Page 59 of Worth the Wait
I accept the bouquet automatically, my fingers brushing his for just a moment before I pull back. The flowers smell like sunshine and possibility, like mornings when everything felt achievable.
“You came here looking for me.”
“I came here hoping to find you. I’ve been to your office, your apartment. I just came from there and saw the farmers’ market as I drove by. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop and see…” He pauses, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Lianne, everything about Saturday night was wrong. Everything you saw, everything my mother said—none of it was what I wanted or planned.”
“Your mother just clarified the situation,” I say, surprised by how calm I sound when inside I’m screaming. “Isabella is perfect for you. She belongs in your world in ways I never will.”
“Regardless of what my parents hoped would blossom between me and Isabella, she’s just a friend, nothing more. And business associates, more than anything.” Cameron steps closer, his voice becoming more urgent. “The whole evening was theater, Lianne. Business networking disguised as romance to satisfy our parents’ expectations. Isabella wasn’t too thrilled about it, I’m sure, but the business connections she made that evening didn’t hurt.”
The words hit me like cold water, undermining everything I’d believed about Saturday night. “But your mother said?—”
“My mother interfered. She positioned Isabella next to me, told you we were perfect together, made sure you understood that I was choosing someone more suitable.” Cameron’s jaw tightens with suppressed anger. “She destroyed what we were building because she thought Isabella would be a better strategic choice.”
I stare at him, trying to process what he’s telling me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was an idiot who thought I could manage family politics without it affecting us. Because I was too focused on the weekend I’d planned for us to realize how the evening would look from your perspective.” Cameron’s voice cracks slightly. “Because four years ago I let family pressure destroy us, and I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again. But I did let it happen, just in a different way.”
“I thought you chose her,” I whisper.
“I chose you the moment you walked back into my life,” Cameron says, stepping close enough that I can see the exhaustion around his eyes, the careful hope in his expression. “I’ve been choosing you every day since then. I just did a terrible job of showing it publicly.”
“What happens now?” I ask, the question carrying every uncertainty about whether love can survive the forces that nearly destroyed it.
Cameron’s smile is tentative but real. “Now we figure out how to build something together that includes both our worlds. But this time, I’m not letting anyone else’s expectations override what matters to us.”
When he reaches for my free hand, I don’t pull away. His fingers intertwine with mine, warm and familiar, and I feel something inside me that’s been tightly wound since Saturday night finally begin to loosen.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, the admission carrying weeks of pretending I was fine, four days of using work to avoid the ache of his absence.
“I’ve missed you too. Every day. Every hour.” Cameron steps closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face. “I’m sorry it took me so long to fight for us the way you deserved.”
When he leans down to kiss me, I don’t hesitate. I rise up to meet him, the sunflowers crushed between us as his arms pull me close. The kiss tastes like forgiveness and second chances, like every promise we made during those three weeks before outside forces convinced me I wasn’t enough.
For the first time in two weeks, I can breathe properly. The farmers market continues around us—vendors calling out specials, the ordinary magic of Tuesday afternoon—but all I can focus on is Cameron’s hands in my hair, the way he holds me like he’s afraid I might disappear again.
“I love you,” he whispers against my forehead. “I love you, and I’m not letting anyone convince me that isn’t enough.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back, the admission feeling like coming home.
Only this time feels different.
It feels like the beginning we were always meant to have.
20
Sunday evening findsme standing in my parents’ foyer with Lianne. She looks beautiful in a navy dress that’s elegant without being flashy, her hair swept up in a style that suggests confidence rather than anxiety.
But I can feel the tension in her shoulders, see the careful way she’s controlling her breathing.
“They’re going to love you,” I murmur, taking her hand.
“Your mother is going to tolerate me because you forced her to invite me,” she replies with the kind of honesty that makes me love her more. “There’s a difference.”
She’s not lying. I did force my mother to invite Lianne.The woman I love, were my precise words.
But before I can tell her that, the living room doors open and my father appears, his expression warm and welcoming.
“Lianne, how lovely to see you again. Thank you for joining us tonight.”
