14. True Vows #2
"Ladies and gentlemen, before we continue the celebration, the bride and groom have a special request." Brock grins, clearly enjoying whatever is coming. "They'd like to acknowledge the dream team that made this magical wedding possible despite impossible circumstances—Amelia Hayes and Lucas Reid!"
Surprised applause fills the room as a spotlight finds me at the dessert station. Lucas appears equally startled on the opposite side of the room. His eyes find mine across the distance.
"And." Brock continues mischievously. "They've requested that these two extraordinary individuals share a dance with them."
Heat rises to my cheeks as Lucas approaches, offering his hand with a slight shrug that says, We have little choice.
The band transitions to a slow melody as we move to the center of the floor. His hand settles at my waist carefully despite the electric awareness that sparks between us.
"Ambushed." His whisper carries humor as we begin to move to the music. "Though I can't say I mind."
"Very professional." I maintain enough distance to appear appropriate while hyperaware of every point of contact between us—his hand at my waist, mine on his shoulder, our fingers intertwined.
"Professional went out the window days ago, Amelia." His voice drops lower, for my ears only. "Somewhere between blizzards and soufflés and elevator encounters."
The reminder of our more intimate moments sends heat cascading through me. "Lucas, I?—"
"I know we need to talk." His eyes hold mine, honest and direct in a way that makes my chest ache. "About whatever this is between us. About what happens after tomorrow."
The music swells around us as we move perfectly together—another example of how naturally we fit together. Our bodies remember steps neither of us consciously leads. I'm acutely aware of guests watching, of Miranda's calculating gaze tracking our every move, of the precipice we stand upon.
"I've been offered Paris." The words escape before I can reconsider, quiet but clear between us. "Running Elite's European division. It's the promotion I've worked toward for years."
"When?" His rhythm falters almost imperceptibly before he recovers.
"Immediately after the wedding concludes." I search his expression for a reaction. "It's a tremendous opportunity."
"It is." His agreement comes without hesitation, though something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, perhaps, or resignation. "When do you leave?"
"I haven't accepted yet."
"Why not?" This surprises him. His hand tightens slightly at my waist. "It's everything you've worked for, isn't it?"
The question echoes my internal struggle. "It was. Before..."
"Before what?" He prompts me when I don't continue.
Before you.
Before us.
Before I discovered that perfection might look different than I've always believed.
The words crowd my throat but remain unspoken as the music draws to a close. Applause surrounds us as we step apart, the moment for confession lost in the social requirements of the reception.
The remainder of the evening passes in a blur of professional obligations. Lucas and I orbit each other cautiously, both aware of unfinished conversations and uncertain futures.
As guests gradually depart and the newlyweds retreat to their suite, we oversee the final breakdown of the venue, directing staff efficiently as always.
"You should get some rest." Lucas appears beside me as I check the final vendor departure list. "Tomorrow will be another long day."
Tomorrow.
When the bubble bursts completely. When reality reasserts itself in the form of departing guests, returning to normal operations, and decisions about Paris that can no longer be postponed.
"You too." I try for professional detachment despite the weight of everything unsaid between us. "It's been a successful event. The resort will certainly see increased bookings from this exposure."
"Is that what we're doing?" His voice carries quiet challenge. "Pretending this was just a business transaction?"
"Isn't it?" The question emerges more vulnerable than intended.
"You know it isn't." Lucas steps closer, close enough that I can smell the subtle notes of his cologne and see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
"Then what was it?" I meet his gaze directly, needing clarity before I can make impossible choices.
"A beginning." His answer comes without hesitation. "Or at least, I thought it could be."
"Lucas, I—" The simple honesty in his expression steals my breath.
"You don't need to decide anything tonight." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear gently. "Just promise me one thing."
"What?"
"Don't decide about Paris based solely on your career." His fingers linger against my cheek. "Make it based on what makes you happy."
The request lands like a stone in still water, ripples spreading outward through everything I've believed about success and fulfillment. What makes me happy? The question is simultaneously simple and profoundly disorienting.
"I should go." I step back, needing distance to think clearly. "Early morning tomorrow."
He nods, accepting my retreat reluctantly. "Goodnight, Amelia."
I make it halfway to the door before turning back. "For what it's worth, these past days with you... they've changed how I see things. How I see myself."
"For what it's worth." He echoes. "They've been the most challenging and rewarding days I've had since taking over this place. Regardless of what you decide about Paris."
We stand separated by the empty reception room, the space between us filled with possibility and uncertainty. Tomorrow looms with its demands for decisions and goodbyes, for choosing between the career I've built and something entirely unexpected that's taken root in this mountain sanctuary.