So why not make the most of this month of jumping through social hoops?
His hand whispered against her impossibly soft skin, tension mounting as their eyes locked. “The best way to keep my rogue mouth in line is to stay right by my side. Be more than a media consultant. Be my date for my sister’s wedding.”
Two
When she’d been a kid, Isabeau, like other little girls, had dreamed of a fairy-tale wedding of her own. Her mother had even spun those fantasies with her. Except her mom’s prince charming had walked out, and even though her mother kept telling the stories, Isabeau stopped believing. She wasn’t sure she even knew what a healthy dating relationship was, between her mother’s experiences and her own.
So how had she let herself get talked into being Trystan’s date at a family wedding? She’d said yes before she could think, her mind somehow losing its edge around this man.
A dozen times over the past two days she’d planned to tell him it was a silly idea.
And every time, she’d found a reason to delay until here they were, together, at a Mikkelson-Steele wedding.
Sure it was a small ceremony at the Steele family compound by the water, but still. Simple to these people still involved big money and security guards.
She wasn’t his date, not in the romantic sense. Although Trystan was playing it to the hilt, his arm draped over her shoulders as the bride and groom exchanged vows.
Trystan leaned closer, whispering against her ear, “Do you feel okay?”
“I’m fine, just fine,” Isabeau insisted quickly, then caught herself up short. “Why would you ask that?”
“Your face is all scrunched.”
“That’s rude.” The mutter eked out between her lips, which were lifted in a tight smile. Though to be completely honest, she could feel the vise grip of tension in her teeth and furrowed brow.
“My apologies.” His voice was low, but the lilt to his tone was light. Teasing. “Your gorgeous face is all scrunched?”
“Better, slightly.”
“We’re at a wedding. Pretend you aren’t checking your watch wondering how much longer until the reception, like the rest of us are.”
“That’s not true. I’m enjoying the view. The sun just made me squint for a second,” she lied through her teeth.
“Uh-huh, right.” He laughed softly.
She had to confess, a summer shoreline wedding in Alaska with a mountain range backdrop was nothing less than stunning. She would have enjoyed herself if it weren’t for the nerves in her stomach generated by the man beside her.
Distracting her.
The Steele estate loomed in the background, sprawling, like a cedar wood cabin on the scale of a manor house—these clients were beyond the caliber of any she’d had before. The home was nestled into the skinny pines and rugged landscape, the wildness of it all giving Isabeau a small sense of peace even with the mansion housing multiple suites for the Steele family when they were in town. The quarters for each sibling were much like luxurious condominiums. Glenna Mikkelson had even been living in her suite with Broderick for months.
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
