Page 33 of Worth the Wait (Worth It All #2)

Six months later

My hands are shaking as I check my reflection in the ladies’ room mirror of the Four Seasons Beverly Hills.

Not from nerves about my appearance—the navy blazer and cream silk blouse project exactly the kind of professional confidence I’ve cultivated over the past six months—but from the magnitude of what I just accomplished upstairs.

The Ashworth-Taylor wedding. The one everyone in my business has been trying to land.

Well, I landed it.

Nine months ago, I was nervous about meeting with Sterling Industries because I desperately needed their business to establish my reputation. Today, I just secured what they’re calling the wedding of the decade because my reputation speaks for itself.

Bailey Ashworth and her mother Victoria didn’t just hire me—they sought me out.

They’d been following my work for months, tracking even my smaller community projects like the LACMA fundraiser and the Martinez wedding.

When Victoria mentioned how they’d been impressed by my sustainable design elements and innovative auction displays, I realized that every event I’ve coordinated, every risk I’ve taken creatively, has been building toward this moment.

“We want something equally memorable to the Sterling Industries gala,” Bailey had said, “but obviously completely different in tone. This is our dream wedding, not a corporate celebration.”

And I knew exactly how to give them both—the flawless execution they’d witnessed at Cameron’s event, but with the romantic intimacy and personal meaning that makes weddings unforgettable.

The Sterling Industries gala didn’t just change my business; it changed how I see myself in this world. No longer the outsider hoping to prove myself worthy, but the professional whose expertise shapes the experiences that define Los Angeles society.

I take a deep breath and gather my materials, my portfolio now containing signed contracts for a celebration that will cement Luminous Events among the absolute elite of luxury planners.

A ceremony for four hundred guests at Greystone Mansion, reception for six hundred at the Beverly Hills Hotel, weekend festivities that will be photographed for every major society publication.

The kind of wedding that other planners will study and try to recreate for years.

As I exit the elevator into the Four Seasons lobby, I reach into my purse for my phone to call Cameron with the good news?—

“There’s my brilliant girlfriend.”

Cameron rises from one of the plush armchairs near the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking devastating in a charcoal suit that I personally picked out a few months ago.

But it’s his smile that stops my breath—proud, warm, completely focused on me like I’m the only person that matters in this hotel lobby filled with some pretty influential people.

“How did you?—”

“Amanda may have mentioned the time and location of your mystery meeting,” he says, moving to greet me with a kiss that makes several well-dressed hotel guests smile indulgently.

His hands find my waist, pulling me close enough to smell his cologne, the familiar scent that always makes me feel safe.

“Though she was very professional about maintaining client confidentiality.”

“Traitor,” I mutter, but I’m laughing as I melt into his arms. “What if it had gone badly? What if they’d rejected my proposal?”

“Then I would have told you that they were idiots who didn’t deserve your talent, and we would have celebrated the fact that you’re too good for clients who can’t recognize excellence when they see it.

” His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones.

“But judging by that smile you’re trying to hide, I’m guessing it went well? ”

“I got it.” The words come out breathless, like I still can’t quite believe it myself. “The Ashworth-Taylor wedding. Six hundred guests, multiple venues, unlimited budget. They want me to create what Victoria called ‘the new gold standard for luxury weddings.’”

Cameron spins me around right there in the Four Seasons lobby, his whoop of celebration earning us several amused looks from other guests.

A distinguished older man in an expensive suit nods approvingly at us, probably recognizing the universal joy of professional triumph.

When Cameron sets me down, his expression is pure delight.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion. “Though I’m not surprised. You’re extraordinary at what you do, and it’s about time the entire city figured out what I’ve known all along.”

“We should celebrate,” I say, still dizzy from success and his reaction to it. “Maybe that new restaurant in West Hollywood you’ve been wanting to try?”

“Already handled. And better than a restaurant.” Cameron takes my hand, leading me toward the hotel entrance where afternoon sunlight streams through massive glass doors. “I made lunch. At my place.”

“You cooked?” The surprise in my voice makes him laugh, the sound echoing off the marble floors. “Cameron Phillip Arthur Judd cooked actual food?”

“I’m full of surprises. Though I should warn you—I may have gotten slightly carried away with the menu planning.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re walking into Cameron’s Malibu townhouse, and I can smell something incredible coming from the kitchen.

The dining room table is set with his good china—the Waterford crystal and silver that usually only appear for his parents’ dinner parties—but it’s paired with a beautiful peony centerpiece.

“Cameron Judd, did you actually cook for me?”

“I had help from a very detailed YouTube tutorial, two phone calls to Maya for recipe advice, and possibly a minor panic attack when the soufflé didn’t rise the first time,” he admits, pulling a chair out for me with the gallant attention that made me fall for him in the first place. “But yes, I cooked for you, my love.”

The meal is perfect—not because the food is flawless, though it’s surprisingly sophisticated, but because of the way Cameron watches my face while I taste everything.

The way he tells me about his morning board meeting between courses, listening when I interrupt with questions about the renewable energy partnerships Sterling Industries is developing.

The way he hangs on every detail about the Ashworth-Taylor consultation like it’s the most fascinating business strategy he’s ever heard.

“So Bailey asked how we met,” I say over the main course—perfectly marinated spicy chicken adobo.

“What did you tell her?”

“That we met at Sophia’s wedding four years ago and reconnected when you hired Luminous Events for the Sterling Industries celebration.” I set down my fork, studying his face in the afternoon light streaming through his windows. “She called it romantic. The perfect partnership.”

“She’s not wrong.” Cameron reaches across the table to take my hand, his fingers warm and familiar. “Though she has no idea I nearly screwed it up because I was too much of a coward to fight for us the first time.”

“Or that I ran away to a farmers’ market instead of having an adult conversation about my feelings.”

“We got it right eventually.” His thumb traces across my knuckles in that familiar gesture that still makes my pulse race. “We learned how to choose each other even when it’s difficult. Even when other people have opinions about what we should want.”

“We did.” I turn my hand to intertwine our fingers. “Your parents have been wonderful, by the way. Your mother called yesterday to ask if I wanted to join her book club. Apparently, they’re reading something about women entrepreneurs that made her think of me.”

“She’s been telling everyone about your Highland Community Center fundraiser. I think she’s more proud of that event than she was of the Sterling Industries gala.”

The thought of Mrs. Judd bragging about my pro bono work to her social circle makes me smile.

Six months ago, she could barely tolerate my presence at family dinner.

Now she introduces me to her friends as “Cameron’s brilliant girlfriend who’s revolutionizing luxury event planning while supporting important community causes. ”

“Speaking of your mother,” I continue, “she wants to know when we’re going to make things official. Apparently, Sophia’s been dropping hints about wanting to plan an engagement party.”

“That’s convenient,” Cameron says, standing suddenly and moving around the table toward me. “Which brings me to the real reason I wanted to celebrate with you today.”

Something in his tone makes me look at him more carefully. There’s an energy about him, a barely contained excitement that seems disproportionate even to my professional triumph. His hands are slightly shaky as he reaches for my chair, helping me stand to face him.

“Cameron—”

“Lianne, nine months ago, you walked back into my life and reminded me what it feels like to want something more than just professional success.” His voice carries the kind of vulnerable honesty that he usually reserves for our most private moments.

“You’ve built something incredible. Not just your business, but the way you’ve made space for yourself in worlds that didn’t always welcome you.

The way you’ve never compromised who you are to fit someone else’s expectations. ”

“Where are you going with this?” I ask, my heart racing.

“I’m going toward the part where I ask you to build something incredible with me.

Permanently.” Cameron moves to kneel before me, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket with hands that shake slightly.

“Marry me, Lianne. Not because it makes strategic sense or because our families approve—though they do now—but because I can’t imagine my life without you in it. ”

The ring is stunning—a classic solitaire that catches the afternoon light streaming through his windows, elegant and timeless without being ostentatious. But it’s his face I can’t stop staring at. The hope there, the vulnerability, the absolute certainty that this is what he wants.

“You want to marry me?”

“I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life. I want to celebrate your successes and support you through challenges and argue about whose turn it is to load the dishwasher.” His smile is soft, devastating.

“I want to love you completely, publicly, permanently. I want to build a life where we both get to be exactly who we are while choosing each other every single day. Will you let me?”

The answer is yes, has been yes since the moment he showed up at the farmers’ market with sunflowers and explanations six months ago. But instead of words, I answer by framing his face with my hands and kissing him until we’re both breathless and the expensive lunch is completely forgotten.

“Is that a yes?” he asks against my lips.

“That’s a yes to everything,” I whisper back. “To marriage and mornings and dishwasher arguments and loving you for the rest of my life.”

When he slides the ring onto my finger, it fits perfectly—just like everything else about us when we’re brave enough to choose each other completely.

“Now,” I say, admiring the way the diamond catches the light, “about that celebration you mentioned...”

Cameron’s smile turns wicked. “I had some very specific ideas about that too.”

“Show me,” I say, letting him lead me down the hall toward the bedroom.

As he undresses me slowly, teasingly, I remember how nervous I used to be about this part—about letting someone see my body, my insecurities, my past. But Cameron doesn’t judge, doesn’t expect anything other than me exactly as I am.

His hands map my curves as he lowers me to the bed, his gaze focused on my face like nothing else matters.

I pull him down on top of me, the weight of him perfect against me. My hands find their way under his shirt, and I push it over his head, needing to feel his skin against mine.

Cameron pulls back just enough to slide my bra straps off my shoulders, his hands deft and confident. When he slides my bra off, he leans down to kiss me, his mouth hot against my collarbone, my shoulder, the sensitive spot where my neck meets my jaw.

When his lips find mine again, it’s with a new urgency, like he can’t wait another moment to be inside me.

He makes quick work of the rest of our clothes, and then we’re skin against skin, nothing between us but desire and trust. I can tell Cameron wants to go slowly, to savor this moment, but I don’t have the patience for that.

Not when he feels so good against me, his hands skimming down my waist and thighs like he wants to memorize every part of me.

When he finally pushes inside me, I gasp, arching against him as he fills me completely. He goes slowly at first, teasing, but then he speeds up, thrusting into me with a delicious intensity that makes me cry out, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

It feels different this time. Deeper, more meaningful. Like we aren’t just coming together physically—we’re building a future, a life, a love that will last beyond tonight.

He moves faster, his cock driving into me with a desperate kind of need that matches my own. I feel my climax building, a tingling sensation low in my belly that spreads through my entire body as Cameron gasps my name, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks.

When I come, it’s with a rush of pleasure that leaves me dizzy and breathless, my body clenching around him as he comes with me, his face pressed against my shoulder like he’s trying to anchor himself to me.

Afterward, as we lie tangled in his sheets watching the Pacific turn golden in the late afternoon light, I think about how far we’ve both traveled to get here.

Six months ago, I thought professional success was the only validation that mattered.

Today, I know the truth—the best success is the kind you get to share with someone who loves you exactly as you are, who fights for you when the world says you don’t belong, who chooses you every single day.

This time, we got everything right.

This time, love really is enough.

I hope you enjoyed Lianne and Cameron’s romance!