Page 52 of Worth the Wait
I press my earpiece, grateful for any excuse to escape this conversation. “On my way.”
“Lianne—” Cameron starts, but I’m already moving toward the problem table, using vendor crises as a shield against questions I’m not ready to answer.
The floral issue takes ten minutes to resolve—a simple adjustment that could have waited but provides exactly the kind of distraction I need. When I return to the main area, Cameron is surrounded by company board members, deep in conversation about quarterly projections and market expansion.
Back in his element, discussing the kind of business that shapes industries and influences policy. The kind of sophisticated discourse I’ll never be equipped to join, no matter how many events I plan or how much I learn about wine pairings and seating protocol.
“Lianne, the Judd family just arrived!” Amanda’s voice carries excitement rather than panic this time, though my stomach drops as I follow her gaze toward the main entrance where a small crowd has gathered.
I watch as Mrs. Judd makes her entrance in an elegant midnight-blue silk gown, her movements graceful and deliberate, while Mr. Judd carries himself with the kind of bearing that draws every eye in the room.
And between them, looking like she stepped out of a fairy tale, is Isabella Vitale.
The Instagram photos didn’t do her justice.
She’s even more beautiful in person, with an ethereal quality that makes everyone else in the room seem slightly out of focus. Blond hair styled in effortless waves catches the light from the crystal chandeliers, and her champagne-colored gown flows like liquid silk. But it’s not just her physical beauty that stops my breath—it’s the way she carries herself.
Confident without being arrogant. Gracious without seeming rehearsed. Like she’s never questioned her place in rooms like this because she was born to grace them.
This is the woman Cameron’s parents want for him. This is the woman who belongs at Table One while I coordinate the evening from the sidelines.
Through the crowd, I catch glimpses of Cameron approaching his family. Even from across the room, I can see the moment he spots Isabella—the way his posture straightens, the genuine smile that spreads across his face, the ease with which he greets her.
They embrace with the familiarity of people who’ve known each other for years, and when they separate, Isabella’s hand remains on his arm in a gesture that speaks to comfort rather than possession. They look like they’re picking up a conversation that was interrupted yesterday rather than reuniting after weeks apart.
As if sensing my attention, Cameron’s gaze finds mine across the ballroom. For a moment, something flickers in his eyes—confusion, maybe concern. But Isabella chooses that moment tosay something that makes him laugh, and his attention returns to her, leaving me feeling like an intruder who’s been caught staring at an intimate moment.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is all in my head, fueled by insecurity and foster care abandonment issues that I thought I’d outgrown. Maybe Cameron really does love me, and Isabella really is just a family friend, and I’m sabotaging something beautiful because I’m too damaged to believe I deserve happiness.
But then I need to check the champagne service in the VIP reception area, and I overhear fragments of conversation that shatter any remaining hope.
“...timing couldn’t be more perfect...” comes Mrs. Judd’s voice from near the terrace windows.
“...discussing arrangements...” follows an older woman’s response.
I move closer, pretending to adjust floral arrangements while trying to catch more of their conversation.
“...families have been hoping...”
“...understands what’s expected...”
The words are fragmented, incomplete, but combined with everything else I’ve seen and felt over the past few days, they paint a picture I can no longer deny. Whatever Mrs. Judd and her companion are discussing, it involves expectations and arrangements and perfect timing—the language of strategic alliances disguised as romantic destiny.
“Miss Peralta?” The head chef interrupts my eavesdropping. “We’re ready to begin passed appetizer service. Should we proceed?”
“Yes, absolutely. Everything looks beautiful.”
The next hour passes in a blur of coordinated service and vendor management. Cocktail hour proceeds flawlessly, with guests mingling on the terrace while servers circulate with champagne and carefully crafted appetizers. The orchestra provides elegant background music, photographers capture candid moments, and conversation flows with the easy sophistication of people accustomed to luxury events.
From my position managing logistics, I watch Cameron work the room, introducing board members to potential investors, facilitating conversations between colleagues from different divisions, ensuring that guests feel appropriately honored and included.
And through it all, Isabella remains at his side.
Not clinging or possessive, but present in the way that suggests she belongs there. She contributes intelligently to business conversations, asking thoughtful questions about Sterling Industries’ expansion into renewable energy that demonstrate genuine interest rather than polite small talk. When elderly board members share stories about the company’s early days, she listens with the kind of engaged attention that makes people feel valued and heard.
She enhances rather than complicates, adds value to every interaction. This is what a suitable partner looks like in Cameron’s world—someone who makes his life easier and more successful simply by being herself.
They don’t just look perfect together—they look inevitable together.
