Page 26 of Worth the Wait (Worth It All #2)
When we’re both spent and breathing hard, instead of the comfortable intimacy we’ve developed, Lianne curls on her side facing away from me.
I pull her closer, expecting her to melt into my arms the way she usually does.
Instead, she allows the contact but remains tense, her breathing too controlled to suggest she’s anywhere close to sleep.
“Hey,” I murmur, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder. “Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“About whatever’s keeping you awake. About why tonight feels different.”
“Everything’s fine, Cameron. I’m just tired.”
But she’s not just tired. She’s lying there quietly while I hold her, present in body but somewhere else entirely in spirit. Like she’s already started the process of pulling away and tonight was her chance to say goodbye.
I fall asleep confused and hoping that whatever’s bothering her will resolve itself after Saturday’s successful Martinez wedding. We’ll have time to focus on us again, to plan the Napa trip we’ve been discussing, to figure out what comes next for our relationship.
I wake up alone.
Lianne has already left for an early vendor meeting, leaving only a note on her kitchen counter— Early morning at venue. Coffee’s ready. Thank you for dinner. — L
Professional courtesy. The kind of note she might leave for a houseguest rather than the man she’d made love to with desperate intensity just hours before.
That was four days ago.
Four days of polite distance, measured responses, and the growing certainty that the woman who spent three weeks planning our future together has been replaced by someone who treats me like a client rather than the man she was falling for.
I’m sitting in my Malibu office now, staring at my phone and debating whether to call her again or accept that something fundamental has changed between us.
The view outside my floor-to-ceiling windows usually calms me—the Pacific stretching endlessly toward the horizon, sailboats dotting the water like white punctuation marks against blue.
Today it just reminds me of all the ocean-view dinners Lianne and I won’t be sharing if she keeps retreating behind this wall of courteous distance.
Our recent text exchanges read like a masterclass in polite deflection?—
Tuesday:
Cameron:
How did the Martinez vendor meeting go? Dinner tonight?
Lianne:
Long day. Rain check?
Wednesday:
Cameron:
Coffee this morning before your venue walkthrough?
Lianne:
Already grabbed some on the way. Will call you later.
She never called.
Thursday:
Cameron:
Miss you. Can I bring lunch to your office?
Lianne:
In back-to-back meetings all afternoon. Sorry.
Friday:
Cameron:
How about a quiet night in? I’ll cook.
Lianne:
Exhausted. Need to prep for tomorrow’s Martinez final details. Rain check?
Rain check. Her favorite phrase lately, deployed with surgical precision every time I suggest spending time together that doesn’t involve business logistics. She’s become an expert at deflection disguised as professional dedication.
The irony isn’t lost on me. Four years ago, I was the one who let external pressures create distance between us.
I was the one who chose family approval over fighting for what mattered, who let other people’s opinions override my own heart.
Now Lianne is using work as a shield, and I’m the one fighting to maintain the connection we’ve built.
My laptop chimes with an email from my assistant, confirming final details for next weekend’s gala.
Five hundred guests, including board members flying in from New York and London, technology leaders from three continents, family friends who’ve been part of Sterling Industries’ success story for decades.
The kind of celebration that will generate millions in business visibility and establish our renewable energy division as a serious player in sustainable technology.
I should be focused on the strategic importance of the upcoming event, on what it represents for Sterling Industries’ brand positioning and future partnerships.
Instead, all I can think about is whether Lianne will still be in my life after the gala is over, or if professional courtesy will replace the intimacy we’ve been building.
My phone buzzes with another text from her:
Lianne:
Martinez wedding executed flawlessly. All vendor coordination completed without issues. Ready to focus full attention on the Sterling Industries gala preparation.
Perfectly informative and entirely impersonal. She’s updating me about professional developments like I’m a client she’s never met, someone who requires operational briefings rather than personal connection.
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.