ᯓ★ By 1958, everybody in Port Mason already acted like you were Rafe Cameron’s wife.
You lived in his house. Slept in his bed. Raised a baby together who had his blue eyes and your attitude.
Honestly?
The only people pretending this wasn’t a marriage were Rafe and the church.
⋆˙⟡ —
It wasn’t like Rafe didn’t love you.
Because he did.
In his own frustrating, infuriating way.
He came home every night no matter how late it got. Bought your son ridiculous expensive toys every time he went out. Dragged you into his lap whenever you ignored him too long.
But the second marriage got mentioned?
Rafe acted like somebody threatened him personally.
⋆˙⟡ —
One Sunday after church, some older woman smiled sweetly at your son while he sat on Rafe’s hip chewing on his father’s tie.
“Such a beautiful family,” she said warmly.
Then came the question you already dreaded.
“So when’s the wedding?”
Your stomach tightened immediately.
Beside you, Rafe smiled that charming Cameron smile perfectly.
“Hopefully never.”
You elbowed him instantly.
The woman laughed awkwardly like she thought he was joking.
Unfortunately—
you knew better.
⋆˙⟡ —
Later that night, your son finally asleep upstairs, Rafe sat at the kitchen table smoking lazily while reading through business papers.
You stood washing dishes quietly before finally speaking.
“My mother asked me about marriage again today.”
Without even looking up—
“Tell her to get a hobby.”
You closed your eyes briefly.
“Rafe.”
“What?” He glanced up finally. “I’m serious. Why’s she so invested in my taxes suddenly?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“It kinda is.”
Your chest tightened slightly.
“Everybody thinks it’s weird.”
Rafe snorted softly.
“Oh no. The neighbors are gossiping in a tiny southern town? What a shocking development.”
You turned around fully now.
“We literally have a child together.”
“Yeah,” he drawled lazily. “Pretty sure I was there for that part.”
“Rafe.”
“What?”
“Why do you get so weird every single time I mention marriage?”
That finally made him sigh dramatically, tossing the papers onto the table.
“Because every conversation with women over nineteen somehow turns into this.”
Your face fell instantly.
“Excuse me?”
“I swear there’s like a countdown clock implanted in you girls.” He gestured vaguely with his cigarette. “‘Oh my God, I’m twenty, where’s my ring, where’s my kitchen, where’s my husband—’”
“Wow.”
“What?” Rafe leaned back in the chair casually. “You know I’m right.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
He scoffed softly.
“Baby, we already live together. We already have a kid. This is basically marriage without the annoying ceremony.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is the point?” he asked sarcastically. “You want cake? Flowers? Tiny sandwiches?”
You stared at him hurt now.
“I want commitment.”
That shut him up for half a second.
Then—
“You have commitment.”
“No, I have a baby and your last name attached to gossip.”
Rafe rolled his eyes immediately.
“Jesus Christ.”
“You don’t understand how embarrassing this is for me!”
“Embarrassing?” He laughed once under his breath. “You think anybody looks at us and goes, ‘Wow, poor girl, trapped in a mansion with a rich guy who worships her?’”
“That is not what this is about!”
“Then explain it better!”
Silence cracked through the kitchen.
Then quieter—
“You make me feel temporary.”
That finally wiped the sarcasm off his face.
Just for a second.
You swallowed hard.
“Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for a better option.”
Rafe stared at you like the sentence offended him personally.
“That’s insane.”
“Then why won’t you marry me?”
And there it was again.
That look.
Annoyance. Cornered frustration. Like you asking for forever after giving him everything already somehow irritated him.
Rafe leaned back slowly before muttering:
“Because apparently ruining my life legally should sound romantic to me.”
Your face dropped instantly.
And judging by the immediate flicker of regret across his expression—
Rafe knew he went too far this time.