“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.”