Page 51 of Worth the Wait
I start typing a response that has nothing to do with vendor coordination—Cameron: I miss you. Can we please talk about what’s really happening between us?
I stare at the message for five minutes, thumb hovering over the send button. If Lianne wants professional distance until after next weekend, pushing for personal conversation will only make things worse. But every instinct I have is screaming that letting her retreat without a fight is exactly the mistake I made four years ago.
I delete the message and type instead—Cameron: Looking forward to seeing what you’ve created. It’s going to be incredible.
Safe. Professional. Exactly the kind of response she seems to want from me lately.
But even as I send it, I know that playing along with this distance is slowly killing whatever we’ve rebuilt together. Four years ago, I was the one creating barriers because I was too young and too concerned with family approval to fight for what mattered. I was the one who let other people’s expectations override my own feelings, who chose the easy path over the difficult conversation.
This time, I’m ready to fight. I just need to understand what I’m fighting against.
The difference is that this time, I won’t let pride or fear or anyone else’s expectations cost me the woman I love. Whatever’s causing Lianne to retreat behind professional courtesy, whatever’s making her treat our relationship like a business arrangement, I’m going to figure it out.
Even if it means risking everything to break through the wall she’s built between us.
17
Isabella Vitale.
The elegant script mocks me as I set the cream card stock next to Cameron’s nameplate.
I’ve known this was coming for days now, ever since Margaret Weston’s email requesting the seating arrangement be updated to accommodate Isabella. Ever since I saw those Instagram photos and realized what I was really coordinating—not just Sterling Industries’ anniversary, but the perfect romantic evening for Cameron to celebrate with someone who actually belongs in his world.
And with the big day now here, the first guest arriving at the Esperanza Resort, there’s no more need to torture myself with the what-ifs. It’s here. I just set down Isabella’s nameplate next to Cameron’s.
It had always been a job, wasn’t it? In this case, the biggest event my company has ever had to organize and one I can’t mess up in any way.
Not even if it ends up breaking my heart all over again.
“Lianne!” Amanda appears at my elbow, headset over her ears and her iPad held in front of her. “The photography team needs approval for the red-carpet setup, and catering wants confirmation on the wine service timing.”
I nod, forcing myself to step away from Table One before I do something unprofessional like sweep Isabella’s place card onto the floor. “Handle the photographers. I’ll check with catering.”
The Grand Ballroom buzzes with controlled chaos as our team makes final preparations. Servers in crisp white uniforms adjust already perfect place settings, florists add last-minute touches to centerpieces of white peonies and gold accents, musicians tune their instruments in the corner where they’ll provide elegant background music during cocktail hour.
Everything is proceeding exactly according to plan. Sterling Industries’ 50th anniversary gala will be the kind of celebration that generates magazine features and referral business for years to come. The culmination of everything Luminous Events has worked toward.
But all I can think about is the woman who’ll be sitting next to Cameron in two hours, and whether seeing her in person will be worse than the torture I’ve been inflicting on myself through social media stalking and Google searches.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see luxury cars beginning to arrive at the resort’s circular drive. Board members from New York and London, tech industry leaders, families whose names appear on museum wings and hospital foundations. Cameron’s people, gathering to celebrate fifty years of the kind of success that builds legacies.
My earpiece crackles with updates from our team positioned throughout the venue. “VIP guests arriving at main entrance.” “Media setup complete on the terrace.” “Orchestra ready for seven o’clock start.”
Every detail coordinated, every contingency planned for, every element designed to create an unforgettable evening for people who matter.
I’m coordinating with the sommelier about wine pairings when I catch sight of familiar broad shoulders near the ballroom entrance. Cameron, looking devastating in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, greeting early arrivals with the confident charm that made me fall for him in the first place.
He’s in full host mode, shaking hands with board members, introducing colleagues to family friends, working the room with the effortless grace that comes from a lifetime of high-society events. This is Cameron in his natural element—wealthy, powerful, completely at home in a world of inherited privilege and strategic connections.
A world where I’ll always be the hired help, no matter how successful my business becomes.
“Lianne.” His voice behind me makes me startle, and I turn to find him approaching, his brow furrowed with concern. “We need to talk.”
I fall back on the only armor I have left. “Is there something about the event that requires adjustment?”
“You know damn well this isn’t about the event.” Cameron steps closer, lowering his voice so the passing servers can’t overhear. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. What the hell is going on?”
Before I can formulate a response that won’t reveal how completely I’ve unraveled, my earpiece crackles with urgent communication from Amanda. “We have a situation with the floral arrangements on Table Twelve. The centerpiece is blocking sight-lines to the podium.”
