Miami Beach, one week earlier
The two of them circled each other in the ring, which in their case was a hotel room. He advanced and stared at her from the height of his stature, parting his legs and placing both hands on the hips like a cat bristling to intimidate an adversary. Lean, with well-defined muscles, he had lost weight in the past year, but his white clothes made him look bigger. A dimple on the chin distinguished his square face, as well as deep brown eyes, large and almond-shaped, emphasized now by visibly arched brows.
"Colossus for sure," Marco advocated.
"Aquamarine without a doubt," retorted Marisa.
Standing by the bed, she projected her chin in a defiant angle and crossed her arms. Maintaining a very straight posture, she transferred her weight to one leg and flexed the other. Her delicate figure, the polka-dot minidress and ballet flats composed a false appearance of fragility. She resembled a doll of gentle traits, cheeks and nose with freckles painted by the sun, amber-colored eyes one shade lighter than her hair—a determined and adamant doll.
They assessed each other. In a rapid succession, the blows were discharged from both sides.
"The Colossus has an artificial surf wave."
"The Aquamarine has a music festival."
"I've always wanted to surf an artificial wave."
"I'll die if I miss the Jamaican Vibe show."
The first round ended without a winner. They moved on to the second.
"Bowling alley."
"Tropical solarium."
"Zip line."
"Costume ball."
Marco and Marisa remained silent for an instant, each analyzing their own strategy.
He changed tactics. Trailing his fingertip on Marisa's exposed collarbone, he hooked one index in the neckline of her dress and pulled her closer. His wicked hands slid across her shoulders, brushing off the dress straps. She uncrossed her arms by reflex when Marco fondled her thigh underneath the dress.
"Colossus."
His gaze, his voice, his hands delivered an irresistible invitation. Marisa was on the verge of capitulation. Staring at Marco's mouth, she followed the sinuous line of the upper lip—two twin hills separated by a gentle dip—and paused on the fuller, bottom lip. She languidly ran her fingers down his face, moved around the chin, lingered on the temple... and without warning ruffled his hair.
"Marisa, no!" His smooth timbre rasped a note.
Marco pushed away a dark lock from his forehead and didn't waste time in grasping Marisa's wrists to immobilize them behind her back. Their bodies heaved in the same rhythm. Marisa tilted her head. She smiled.
"Aquamarine."
He released her.
"I give up. You won't relent until you get what you want. I know you wanted to go back to Brazil and we're going. You wanted to take a cruise because you've never been in one and that's what we'll do. Now you want the Aquamarine. Your will be done,amen."
Sitting on the sofa by the window, Marco observed the seagulls fluttering in the cloudless sky. The room was on the third floor of an art déco hotel on the Ocean Drive beachfront. Down in the open, tourists, palm trees and Latin music mingled in content promiscuity.
"Hey, I didn't know you were that fond of surfing," Marisa yielded.
"I rode many waves with my friends during school breaks."
"Then let's book a cabin on the Colossus."
"Never mind."
"I don't like to see you like that."
"I'm not like that."
"You mean it?"
"Don't worry."
"Seriously, Marco..."
"I'll buy the tickets to the Aquamarine later."
Marisa sat beside him, a weight in her conscience. She tried to cheer him up.
"You won't regret it. I promise it will be an unforgettable trip. And did you see the photos of the solarium? It's like Shangri-la."
"Shangri-la is buried under the Himalaya snow. That solarium is for tourists. But so be it, solarium, festival, Aquamarine." Marco shrugged. "I want to rest, not argue."
"In that case, we need something to wear for the ball onboard. Will you come with me to the costume store?"
"I'd rather take a walk at the marina. Choose whatever you want for me. You know my size."
Marco's tone banished her from the room. She hesitated, touched his lips with hers as to say goodbye and left quickly.
______________________________________
Oh-oh, it looks like sparkles are about to fly...
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