Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Michaela could only echo, “Bathing suits and cover-ups?”
Flo laughed. Her mother had the most beautiful laugh, the most marvelous smile. No wonder Walter Braedon couldn’t help but be entranced by her. “Didn’t you read the invitation? It’s a beach party with swimwear instead of cocktail dresses. Let’s go pick out the perfect material to make two stunning outfits.”
“We can’t possibly make something by Saturday.”
Her mother snorted in disbelief. “I’ve made floor-length ballgowns overnight. I can certainly make two swimsuits and a couple of sarongs.”
Of course she could.
They were going to a wedding.
Troy would be there.
And Michaela didn’t know how she would avoid throwing herself into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-One
On Saturday, Troy’s yacht, signed, sealed, and delivered, lay moored beside the dock in the deepwater harbor of Walter Braedon’s Big Sur resort. As she beheld the sleek, massive beast with every luxury, Michaela could think only about that first glorious kiss with Troy in the stern of the yacht.
He’d once again sent a limo for them, and Michaela and Flo had arrived for Lyssa and Cal’s beach-party wedding only ten minutes ago, wearing the beautiful swimwear Michaela had helped her mother create.
Flo wore a one-piece suit with a cover-up cinched beneath her breasts and falling in beautiful folds to just above her ankles, the neckline, long sleeves, and hem bordered in lace. The two of them had chosen a bikini for Michaela, with a matching sarong wrapped around her hips, leaving her midriff and shoulders bare. When she’d objected, her mother had scoffed, “It’s a beach party. If I could flaunt this body—” She ran her hands down her caftan. “—I’d do it in a New York minute.”
Michaela had always wondered how long or short a New York minute actually was. But she gave in to her mother’s insistence. She did love the material they’d chosen, colorful fish on a blue background. So now she had fish swimming over her breasts, as well as fish swimming across her derriere, though they were covered up by the sarong.
They gazed down at the sparkling waters of the Pacific Ocean. There wasn’t another cove like this along the stretch of Highway 1 heading south. Mostly, the coast was craggy cliffs leading down to a narrow strip of beach, if there was a beach at all. But Walter Braedon had managed to find the perfect spot for his resort. Michaela wondered if this beach was man-made, with even the slope down to the water having been wrestled into submission by Walter’s engineers. She suspected even the deepwater cove had help.
But whether it was man-made or not, this place felt like heaven on earth. The perfect scene for a Maverick wedding.
The sloping gardens of the Regent Resort were resplendent with blooming azaleas, rhododendrons, camellias, and hydrangeas, and the guests wore beachwear as bright as the flowering bushes. The cove was perfect for sailboats, yachts, and sightseeing boats, which could moor along the dock, while the other side of the cove provided the perfect beach for sunbathers, swimmers, and body surfers.
Buffet tables had been set up on a flat, grassy area where the food would later be served. These were accompanied by several dining tables, including a long, elaborately decorated head table for the wedding party. A large deck covered with parquet flooring—presumably for dancing later on—fronted the dock. From the grass and across the deck, a red carpet led to the boarding steps of Troy’s yacht. Chairs had been set out on the parqueted deck, providing a perfect view of the yacht’s bow, where Lyssa Spencer and Cal Danniger would say their vows. How Troy had arranged for the use of his yacht—since he’d just signed the papers on Monday—Michaela could only marvel at.
But then, he was a billionaire, and all it took was money.
She crushed the reminder of all the reasons she couldn’t be with him. Her mother had made her promise to try to fit in and enjoy herself.
Beside her, Flo said in an awed whisper, “This is mind-boggling.” She scanned the scene filled with café tables and drinks carts. Waitstaff moved through the milling crowd, handing out champagne and canapés.
Michaela had a feeling her mother wasn’t gazing at the scenery, but searching for Walter.
As if the thought of Troy had conjured him, he leaped off the last step of the yacht and beelined for them. Dressed in orange board shorts and a Hawaiian-style shirt covered in bird of paradise flowers, he outshone her in color.
He hugged her mother first, then stood back, holding out her arms, surveying her beautiful cover-up. “Do not tell me you made this magnificent outfit, Flo.”
Michaela’s mother blushed, saying almost coquettishly, “We had to have something new and fabulous for such a lovely wedding.”
Then, finally, Troy took Michaela’s hand, still holding her mother’s as well. “You’re both stunning.” Which was the effect they’d been going for.