Beside you, Kai fidgets just a bit. You know that he loathes the traffic on Miami Beach, and that it’s been a tedious day of driving around and wandering through big, empty houses. You look up at him and raise a questioning eyebrow.
“Yeah, sure,” he concedes. “One more can’t hurt.”
The sun is starting to go down when you pull into the driveway. One of your security guys is driving, with Stanley in the passenger seat, and you and Kai in the back. You gaze up at the Mediterranean-inspired building, and feel yourself frown.
“This isn’t a house,” you say. “Is it a condo? I thought I said that I didn’t want a multi-unit building?”
“It’s a villa,” he corrects you. “There are six side-by-side units in this building. This neighborhood is one of the most private you can get in the city with beachfront access.”
You don’t necessarily care about beachfront access, but you are intrigued. You take in the terra-cotta tile roof, the warm red stucco, and the arched doorways, where stained-glass lanterns illuminate the stoops. The wrought iron grilles on the floor-level windows.
“It’s gorgeous,” you say with real regret, “but the side neighbors are a security concern. It won’t work.”
“You’re here anyway,” Kai says, rolling his neck. You know that he gets stiff early in the summer, when he’s still not used to the swing of getting hit again. “Why don’t we at least look around and be snoopy? It’s a little early for dinner, still.”
Glancing around, you can see that the building is quiet, along with the peek of shoreline extending behind it. If the paparazzi are keen to report that you are house-shopping in Miami, well, they’ve had plenty of chances to catch you today.
“Okay,” you relent. “Let’s take a lap.”
Stanley enters the passcode on the lock and opens the door to let you in first.Aww, well, that’s hardly fair.The view straight ahead of you through the vast, open-plan entryway and living room is of the windows overlooking the back terrace, which faces Biscayne Bay. The sunset is breaking over the horizon, golden hour shimmering on the water. The owners of this property couldn’t ask for a better selling point if they fabricated one.
“Well, damn,” Kai says from over your shoulder.
Reluctantly—because you arenotbuying this place—you let Stanley show you around. There are three floors. Four bedrooms, although one is set up as an office. Seven bathrooms. The walls are stark white plaster; the stairs are glass and chrome. There’s modern art on the walls, and it seems like each room has a statement chandelier that perfectly suits the space. The fireplace in the primary suite is unlit, what with it being summertime in Florida, but the warmth of the space draws you in all the same. The walk-in closet is massive, and the marble-clad bathroom is big enough to throw a party in, but what gets you is the balcony, accessible by sliding doors. There are two chairs out there overlooking the beach, and you imagine slow Sunday mornings waking up beside Kai and drinking tea in the muggy tropical air.
There’s a pool down below, with a fence separating it from that of the unit next door. All you can think about is how easily someone could be paid off by the press to let photographers outon the pool deck to take snaps through the bars as you are trying to sun yourself.
“The building has a spa and a tennis court,” Stanley tells you, “along with a 24/7 concierge. This section of the beach is private. As you saw, there’s a gated entryway armed with ‘round-the-clock security.”
“It’s the end unit,” Kai points out. “You’d only have to worry about one neighbor.”
You noticed that, too, but even one neighbor is too much of a risk. You’re standing in one of the other bedrooms, which has an arched window overlooking a side garden. It’s easy to picture Maeve having set up camp in there for the weekend, bossing you around, or Noemi coming to get away for the week.
It’s so tempting. To dream of furnishing this place with Kai: feeling drapery samples for the curtains, pouring over catalogues of furniture, and working together with designers to merge his taste with yours.
“It’s a no,” you tell Stanley after a long pause. “Having a neighbor with that much access is a non-starter. Otherwise, I love it. It’s exactly what I wanted. I’m disappointed, honestly. I kind of wish I hadn’t seen it, to tell you the truth.”
Stanley clears his throat. “Well. Actually, I’m going to throw something out there. With anyone else, I’d be worried about coming across as far too audacious, but I think that someone like you might be interested to know it.”
“What?” Kai asks.
“The unit immediately next door isalsofor sale,” Stanley tells you. “It sustained considerable water damage from faultyplumbing on the top floor. In my opinion, it’s a gut job. The board is being a bit of a pain about it, and making all interested parties submit plans for remodeling as a condition of purchase. It’s only been on the market for a couple of weeks, but units here normally don’t last that long. This one, for instance, hit the MLS this morning. For the right buyer, it would be a great deal.”
That stops you dead in your tracks. Immediately, the gears in your head start whirring.
Instead of dinner out that night, you and Kai end up ordering takeout with Stanley as he makes about a dozen phone calls to lock down your deposits on both villas. Not many people can get a (very) loose three-story remodeling plan pushed through a demanding HOA without a contractor ever having walked the property, but you aren’t most people. Your guys have reputations that precede them, along with a mile-long list of references, and the board is ultimately willing to trust their expertise.
“Baby, what are you going to do withtwovillas on Miami Beach?” Kai asks, when it’s just you two alone. There’s a gourmet pizza box on the table, which is the closest you come to eating junk food. The occasion warrants it. It’s a pizza-and-bottled water night, food being low on the priority list. Kai wanted pepperoni, and you didn’t argue.
You shrug. “The second one will be a buffer. I can’t stay there, but I can use it as a guesthouse. Property is always a good investment. Besides, Apollo and Artemis need space to stretch out. They’re big dogs.”
Kai furrows his forehead skeptically before taking a giant bite. The slice is extra-large, and he’s got it folded in half, aiming for his mouth as molten-hot cheese threatens to ooze off the edge.
“Besides,” you continue casually. “My boyfriend’s also kind of large.”
He almost chokes on his mouthful, sputtering.
“I think it’s going to be great having a place in Florida,” you say, as if you didn’t just nail him with the innuendo stick.
