“Finally,” Xavier drags out the word until he sounds out of breath. I roll my eyes at his antics and look over at Mr. Donatello. After ending his call, he walks towards us.
“So, where are we going next?”
“The beach.” He nods his head as we start walking towards the car on the other side of the mall. After an hour of walking, we go back to the Elektra SUV, which is custom made for any driver or worker with the F1 team.
Xavier turns on the engine, and I feel it start rumbling as I look out the window. So many people are living their lives without a care in the world. Some are laying on the beach with friends, while others longboard with a freeness to them. Miami is a place where people live without stress.
Changing the song, I decide on “Hymn for the Weekend” by Coldplay.
“Can you take the top of the car off?” I ask Xavier.
He smiles and nods. I turn the stereo knob to full volume and take my seatbelt off, standing up and letting the air take my hair back. The song plays in the background.
As the music drops, I close my eyes while feeling the adrenaline course through me. Extending my arms out, I breathe out and laugh. I don’t know how I feel, but the one thing I do know is that I’m free.
For the rest of our drive over to the beach, Mr. Donatello and I argued about which part of Miami Beach we should visit. Finally, we land on the side where the Versace Mansion is. I know he hates it,which is one of the reasons I want to go.
Well, not only that, it’s also a landmark. The infamous spot where Giovanni Versace was killed by a psychopathic stalker. What used to be a house but is now a hotel is one of the most visited places in Miami, and I’m not missing my chance to see it.
Scoring a parking spot closest to the beach and the hotel, I jump out and breathe in the fresh sea air. Someone comes rushing past me riding a bicycle on the sidewalk closest to the beach. Looking around, I see a café in front of the lot where we parked.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” I hear his Italian accent drip off my skin as he points at the café across the street.
“It’s obvious.” I quirk an eyebrow at him, pointing at a couple on the farthest side of the sitting area.
“They’re on a Tinder date. The awkwardness and fidgeting shows, but also the fact that she keeps looking down at her phone. She’s either texting her friend good or bad news or looking at Tinder to check if it’s actually the guy she swiped right on.”
I point my finger at the friends on the other side of the café. “You see her laughing? She’s laughing at her friend’s joke in hopes that she won’t offend her. It’s not that funny, but she wants her friend to be happy.” I shrug up as I turn around and look at him.
“Shocking. You said exactly what I was thinking, that within itself is scary.”
“It’s not scary, Mr. Donatello, it’s common sense. It’s the viewpoint from people who are perceptive, which just so happens to be all of us.” I wave my finger in a circle, reiterating that Luca and Xavier are both perceptive in their own ways.
Brushing past him, I catch up with Xavier. I set down the beach bag I was carrying and take out the towels that Xavier insisted I shove into my bag. The sand kind of scares me because the bag is Dior, but it was made for the beach after all, so I don’t see the harm.
Laying the towels down, I sit on one of them and take off my shoes. Xavier was already out of his clothes, except his swim trunks. I don’t plan on witnessing or cooperating in any skinny dipping anytime soon. Although Xavier is the exact person I could see doing it.
Walking past, he makes his way through the tan sand and dives into a wave, then starts floating in the ocean. I just sit there and take in my surroundings for a bit. Looking over I see Mr. Donatello coming back after changing. In Miami, restaurants don’t let anyone change inside bathrooms when they’re near the beach. He had to make his way to an outdoor bathroom by the sidewalk across from the lifeguard stand. I bet that was a pleasant experience for him, and I can’t help but smile at the image of him struggling to take off his suit pants in a tiny bathroom stall. The smell is most likely pungent with the lack of plumbing inside. The image of bugs and him knocking into the dividers, cursing, graces my imagination. That would be a great thing to witness.
He’s now in swim trunks that are far from his taste.
The man has pink swim shorts on with little dolphin patterns adorning the entirety of the fabric. Mr. Donatello is in the most basic beach boy swim trunks. This is the best day of my life.
“I don’t appreciate the laughing, Miss Castillo. I’m still your boss, just to remind you of my status in this power exchange.”
“Not laughing would be a crime in this instance. You’re wearing the exact opposite of what you would pick. Damn I love Miami, plus, you look adorable.”
“I do not look adorable. What a dreadful word choice.”
“I beg to differ, you’re absolutely adorable.”
“It was this or something even worse.” He waves over his swim shorts.
“There can’t be anything worse than those.”
“Oh yes there is, imagine me in a bright yellow speedo. My cousin Leonardo wears them every chance he gets, so I would rather not be like my imbecile of a cousin. I will never understand why people have a lack of taste when it comes to swim wear. It’s a disgrace to society.” I laugh to the point that I can barely breathe. I lay down on my blanket, not able to get a full breath into my lungs.
“I am imagining you—” laugh. “In a tiny little speedo—” laugh. “Please do that at least once in your lifetime. I want a picture and a moment to witness it for myself.”