Page 86 of Meant to be Mine

“You two look beautiful. I’m taking pictures.”

Drew laughed and pulled me closer, his arm around my waist. “You heard the woman.”

We posed in front of the fireplace. Then by the front door. Then outside on the porch. Mom took approximately three hundred photos, directing us like we were on a professional shoot.

“Mom, we’re going to be late.”

“It’s fine,” Drew said easily.

When Mom’s photoshoot finally ended, we headed out. I didn’t grab his hand, which felt weird, but I didn’t want to confuse my parents.

“You two have a good time,” Dad said. “Don’t fall off the boat.”

“Solid advice, Mr. Blake.”

I slid into the passenger seat and let out a breath.

“Your parents are fun,” Drew said, starting the engine.

“They’re ridiculous. Thank you for the dress. It’s gorgeous.”

“Thank Annika. I just told her to pick something nice.”

The marina was in Long Beach, about forty minutes south. Drew drove with one hand on the wheel and the other reaching across the console, resting on my thigh. We didn’t talk much. Just the radio playing and the windows cracked to let in the ocean air.

When we pulled into the marina parking lot, I saw it immediately. The yacht was massive. White and gleaming in the afternoon sun, three levels high with a steady stream of people walking toward it.

“Drew. That’s not a yacht. That’s a floating hotel.”

He laughed and parked the car. “It’s decent.”

“Decent,” I repeated. “Okay.”

We walked down the dock toward the boat. Other guests were already boarding. I recognized a few faces from the beach club event. Beautiful people in beautiful clothes holding champagne flutes and laughing.

I felt the nerves kick in again. Drew must have felt me tense because he squeezed my hand.

“You’re fine,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

We walked up the gangway. A crew member in crisp whites greeted us and directed us to the main deck. The space opened up into an outdoor lounge area with white cushioned seating, teak wood floors, and tables already set with champagne flutes and appetizers.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. “Drew, this is fancy.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “It’s fine.”

“Fine.” I looked around at the polished brass railings, the pristine furniture, the number of crew practically outnumbering the guests. “If this is fine, what’s great?”

“My yacht kicks this yacht’s ass,” he said casually.

I stopped walking and stared at him. “I’m sorry, your what?”

“I’ve told you about my yacht.”

I shook my head. “You told me you had a boat. I pictured liked a speedboat. Not a mansion on the water.”

“Well, technically my yacht is a little smaller than this one, but it’s way nicer. Everything custom to my specifications.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Is this what billionaires worry about? Who has the best yacht?”