They met at a gallery opening in Nice on a Tuesday evening in July — Camille was standing in front of one of her own paintings, explaining to no one in particular why the sea was never truly blue. Étienne overheard, disagreed, and said so. She turned around, surprised by his certainty. He was holding two glasses of rosé and offered her one before apologising for the interruption.

They spent the rest of the evening arguing beautifully about colour, light, and the precise shade of the Mediterranean at dusk. By midnight they had walked the entire old port. By morning they had exchanged numbers.

Two summers later, Étienne proposed on the terrace of a small café in Èze — the village suspended between sky and sea — at the exact hour when the light turned everything gold. She said yes before the question was finished.