Page 55 of Worth the Wait
“I’ve helped clarify a situation that was becoming unnecessarily complicated for everyone involved.” My mother’s response comes without hesitation, delivered with the kind of certainty that suggests she’s been planning this intervention for weeks.
The fury that builds in my chest is unlike anything I’ve felt since I was a teenager, when I still believed that slamming doors and shouting could change the fundamental power dynamics in our family. But I’m thirty years old now, financially independent, professionally successful. I don’t have to accept this interference in my personal life.
“Complicated for who? For you? For your social circle? For business relationships that have nothing to do with my personal happiness?”
“For you, darling. Miss Peralta is a lovely girl, but she comes from a completely different world. The challenges of bridging those differences, the constant work required to help her understand expectations she wasn’t raised with?—”
“What challenges?” The words come out with four years of suppressed frustration, four years of watching other people’s opinions override my own heart. “The challenge of explaining why I love someone who’s accomplished incredible things through her own merit? The challenge of introducing mygirlfriend to people who should be impressed by her success rather than concerned about her pedigree?”
“It’s not about pedigree,” my mother says, though we both know that’s exactly what it’s about. “It’s about compatibility, about choosing someone who can support your ambitions rather than requiring constant accommodation.”
“Lianne doesn’t require accommodation. She enhances everything in my life.”
“Does she? Can she discuss international markets with your board members? Does she understand the social expectations that come with your position? Can she navigate the complexities of family foundations and philanthropic obligations without extensive coaching?”
The questions hit like carefully aimed arrows, targeting every insecurity I’ve ever had about bridging different worlds. But this time, I recognize them for what they are—prejudiced assumptions that have nothing to do with Lianne’s actual capabilities and everything to do with my mother’s need to control outcomes she considers strategically important.
“Lianne coordinated a flawless celebration for five hundred demanding guests, handled complex logistics with grace under pressure, and proved she belongs in any professional environment.” My voice rises with each word, four years of diplomatic silence finally breaking apart. “She’s built a luxury events company from nothing, earned the respect of every vendor and venue in Los Angeles, created experiences that exceed the expectations of clients who can afford anything. The only people who’ve questioned her suitability are you and the social circle that values inherited position over actual achievement.”
My mother’s expression shifts slightly, the first crack in her composed certainty. “We’re simply concerned about your long-term happiness.”
“Then why did you destroy the relationship that makes me happiest?”
“Because some attractions are based on novelty rather than compatibility. Because choosing someone from your own world eliminates complications that can undermine even the strongest feelings.”
“Like the complications you and Dad faced when his family disapproved of your background?”
The comparison stops her cold. For the first time in this conversation, my mother looks genuinely surprised, as if she’d forgotten that her own marriage began with family resistance to a strategic mismatch.
“That was different,” she says finally.
“How was it different? You came from a middle-class family. Dad’s parents thought you were unsuitable. You had to prove yourself worthy of their acceptance.” I move closer, needing her to understand the parallel she’s been willfully ignoring. “The difference is that Dad chose to fight for you instead of letting his family’s disapproval end your relationship.”
“We were both young. We grew together.”
“Lianne and I are adults who’ve already proven we can build something meaningful together. We don’t need to grow into compatibility—we already have it.”
My mother stands, her composure cracking further as she realizes this conversation isn’t proceeding according to herexpectations. “I simply want you to choose someone who makes your life easier rather than more complicated.”
“Easier according to who? According to social expectations I never agreed to? According to strategic advantages that benefit everyone except me?”
“According to reality, Cameron. According to the responsibilities that come with your success and position.”
“I built Sterling Industries myself,” I say, the words carrying four years of suppressed resentment about being treated like a child whose personal choices require parental approval. “With my own vision, my own work, my own money. I don’t need permission to live my own life or love who I choose to love.”
“And what about Isabella? She’s a lovely girl who’s made herself available?—”
“Isabella wasn’t making herself available to me romantically, Mother,” I cut her off. “This was pure business networking for both of us. She needed American fashion industry connections for Vitale Industries’ expansion, and I needed her European contacts for Sterling’s renewable energy partnerships. We were helping each other navigate business opportunities while satisfying family expectations.”
The news clearly rocks my mother’s assumptions about tonight’s success. “But she seemed so interested?—”
“She was interested in the business connections, not in me. Just like I was interested in maintaining family peace rather than fighting for what mattered.” I move to the windows, staring out at the Pacific. “We spent the entire evening playing roles neither of us wanted while you orchestrated what you thought was romantic destiny.”
When I turn back, my mother is sitting again, her composure finally showing cracks that reveal genuine confusion beneath the strategic certainty.
“I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult,” she says. “There are so many suitable women who would enhance your position?—”
“Because I don’t want suitable,” I interrupt. “I want Lianne. I want the woman who challenges me to be better, who’s built something extraordinary through her own determination, who makes me feel like the best version of myself.”
