Page 94 of Dirty Angel

Father Judson cleared his throat gently, bringing us back to the ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of Charles Michael Garrity and Eamon Patrick O’Rourke in holy matrimony…”

The words washed over me like a blessing. This was really happening. After everything we’d been through, all the secrets and danger and impossible revelations, we werehere. Together. Making promises in front of El and our community that would bind us for whatever time we were given.

When it came time for our personal vows, Eamon spoke first, his voice clear and strong despite the tears shining in his green eyes. “My love, six months ago, I thought I knew what my purpose was. I thought I understood my place in the world. Then I met you, and everything changed. You taught me what it means to truly live, not just exist. You showed me that the most profound miracles happen in quiet moments—in shared meals and lazy Sunday mornings and the simple act of choosing to love someone completely.”

He paused, swallowing hard, and I squeezed his hands encouragingly. “I promise to love you for all our mortal days. To build a life with you filled with laughter and fresh bread and terrible morning hair. I promise to dance with you in our kitchen and help you perfect new recipes and grow old beside you with gratitude for every moment we’re given. You are my home, Charles. You are my heart. And I choose you, today and every day for the rest of my life.”

By the time he finished, I was openly crying, not caring that the entire congregation could see. When it was my turn, I somehow managed to find my voice despite the emotion clogging my throat. “Eamon, I fell in love with you before I knew who you really were. I loved your strength and your protectiveness and the way you made me feel safe in a world that had become dangerous. But knowing the true you has only made me love you more.”

I couldn’t say more, but he knew what I meant. And so did El or whoever was listening. “I promise to love every version of you, past, present, and future. I promise to create a home where you can belong completely, where we canbuild snowmen and dance in the kitchen and grow old together.”

Father Judson pronounced us married with obvious joy in his voice, and when he said, “You may kiss your husband,” Eamon cupped my face in his hands and kissed me with a tenderness that spoke of promises kept and dreams fulfilled.

The church erupted in applause and cheers, but all I could hear was Eamon’s whispered “I love you” against my lips.

We turned to face our community as husbands, hands clasped tightly, both of us grinning through tears. I looked out at all the faces beaming back at us—Mom and Suze crying openly, Dad wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, Solstice whooping loud enough to wake the dead—and felt overwhelmed by the love surrounding us.

And then I saw him.

In the very back pew, slightly apart from the other guests, sat a figure in an impeccably tailored suit. Gabriel looked exactly as he had that night at the cabin—ageless, elegant, carrying an aura of quiet authority. But his expression was softer than I remembered, almost…proud.

Our eyes met across the crowded church. Gabriel smiled—a real, warm smile that transformed his entire face—and offered a small salute before winking at me with obvious affection.

Then he was gone, as if he’d never been there at all.

But I’d seen him. The message was crystal clear: El approved. This love, this choice, this beautifully human life we were building together had a divine blessing. Whatever cosmic rules governed angels and mortals, our love transcended them all.

My heart swelled with gratitude and perfect happinessas Eamon and I walked back down the aisle together, rice and flower petals raining down on us from our cheering friends and family. We stepped out of the church into brilliant spring sunshine, the kind of perfect May day that made everything look possible.

“How does it feel to be married, husband?” Eamon asked as we posed for pictures on the church steps.

“Perfect, husband,” I replied, and meant it with every fiber of my being.

We had a lifetime ahead of us—probably fifty or sixty years if we were lucky, filled with quiet mornings and shared meals and all the beautifully mundane moments that made mortal life precious. There would be challenges and arguments and the inevitable sorrows that came with being human. But there would also be love—deep, abiding, chosen love that had already proven stronger than duty, stronger than divine law, stronger than anything the universe could throw at us.

As our friends and family gathered around us, offering congratulations and promises of embarrassing wedding photos, I caught Eamon’s eye and saw my own joy reflected back at me. He’d chosen mortality for this—for us, for love, for the chance to build something real and lasting and beautifully human.

And looking at him in the afternoon sunlight, surrounded by everyone we loved, I knew with absolute certainty that it was the best choice either of us had ever made.

Some love stories were worth waiting centuries to find.