Page 60 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

The understatement pulls a small laugh from me. "That's one way to put it."

"I don't want it to end with the wedding." His hand rises, fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face.

The simple admission sends heat cascading through me. Before I can respond, his phone buzzes insistently in his pocket. He ignores it, eyes holding mine in the dim pantry light.

"We should talk about this." My voice sounds strained even to my ears. "Really talk, not just?—"

"I know." His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip in a gesture that short-circuits logical thought. "Tonight, after the rehearsal ends."

The phone buzzes again, more urgently. He checks the screen reluctantly. "It's the front desk. I need to take this."

He steps away, answering the call while I try to compose myself. My pulse thrums with everything unspoken between us. When the pantry door opens again, I expect Lucas but find Miranda instead, her expression unreadable.

"There you are." She steps inside, closing the door behind her. "We need to talk, away from clients and... distractions."

Her pointed tone makes it clear what—or who—she considers a distraction. I straighten, professional mask sliding back into place. "Is there a problem with the arrangements?"

"Not with the wedding." She studies me carefully. "But potentially with your judgment."

"Meaning?" I match her directness, refusing to be intimidated.

"Meaning I've noticed your... closeness with the resort owner." Her eyebrows lift slightly. "A professional relationship that appears to have evolved during your isolation here."

Heat rises to my cheeks despite my efforts to remain impassive. "Lucas and I have worked closely to salvage this event under extraordinary circumstances."

"Indeed." Her smile lacks warmth. "So closely that I wonder if your decision-making remains objective."

"Every decision I've made has been in the client's best interest." I keep my voice level, though indignation burns beneath my calm exterior. "The results speak for themselves."

"They do." She concedes with a slight nod. "Which is why the board has approved your promotion to head our new Paris office, effective immediately after this wedding concludes."

The news should elicit joy, triumph, and validation. Instead, it lands like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

"Paris? Immediately?"

"Amelia… It's the opportunity you've been working toward for years." Miranda watches my reaction carefully. "Complete creative control, doubled salary, an apartment in the 7th arrondissement. Everything you've wanted."

Everything I thought I wanted. Now, I want something more.

"I'm honored by the offer." I buy time to process. "When would I need to give my decision?"

"Decision?" Her laughter holds genuine surprise. "Amelia, this isn't an offer to consider. It's a promotion to accept. Unless..." Her gaze sharpens. "Unless something—or someone—has changed your career aspirations."

The implication hangs between us, challenge and warning intertwined. Before I can respond, the pantry door opens again, revealing a kitchen assistant searching for supplies.

"Excuse me." He mumbles, embarrassed to have interrupted what appears to be a private conversation.

"Think carefully about what you've worked for and what you're willing to sacrifice for a... vacation romance." Miranda steps back, professional smile firmly in place. She exits, leaving me alone with thoughts suddenly thrown into chaos.

Paris. The culmination of years of sacrifice and perfectionism. The validation I've sought since joining Elite Events. The proof that I'm exceptional, irreplaceable, and worthy.

Yet, as I return to the rehearsal dinner, watching Lucas charm the wedding party genuinely, something tugs beneath my breastbone—an unfamiliar ache that has nothing to do with career ambition and everything to do with connection, belonging, and the unexpected discovery that perfection might look different than I've always imagined.

The remainder of the evening passes in a blur of conflicting emotions. I perform my duties automatically while my mind grapples with impossible choices. Every time Lucas catches my eye across the room, the pressure in my chest intensifies.

Later, alone in the quiet of Lucas's cabin—he remained at the lodge to handle last-minute guest concerns—I stand at the window, watching moonlight transform snow-covered pines into silver sculptures.

Paris waits with everything I've worked toward. A dazzling future built on ambition and excellence.

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