Page 12 of Twelve Days of Christmas (Sixty Five Hours #1.5)

ON THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…

I get out of the shower to find a very handsome Cameron looking at his gifts on the dresser. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit with the naughty elf socks I gave him on the first day, the gold tie I gave him on the sixth day and the cufflinks I gave him on the tenth day.

“Watcha doin’?” I ask him as I start to get dressed.

“Just looking over your gifts,” he says quietly. He says nothing else, just waits for me to dress, and when he fixes my tie for me, he says, “Can I give you your present before we get to Mom and Dad’s?”

He seems a little nervous. Which is odd, because I expected to feel nervous today, but I don’t. Not one little bit.

“Sure you can,” I tell him, curious as to what he could be nervous about.

He holds out a small blue box; a light blue, Tiffany’s box. He takes my hand, lifting it to place the box in my palm. I open it to find not one, but two white gold rings.

“I know I acted all weird when we talked about getting rings,” he explains quickly. “I didn’t want to think of the toe ring as anything but perfect, because it is perfect. But I know you wanted proper rings and only dropped the subject because I acted like an ass-”

He’s still rambling on, and I’m still staring at the rings in my hand.

They are so fucking perfect.

“Luc, please say something.”

I look up at him, and I know the tears in my eyes surprise him. He thinks I don’t like them, but I can’t really explain just how fucking perfect they really are, so I kiss him instead.

It’s a hard kiss, a pressing-too-tight kiss that tells him I love his present to me.

To us.

“So perfect,” is about all I can say.

He blinks, unsure. “You like them?”

“Love them,” I say, still fighting tears. “So, so very perfect.”

He cups my cheek. “Oh, babe,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I laugh at my stupid tears, close the box and slip it into my pocket. “Come on, we can’t be late.”

He’s obviously surprised I didn’t put the rings on our fingers, but says nothing.

Not that I really give him time to.

I grab the pen I gave to him on the seventh day, slip it into his breast pocket without a word of explanation and hand him the two bottles of wine and the two vinyl records, telling him to put them in the box of gifts for his family.

I tell him I’ll grab our coats and meet him downstairs. When I slip into the walk-in-robe, I slip today’s present – the very best of presents – into my breast pocket.

I’m still not nervous.

Even in the car on the way to his parent’s house, I’m not nervous. I want this. I know he does. He tells me all the time. He just doesn’t know about it happening today.

It’s snowing, and it’s a beautiful Christmas day.

And it’s about to become a whole lot more beautiful.

We pull up in front of his mom and dad’s, grab the bottles of wine and climb out of the car. He’s a step ahead of me when he gets to the front door. “Cameron, stop!”

He turns to look at me, and I pull us closer to the door, out of the wind. I take the box of presents and put them on the doorstep. “I need to give you today’s present.”

“Now? Out here?” he asks, looking at me like I’m crazy. His hair is blowing, and his cheeks and nose are tinged pink from the cold. “It’s freezing fucking cold out here!”

I nod. “Yes, now. Yes, out here. You need to read this first.”

I reach into my inside breast pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. It’s thick, heavy, expensive paper, but that’s all it is; a folded piece of paper.

I hold it up between us, but before I give it to him, I tell him, “On the twelfth day of Christmas…”

He takes the paper, looking at me cautiously.

And then he opens it.

And he reads it.

And I’m still not nervous.

I fucking should be. But I’m not.

His eyes go wide, and he stares at me. He pulls back his sleeve to look at his watch, then he stares at me.

I nod. “Twelve o’clock.”

He opens his mouth; I think he’s trying to say my name. He swallows and blinks, reading and re-reading the piece of paper.

Only it’s not just a piece of paper.

It’s a wedding invitation.

To our wedding.

Finally he speaks. “Right now?”

“Only if you want to,” I tell him. “If you don’t want to, then none of what’s behind that door has to happen.

We’ll just have a wonderful Christmas lunch with our family, and we can work out details later,” I tell him.

“But you’ve been saying ‘I’d marry you tomorrow if I could’ since we got engaged.

” I take his hand, his freezing cold hand, and look into his still-wide eyes.

“I’m not asking you to marry me tomorrow, Cameron. I’m asking you to marry me today.”

And then, so fast I hardly see him move, he picks up the box of gifts, grabs my hand and drags me inside. Then the box is gone, and he’s pulling my coat off, just throwing it somewhere before he’s dragging me through the double doors into the formal lounge.

Where his family is waiting, where my Momma is waiting; all with smiles a mile wide.

The minister, a rather round woman I presume to be Siobhan – who I’ve only spoken to over the phone – is also waiting, smiling, with a book in her hand. Cameron drags me toward her.

And so the ceremony begins.

I couldn’t tell you what Siobhan said. Cameron and I just have another one of those ‘just us’ moments for the entire service. All I can do is stare at him; at the love, the wonder, the complete fucking adoration in his eyes.

I’d told her we wouldn’t say our own vows. It’s not like I could explain how one of us had no fucking clue he was getting married, and how I’d forged his signatures on the application forms. Well, I didn’t…I couldn’t get it to look right. Tobias did it, first go.

It’s not until she asks for rings that I remember what I’m up here for. Rings. Rings. Rings. Patting down my pockets, I pull out the rings Cameron gave to me not even an hour ago.

His face lights up. “The rings!”

I nod and laugh. “I told you they were fucking perfect.”

Then I remember the minister. I look at her, apologetically. “Sorry.” I’m not struck down by lightning for swearing in front of her, so I presume I’m still good with God.

Cameron chuckles. “You planned all this, but no rings?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Every time I tried to mention getting new rings you got all pissy.”

Oh, yeah. The minister. I apologize again. “Sorry.”

I take the rings from the box and hand one to Cameron. He takes my ring finger on my left hand and slides the ring on, and then I do the same to him.

And it just strikes me, right then and there, how beautiful, how significant it is.

He’s wearing my ring.

And the words just tumble out. “That’s so hot.”

Ugh. Again, with the minister. I look at her. “Sorry.”

Someone giggles. Cynthia, I think. I turn to face our little crowd watching us exchange rings, but Cameron grabs me and kisses me. I don’t think we were up to that part yet, but I’m certainly not going to argue.

Then Siobhan mumbles something beside us about ‘this civil union’, and I think it’s a done deal. I laugh into his kiss and pull away from him, only for Siobhan to roll her eyes and smile, telling us, “You may now kiss.”

So he kisses me again.

And when we’re finally pulled apart, we’re pulled into warm embraces and warm congratulations. I’m smiling so fucking hard my face hurts.

The first to hug me is my momma. It’s fierce and squeezy like all ‘momma hugs’ should be. And when she finally lets go of me, Cynthia is finished with Cameron and is waiting for her turn. She’s been working on her deep-breathing to tame the urge to tackle-hug, and right now, she’s about to burst.

I grin at her, and she throws her arms around me. She tells me through her tears how her family is complete now. How Ben has his Ashley, and now Cameron has me. Life is exactly as it should be.

I tell her the only thing better than having one momma, is having two. And then Cameron interrupts, telling me not to make his mother cry.

He kisses the side of my head just as my Momma joins us.

“I tried to get the minister to say ‘married’ or ‘wedding’ or ‘husband’ but she wouldn’t do it,” Momma says with a disdainful nod toward her intended target and loud enough for Siobhan to hear.

“I tell ya one thing,” Momma says, “when two people stand before friends and God, exchange rings and say forever, it’s a wedding. ”

I give Siobhan an apologetic smile, and she grins at me.

I smile at Cynthia and kiss my momma’s cheek.

“Momma, it doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks; politicians, governments, or the State.

What matters is what I think,” I slide my arm around Cameron’s waist, “what we think.” I look to both our mothers, and tell them, “Cameron might be a ‘domestic partner’ in their eyes, but he’s a husband to me. ”

And both mothers start to cry.

Siobhan interrupts, telling us we need to sign some papers to make it official.

When Cameron pulls the pen from his pocket, he looks straight at me. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

I smile again. Or still; I haven’t stopped smiling yet.

“The pen, the cufflinks, the tie,” he says.

I correct him, “The LP for our song, the wine for toasts, the passport holder, the week away… our honeymoon.”

“It was all a lead up for today,” he says. He shakes his head at me. “It never crossed your mind I might not want to get married today?”

I snort. “Not at all. Never a doubt, baby.”

We sign the paperwork, making this Domestic Partnership, this marriage, legal, and Ben declares it’s time for the first dance.

The scratchy sound of the vinyl record starts, and the lounge room clears to become our dance floor.

When Roberta Flack’s soulful voice fills the air, singing about the first time I ever saw your face, Cameron’s grip on me tightens.

We’re supposed to be dancing the waltz or something, but we don’t move. Not really.

With one hand on my lower back and one hand at the back of my neck, he holds me so fucking tight. We sway a little, and his breath and his lips are right at my ear.

And right there, in front of our closest family, they see inside this ‘just us’ moment.

And when Louis Armstrong sings about what a wonderful world, others join us on the lounge room dance floor. No one cuts in, no one dares. And Cameron doesn’t let go of me.

I whisper into the skin just below his ear that I love him, that I love him so, so much. “Oh, and Cameron?”

“Mmm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

I can feel him grin against my neck. “Merry Christmas.”