Alpha Billionaire’s Bride, Part Two (BWWM Romance Serial) by Mia Caldwell

said, trailing fingertips over the
patinated surface. “It seems ancient, yet your grandfather built it?”
    “Not this piece. He found it in Japan and had it shipped
here. It’s several hundred years old.”
    “Gorgeous.”
    Ian’s expression sharpened. “Indeed.”
    She stood at the railing and took in the surrounding area. A
canopy of trees stretched out over the creek, filtering sunlight through leafy
branches, sparkles flashing on the surface of the meandering current.
    Trailing tendrils of a weeping willow tree created a shadowy
enclave on the grassy bank. Had she been a child, Jada would have been drawn to
that tree, creating a pretend house under the tree’s leafy, rustling walls of
greenery.
    Cattails and reedy bushes lined most of the shoreline. Off
to one side, she noted a clearing half-circled by towering trees at the forest
edge. A large, colorful blanket was spread on the grass, with bright pillows
sprinkled about. She noted two large silver buckets filled with ice and
bottles.
    She nodded in the clearing’s direction. “Our picnic spot?”
    “Of course,” he said. “Do you approve?”
    She considered a joking comeback, but opted instead for
sincerity. Something about the place and the moment demanded it. “It’s
absolutely perfect. Thank you.”
    He was pleased, she could tell.
    They headed to the picnic site, Ian helping her lower
herself onto what must have been a cashmere blanket. She smoothed her dress,
tucking it around her legs so she didn’t flash parts which would be unladylike
to reveal—for now. She smiled to herself.
    Ian settled near her, cross-legged with the basket in front
of him. Dappled sunlight played over his dark hair. He looked relaxed in his
lightweight trousers that rode low on his hips, and in his loose,
open-throated, lawn shirt with sleeves rolled partway up his muscular forearms.
    “Shall we see what Mrs. Best packed for us?” he asked.
    “You mean you don’t know?”
    “Nope, only the chicken. I requested that. You can’t have a
picnic without cold fried chicken, and Mrs. Best’s is so good, it can bring
tears to your eyes.”
    He flipped open the lid of the basket. Beautiful china
plates, white linen napkins, real silver dinnerware and delicate crystal
glasses were stored on flaps. He set those aside and began pulling out
container after container of food.
    There were fresh vegetables with a heavenly-smelling
artichoke dip, tangy pickled beets, a vinegary cucumber and onion dish, creamy
campanelle pasta salad with cherry tomatoes and sweet corn, on and on it went,
all the way down to the bottom of the basket with muffaletta sliders, iced
strawberry tartlets, assorted cheese and fruit, a long loaf of crusty French bread
and of course, crispy fried chicken.
    “Um,” Jada said, “Mrs. Best was aware this picnic was for
two people, right?”
    “No worries. We’ll give the leftovers to Sasha.”
    Ian poured Jada a glass of the fruity sangria that had been
chilling in the silver buckets. It was delicious, and Jada savored each sip.
    They chatted as they tasted the different dishes.
    “What did you want to be when you grew up? When you were a
kid, I mean,” Ian asked. “Did you always want to be an accountant?”
    Jada smiled. “Yeah, I used to dream of squeaking out
deductions under the glow of one of those lamps with a green shade. Actually, I
went into accounting because it seemed like a secure career for the future. You
can’t escape death and taxes, they say, and I’m not cut out to be a doctor or a
mortician. Too squeamish. Did you always want to be a billionaire tycoon?”
    It was his turn to smile. “No. But I knew I’d go into
business like my grandfather. When I was really young, I wanted to invent a
time machine so I could visit the dinosaurs.”
    “I wanted to live under the sea and catch jellyfish with
Spongebob and Patrick.”
    Ian laughed. “Not me. I hated Squidward.”
    “I was gonna kick him out and live in his house.”
    “An