Million Dollar Christmas Bride - Holly Rayner Page 0,13

“Mr. Wylde, sir,” he said.

Bianca was speechless. She felt as though she was dreaming as the crew member led the way onto the ship. A row of waitstaff stood lined up near a double staircase that led to an upper deck.

A hostess stepped forward. “Mr. Wylde, we’ve prepared the upper and lower dining areas for you. Which would you prefer?”

“Top deck,” Jackson said. He seemed completely comfortable with making the decision, being waited on, and being the center of attention—all things that Bianca usually cringed at.

In fact, she felt slightly uncomfortable as the waitstaff watched them climb the stairs.

All this attention, she thought. Could I ever get used to living like this—almost as if I’m royalty?

She thought of the many hours she’d spent cleaning up messes as a nursing assistant—stripping soiled linens off of beds, stacking up dirty dishes and food trays, collecting used nightgowns, and wiping down tables and nightstands. She was used to being a service person, not being served. This felt all wrong.

She felt as though she should be standing on the sidelines, watching Jackson climb the stairs with some other woman at his side—a fancy, wealthy, high-society lady who wore real diamonds in her ears, not cheap knock-offs from the local department store.

Her anxiety mounted when she saw that there was a string quartet in place under an awning on the top deck. Are they going to play just for us? she wondered. As she and Jackson took their seats, the music started up, and she realized that they were.

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later, once the waiter had served chilled white wine and several plates of appetizers and then departed to the lower deck, that Bianca started to relax into the experience. The boat gained some speed as it pulled away from the shore, and a faint breeze ruffled her hair. The sky was growing darker, and little white lights came on around the upper deck.

She bit into a piece of shrimp that was flavorful with lemon and cocktail sauce and closed her eyes, enjoying the taste. It was rare that she experienced so much luxury.

“You’re used to this,” she said to Jackson, who had just filled her in on the last boating experience he’d had, on a houseboat on Lake Powell.

“All what?” Jackson asked innocently.

“This,” Bianca said, gesturing to their surroundings and the decadent spread of food on the table before them. “You know, I mentioned your name to my neighbor, and she seemed to think you were related to the Wyldes that own the grocery store chain.”

Jackson chuckled. “You caught me,” he said. He reached for a fried clam. “My dad started the business. He passed away fifteen years back, and I took over for him.”

“So you’re the owner… of all of them?”

He nodded. “I have a team that I work with. It’s not like I personally run every store.”

“You know what I mean,” Bianca said. “They’re yours. That’s incredible. You must do stuff like this all the time.” She looked out at the water which glistened with reflected light from the streets on either side of them.

“When the mood strikes,” Jackson said with a nod. He eyed her. “I hope you don’t hold it against me.”

“Why would I?”

“Sometimes people are funny about it.” He shrugged. “It’s something I’ve noticed over the years. The minute people find out I’m wealthy, their attitude toward me changes, as though I’m different. I suppose I am—I’ve never had to struggle with the things that some do. But at heart, I’m a simple guy. I like a good cold beer, fishing on a lake, a nice country song.”

She laughed. “Oh really? What do you do… rent out entire lakes and have them stocked with prize fish?” she teased.

He shook his head. “I just put bait on a hook like everyone else.” Then he grinned. “Though I do have to admit that my fishing pole is the nicest that they make—real light aluminum rod, walnut wood inserts, ceramic stripper guides, and designed to fit just right in my palm. Do you count that as cheating?”

“Maybe an unfair advantage, but not downright cheating,” Bianca said. An image of Jackson out in a boat with a fishing pole in his hand flashed in her mind, and she found that she liked it.

As the sun sank lower in the sky and then finally slid below the horizon line, dinner arrived. Bianca savored every bite of her grilled salmon, seasonal vegetables, and buttery smashed potatoes. By the time the main course wrapped