Page 62 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

When the florist discovers damage to key ceremony arrangements, Lucas produces replacement blooms from the resort's greenhouse. When a groomsman's tuxedo arrives withthe wrong size pants, I find the lodge's tailor for emergency alterations.

By the time guests arrive for the ceremony, every crisis has been addressed, every detail perfected. I stand at the entrance to the atrium, directing ushers and greeting important attendees, when Miranda appears at my side.

"Impressive recovery." She surveys the transformed space grudgingly.

"Everything is proceeding exactly as planned." I maintain professional confidence despite the flutter of uncertainty her presence triggers. "The revised venue has enhanced the experience."

Her gaze shifts to where Lucas stands across the room, conversing easily with the father of the bride. "And your decision about Paris? Have you come to your senses?"

"I'll give you my answer after the wedding." The question twists uncomfortably.

"Make sure it's the right one." She smooths her already impeccable jacket. "Opportunities like this don't come twice."

She glides away to schmooze with potential clients among the guest list, leaving me with the weight of impending choices.

Before I can dwell on it further, the coordinator signals that it's time to begin. I usher the final guests to their seats, ensure the bride is in position with her father, and cue the musicians to begin.

The ceremony unfolds breathtakingly. Winter sunshine streams through the glass dome, casting the atrium in ethereal light that blesses the proceedings.

Charlene moves down the aisle, transformed not just by her exquisite gown but by the genuine joy that radiates from within. Guests gasp as they absorb the magical setting—the circular space embraced by cascading flowers and twinkling lights. Themountains, visible beyond the glass, create the impression of a ceremony suspended between heaven and earth.

At the back of the room, I survey my creation satisfyingly, tinged with something more personal. This is more than another successful event. This transformation—born of crisis, shaped by necessity, and executed against impossible odds—represents something new in my perfectionist approach.

"You've created something extraordinary here." Lucas appears beside me as vows are exchanged, his presence both comforting and unsettling. His voice comes soft enough that only I can hear, gaze still on the ceremony. "Not just beautiful, but meaningful."

The simple compliment warms me more than elaborate praise might have. "We did. Together."

His hand finds mine between us, hidden from observers, fingers intertwining intimately. "I've been thinking about what you said—about trust being difficult for you."

I tense slightly, uncertain where this conversation is heading while surrounded by wedding guests. "This isn't the time?—"

"I know. But I need you to know something." His thumb traces circles against my palm, sending shivers up my arm. "I've never worked with anyone the way I work with you. Never trusted anyone with something as important as this place."

The weight of his words settles in my chest alongside the knowledge of the opportunity waiting in Paris. Before I can respond, the ceremony concludes enthusiastically, the newly married couple beaming as they process back down the aisle.

The moment for personal confessions evaporates as we seamlessly transition to our professional roles once more, directing the flow of guests toward the reception.

The Mountainview Room glitters with winter elegance—tables adorned with crystal and silver, centerpieces ofwhite blooms, and evergreen boughs catching the light from suspended candles and twinkling fairy lights.

Snow falls gently beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, nature's perfect backdrop to our carefully crafted interior. Guests exclaim over the transformation, many commenting that the weather emergency has resulted in a more intimate, magical setting than the original plan.

"You've outdone yourself." Charlene's father approaches as I supervise the transition from cocktail hour to dinner service. "When they told me we were moving the reception, I expected disaster. This is... exceptional."

"Thank you, Mr. Morton." I accept his praise professionally. "The resort provided the perfect canvas."

"And the owner seems equally exceptional." His gaze shifts meaningfully to where Lucas chats with guests across the room. "You two make quite the team. Haven't seen coordination like that since my days in special forces."

Before I can formulate a properly neutral response, his wife calls him away, leaving me with the uncomfortable awareness that our connection—whatever it is—has become noticeable to others.

I throw myself into final dinner preparations, maintaining distance from Lucas as we perform our roles in separate orbits.

The evening progresses in the comfortable rhythm of a well-executed event. Dinner service unfolds flawlessly. The revised menu draws appreciative murmurs. Grandmother's chocolate soufflé—perfected after our crisis intervention—brings tears to Charlene's eyes, which is exactly the emotional reaction we'd hoped for.

Toasts elicit both laughter and sentimental sighs. The band strikes the perfect balance between elegant background music and danceable energy.

I check the dessert station when the best man takes the microphone. His voice fills the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, before we continue the celebration, the bride and groom have a special request." Brock grins, clearly enjoying whatever is coming. "They'd like to acknowledge the dream team that made this magical wedding possible despite impossible circumstances—Amelia Hayes and Lucas Reid!"

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