. He wants the ceremony in the morning on our beach. He wants his team there. He wants vows we write ourselves instead of repeating standard words that don't capture what we've built.
I want all of that too, which makes planning easier than it has any right to be.
Between dress fittings and catering decisions, my research paper publishes in the Journal of Coastal Defense. "Integrated Vulnerability Assessment: Protecting Military Installations Through Environmental Analysis" carries my name and the seal of classified clearance. Academic recognition for work that nearly got me killed. The protocols I developed are being implemented at bases nationwide.
Commander Hartwell calls personally the day the paper goes live. "Your work has changed how we approach coastal defense, Dr. McKay. You should be proud."
"Soon to be Dr. Lange," I correct, absurdly pleased by how the name sounds.
"Congratulations on both fronts." Her voice warms slightly. "Commander Lange is lucky to have you."
"I'm the lucky one."
"I think you're both right." Hartwell pauses, and I hear papers shuffling in the background. "Enjoy the wedding. You've earned the celebration. But we'll need to brief you both after the honeymoon. The network Rexford sold to is still active. We've identified concerning patterns at Norfolk, Pendleton, Lewis-McChord. This is bigger than Tidewater, and we need both your expertise moving forward."
The reminder settles over me like a familiar weight. Danger doesn't stop for weddings or happiness or the life we're trying to build. But knowing we'll face it as partners makes the fear something I can carry.
"We'll be there," I tell her.
"I know you will." She disconnects, leaving me staring at my phone and thinking about classified briefings and active threats and the reality that marrying a SEAL means this never really ends.
Holden finds me in the kitchen an hour later, still holding my phone, lost in thought. He doesn't ask what's wrong. Just pulls me against his chest, arms wrapping around me, heartbeat steady under my ear.
"Hartwell called," I say eventually.
"Figured." His hand strokes down my back, soothing without words. "We'll handle it. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it after we get back from Belize."
"Belize?"
"Honeymoon. I booked diving trips at that reef you've been talking about for months. Thought you might want to combine work and pleasure."
Love swells so sharp it almost hurts. He listens. Remembers. Plans around my passions instead of expecting me to set them aside for his.
"You're annoyingly perfect sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" He grins, dropping a kiss on my head. "I'm losing my touch."
The wedding morning arrives with clear skies and gentle wind. I stand in the cottage bedroom watching the sun climb, trying to settle the nerves that have nothing to do with doubt and everything to do with the magnitude of what we're doing. Marriage. Forever. Building something permanent with someone who could die on any mission, who lives with danger as a constant companion.
My mother's face appears on the tablet I've propped on the dresser, smile bright despite the distance. Dad's health has been declining—his heart can't handle the cross-country travel from Oregon—but they insisted on being part of the morning in whatever way they could.
"Oh, honey. You look beautiful."
"Thanks, Mom." The dress flows around me, white silk that moves like water, straps that won't dig into my shoulders during the ceremony. Practical but elegant. Me, just elevated. "Wish you could be here in person."
"We do too, baby. The doctors won't clear him for travel, and I'm not leaving him." Her smile wavers slightly. "We're there in spirit though. And your father wants you to know he approves. Says any man who looks at you the way Holden does is worth keeping."
That almost breaks me. Dad, who barely speaks about emotions, giving his blessing based on observation rather than conversation. "Tell him I love him. Tell him I'm happy."
"He knows, baby. We both know."
