Page 54 of Worth the Wait
“She asked me to handle any final coordination with you,” Amanda says, her tone apologetic but firm. “She left this for you.”
She hands me a folded note with my name written in Lianne’s precise handwriting—the same careful script I’ve seen on timeline documents and vendor contracts throughout our planning process. I open it with hands that aren’t quite steady.
Cameron,
The event was a success. Sterling Industries should be pleased with the outcome. I need time to process what happened tonight and what it means for us moving forward. Thank you for the opportunity.
- L
The formality of it makes my chest tighten. Professional courtesy wrapped around what feels like a goodbye.
By the time I’ve finished my obligations to the remaining board members—thanking them for flying in from three continents, confirming follow-up meetings about the renewable energy partnerships, ensuring everyone feels appropriately appreciated for their investment in Sterling Industries’ future—the ballroom is nearly empty.
Professional to the end, Lianne had managed her exit the same way she’d managed the entire event—with grace, dignity, andmeticulous attention to ensuring everyone else’s needs were met while her own heart was breaking.
She wasn’t running away—she was stepping back with the kind of dignity that maintains everyone’s reputation while protecting her own heart.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in the ocean-view suite I had booked for us, surrounded by romantic touches that now feel like mockery. Champagne chilling in an ice bucket, rose petals scattered across sheets, the Pacific view I’d wanted to wake up to with Lianne in my arms—all of it reduced to evidence of plans that died before they had a chance to breathe.
A soft knock on my suite door interrupts my brooding. I find my mother standing in the hallway, still elegant in her midnight-blue gown despite the late hour, looking like someone who’s had a successful evening.
“Cameron, darling. I saw the light under your door and thought you might still be awake. I wanted to thank you for such a lovely evening.”
I step back to let her enter though every instinct screams that this conversation will only make everything worse. “Luminous Events exceeded every expectation.”
“Yes, they certainly did. That young woman—your event planner—she worked incredibly hard to create something special.” My mother steps into the suite without further invitation, her gaze taking in the champagne bucket and rose petals with the kind ofknowing assessment that makes my stomach clench. “Though I notice she didn’t stay to enjoy the results of her efforts.”
There’s something in her tone—a satisfaction disguised as concern—that makes me realize this conversation was inevitable. That she came here specifically to discuss Lianne’s absence, to ensure I understand whatever message was delivered during the evening.
“She had other obligations,” I say, though the explanation sounds hollow even to me.
“I’m sure she did.” My mother settles into one of the suite’s elegant chairs, arranging her skirts with the kind of precise movement that suggests she’s prepared for an extended discussion. “Though I must say, I was surprised by your choice of vendors for such a significant celebration.”
The casual way she drops this observation suddenly sets off every warning bell I have.
“What did you do?” I ask, abandoning any pretense of polite conversation. “What did you say to Lianne?”
My mother’s eyebrows rise at my tone, but her expression remains composed. “I simply had a conversation with Miss Peralta about tonight’s significance. Nothing inappropriate, I assure you.”
Her words stop me cold. “What kind of conversation?”
“I mentioned how lovely it was to see you reconnecting with Isabella. Such a beautiful girl, and so perfectly suited to your position.” My mother’s voice carries the same warmth she uses when discussing charity work or family foundations. “The kindof woman who understands the responsibilities that come with your level of success.”
The same phrase she used four years ago to explain why dating Lianne was inadvisable. But this time it’s worse—she delivered that message while Lianne was working sixteen-hour days to create the most important event of her career, while she was coordinating every detail of what I’d hoped would be our romantic celebration.
“You told Lianne that Isabella was perfect for me? While she was planning our event?”
“I told her the truth. That Isabella represents everything you need in a life partner—someone who enhances your social position rather than complicating it.” My mother’s voice carries what sounds like genuine satisfaction, as if she’s completed a difficult but necessary task. “Miss Peralta seemed to understand completely. Such a professional girl, really.”
The condescension in her tone—professional, as if Lianne’s dedication and success are somehow less valuable than inherited position—makes my hands clench into fists. She’s reducing the woman I love to a service provider, someone capable but ultimately temporary.
“What else did you tell her?”
“I simply explained that Isabella has been part of our family circle since childhood, that our families have been close for generations.” She pauses, choosing her words with the kind of care that suggests she knows exactly how devastating they’ll be. “I may have mentioned that tonight represented something special for our family. That some situations require clarity for everyone’s well-being.”
Something special. Clarity for everyone’s well-being. She told Lianne that Isabella wasn’t just a dinner companion but someone with permanent significance, someone whose presence represented family priorities and expectations that would always take precedence over whatever temporary arrangement I might have with an event planner.
“Jesus Christ, Mother. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
