When we get to the lower deck, I explain this level is reserved for close friends and family. “There’s a pool, jacuzzi, loungers, a small kitchen, dining table, and a living area with a huge TV for watching games.”
Her eyes practically bug out when she sees the glass swimming pool ensconced on the deck. “If there was an apocalypse, you could live here quite easily.”
I laugh. “Ok, Claire should be arriving in a few minutes. We’ll go up one deck to the entertainment area.”
She nods and heads up. When she gets there, she steps onto the deck and twirls around in a circle. “The view is still good from this level.”
“This is the main bar and entertainment area. We host most of our parties on this level. There’s a large living room with doors that open completely to the outside. The main area is clear for mingling or dancing, and the back area is set up as a dining area,” I explain, showing her the various sections.
“When you say we, do you mean you and your beauties?” she asks breathlessly.
“We have in the past, but no, I was referring more to Thiago, Mateo, and myself. Marcos, too,” I admit freely. Glancing at my watch, I realize we have about ten minutes before Claire gets here.
I pull her into my arms and twirl around the deck. “If I’m lucky, this is where you and I will have our first dance.” Humming along with the song in my head, I spin, leading her in a wide circle. Her lithe body fits mine perfectly, and I bend my head toward her. “Pretty good, don’t you think?”
“Mmm,” she replies, a tiny line appearing on her forehead.
I tense.
“Mateo’s pretty smooth on his feet, too,” she teases. “But honestly, I bet Thiago’s the best dancer in the family. Maybe I’ll dance with all three of you and compare.”
“What on earth makes you think Thiago would be a good dancer?”
“The man is light on his feet and moves incredibly fast,” she whispers conspiratorially.
My lips twitch, but I can’t hold the laughter in. “You’d win that bet. He loves dancing, and he’s incredibly good at it, but don’t you dare tell him I told you. It must be his Brazilian heritage.” I give a mock sigh.
“There you are,” Claire exclaims from the rear deck. “I must have gone to the wrong level. Handsome as usual. How are you doing?” The sound of heels striking the deck tells me she’s almost to us.
Henley gives a wry smile and steps out of my arms.
Claire immediately steps into them and kisses me on both cheeks. “Hello, Grayson.” She spins around and thrusts a hand toward Henley. “Hello, I’m Claire Delgado.”
“Henley Night. Nice to meet you.”
Claire briefly slips her hand into Henley’s then turns to me. “Tell me you’re not serious about having a party here in less than a week. I mean, seriously, Grayson. What’s the rush?” She wraps an arm around me and pouts. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“We may have an occasion to celebrate soon, but it’s top secret. We won’t know the exact date until two days prior to the party. I assume we can get everything but the food on board.” I pause when I see Claire start to panic. “Don’t worry. It’s casual.” I tell her my idea about bringing food from different restaurants on board, and she blanches.
“It’s a Miami theme,” Henley interjects. “Miami has fabulous restaurants with food from everywhere. It’s perfect.”
Claire runs her hand down my arm. “Let’s go sit down somewhere, with a drink, and iron out the details. You know I’ll drop everything for you. We can figure out what to do together.”
I motion to the lounge behind me. “Why don’t you ladies take a seat, and I’ll bring you something to drink. What would you like?”
“White wine,” Claire calls out. She saunters into the lounge and starts laying items on the coffee table in front of the couch.
Henley shakes her head and holds up her water. “I’m good.” Her phone pings, and she laughs. Turning it around, she shows me an image of Mateo’s lips. The phone pings again. She shakes her head.
“What?” I ask, grabbing a water for myself and wine for Claire.
“Nothing,” she replies with a blush, making me wonder what he said. She strolls into the lounge, typing furiously, and sits on a chair by the sofa.
“Here you go,” I tell Claire, handing her the wine. I look down at the coffee table and see swatches, paper, and inspiration boards. “What’s this?”
“Invitations, decoration, linens, and all the things that go with planning a party,” Claire says, exasperated.
“Make everything white. Clean, crisp. Hand delivered personal invitations only for three hundred people. Champagne to celebrate. Local food. Done,” I state firmly, flashing my most charming smile to get Claire on board.
