Having their wedding here also made it an easier location for Jack Steele. The patriarch had only recently been given the okay to stop wearing his neck brace. He was a walking miracle, given he’d fractured two vertebrae in his neck. He’d survived the fall and the surgery that followed.
He was still an imposing figure, but pale, and she suspected he would be sitting for the duration of the reception. Likely only pride and grit kept him on his feet now. Actually, Jeannie Mikkelson appeared more stressed, worried and frazzled than he was, even with her mother-of-the-bride smile.
Isabeau glanced up at Trystan to see if he’d noticed his mother’s strain. But no. His gaze slammed right into hers with a spark of awareness that made her all the more conscious of his arm along her shoulders.
Lord, he smelled good, like spices and musk and man.
He smiled, which distracted her to the point she almost missed Trystan’s hand sliding down her spine to rest just above her butt. Her skin was on fire in a way she hadn’t felt in a long—a very long—time.
Why was he doing this? To rebel against the makeover or because he genuinely wanted her? His behavior felt like more than playacting through a simple date. She would need to tread warily to resist getting too involved with him.
She cleared her throat and hissed, “Pay attention to your sister’s wedding.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Trystan’s hand eased upward to her shoulder again.
It had to be the wedding ceremony making her go all gooey inside, aching to grasp some of that magic in the air.
The wedding. Right. She should just pay attention to the proceedings, take in the staging and beauty for ideas for future clients who wanted a down-to-earth, simple ceremony.
The bride wore a fitted lace dress with long, sheer sleeves and a sculpted bodice, her blond hair swept up in a twist that exposed her regal neck. She held a bouquet of flowing Queen Anne’s lace, white roses and greenery. Simple and elegant, like the bride herself.
The groom’s tuxedo was a Ralph Lauren design with clean lines, and no Stetson today.
Unlike the other men, who all wore suits and hats.
The family resemblance on both sides was easy to spot. The Mikkelsons were blond or had hair a lighter shade of brown. The Steeles were dark haired like their father with a flash of Inuit heritage from their mother.
Isabeau had done her research on both families. The Mikkelson matriarch and Steele patriarch had both been devastated when their spouses died. She’d sifted through countless press releases to identify possible publicity pitfalls. But there were no hints of scandal in either of their marriages. It was impossible not to root for them now that they were planning their own wedding.
Glenna Mikkelson and Broderick Steele’s relationship was a bit more...complicated. Rumors indicated they’d had a brief fling in college, but Glenna had gone on to marry someone else. Her husband had cheated and fathered a baby daughter with another woman—who had then abandoned her child.
The precious little girl was in Broderick’s arms now, her chubby hands wrapped around his neck. Isabeau’s heart squeezed at the beauty of a real fairy-tale wedding. And with unerring timing, Trystan slid his hand down to palm her waist with a warm, subtle strength that sent tingles up her spine.
God, she needed some space from this sexy “date” of hers.
The chords of an upbeat song called her back, grounding her in the moment. Head tilting, she watched as the couple walked down the aisle together. Glenna glowed as she passed them, her smile as wide as the horizon and as brilliant as the midsummer sun. She lifted the baby up as Broderick led them all the way down the velvet aisle.
A family. Complete and ready to face the future together.
A chord in Isabeau’s heart snapped as the wedding concluded.
Suddenly, the world seemed to close in on her. The small crowd felt oppressive.
Space. The desire to bolt surged into her rapidly beating heart. “You know, you’re right after all about the reception. I’m starving.” She gestured to the caterer’s tent on the lawn. “I’m going to check out the spread while you chat with your family. Bye now.”
She smoothed her silky yellow dress, the hem teasing her knees, and slipped out from beneath Trystan’s arm. Her skin tingled with the lingering feel of his simple touch. Her heels sunk into the grass as she made her way up the hill toward the outdoor party tent. Tables of food were strategically available everywhere she looked, even up to the balcony and sunroom. Waiters walked the grounds with trays of canapés and drinks.
She didn’t have her dog with her, opting to let Paige play with the other family dogs in a large fenced area. Isabeau had decided that if she changed her mind, she could retrieve Paige quickly. Even now, she could see her yellow Lab loping with a husky, each dog holding the end of a stick not even sparing a glance at the large antlered moose ambling just beyond the fence line.
Best smile forward, Isabeau dashed away from the amassing family, from Trystan’s heat, her eyes trained on reaching the balcony.
Don’t look back at him.
Determined to find a moment of solitude, Isabeau headed straight for the mansion, climbing the lengthy stairway up to the balcony. What a breathtaking view of the festivities. And yes, she could find peace here as well, away from the temptation of leaning into Trystan’s touch.
An elegant, understated spread of high tables drenched in pale lace and lit candles filled the balcony. The candles flickered, contrasting with the deep blue depths of the water lapping against the shore below.
Navigating her way from the balcony to the sunroom, she paused to lean against one of the sunroom’s many open doors. Pausing to drink in the scene. To collect herself and assuage the mounting anxiety that rumbled in her chest, squeezing around her heart.
Golden sunlight drenched the room, pouring through the array of windows. An ice carving of a doe and buck glimmered, drawing her toward the spread of food. Casting a glance at the lawn again, she saw the other guests beginning to help themselves to the alfresco meal, with the option of retreating to the sunroom. Thank goodness for the spread out space for mingling or quiet. Because she felt jittery and she knew it had nothing to do with her blood sugar levels.
Salmon, ahi tuna, crab legs, asparagus, Caprese skewers...all of it made her mouth water. She built a plate of salmon and a plain roll just as a jazz band inside the house launched into their first set.
Yep. Fairy tale. And yes, a part of her still wanted a moment of magic like this. Not the angst of forever. Just the magic.
With a sigh, some of the restlessness she’d felt only five minutes ago seemed to dissolve. Making her way outside, she sat on one of the deck chairs, scanning the surreal beauty in front of her.
Isabeau tipped her face toward the brief warmth of summer, four weeks in late June and early July. Temperatures in the fifties felt balmy after her first winter in the state.
And while the thought of such cool weather feeling balmy never ceased to amaze her, the wild scenery of this state made her feel humble and small. In her college literature class, she’d been forced to read Thoreau and Emerson. At the time, their musings on nature had washed over her in a blur of words. But here, as she studied the purple of dwarf fireweed peeking through exposed granite along the shoreline, the perceptiveness of those dusty American thinkers resonated. Even with the helicopter parked in the distance.
Serenity and peace.
Well, at least it had been for a few brief shining moments. Isabeau sat up straighter as Naomi Steele approached, her belly round with her second trimester pregnancy, her dark hair gathered into an elegant bun, teardrop emerald earrings