He didn't get a tux like his sister suggested, instead electing to wear his dress blues. The dark navy fabric stretches proudly across his broad shoulders, and I spot an array of medals on his chest, though not the Purple Heart. I don't think it would be possible for a man to look better than he does right now. I blush as he glances at me, but give them both a friendly wave to cover it. I hear our parents laughing together from the hallway above us, and they appear a moment later coming down the steps.
"Well, we all clean up well, I think," Anne says with a proud smile. I see my father's hand resting comfortably on the small of her back, and watch his relaxed expression. I think he really does care for her, in a way I wasn't sure he was capable of.
We walk outside to the waiting Escalade. I see Carter's mouth twitch as he sees the low cut front, and back, of his little sister's dress. We end up in the far back seat of the car, and I glance at his thigh as he drums his fingers against it.
"I'm not saying anything," he mutters to me.
"Yes, you're showing remarkable self-restraint," I reply with a smile. "Are you off-duty tonight, security-wise?" I ask as Roger pulls the car out of the driveway.
"I'm never off-duty," he replies grimly.
In about twenty minutes, we pull up at the Tampa Museum of Art. The modern cube of a building is lit up with bluish lights that reflect off the water behind it. We exit the car at the red carpet that's lined with photographers from the local newspaper. Carter hangs awkwardly back as the rest of us gamely pose for a few photos. Even Bree smiles shyly as the photographers snap away. The security car that's been following us pulls away with the Escalade, leaving its three giant passengers to escort us up the steps to the large, covered terrace.
There's a strong breeze coming off the water, but there are tall heaters set up along the wall to counteract the chill. Women in glittering gowns flit from conversation to conversation, as men in tuxes shake hands and try not to talk business. My father and Anne are quickly surrounded, and I instinctively reach out for a flute of champagne from a passing tray before I remember my promise to myself.
"See how good I am?" I ask Carter, who is slinking behind me at my elbow. He looks like he wants to melt into the floor and disappear.
"Talk about self-restraint," he says with a wry smile.
"Oh, thank god!" I hear behind me, and turn to see Nikki making a beeline for me. She's disregarded the black tie dress code and is wearing a short dress absolutely drenched in sequins. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to Carter. "My, oh my," she murmurs. "Don't we look handsome." Carter grunts uncomfortably in reply.
"I didn't know you'd be here!" I say.
"Jonathan dragged me. I thought I was going to faint from boredom before I saw you. You need a drink?"
"No, thanks."
"I'm on my third. Or somewhere around there. There's a really beautiful painting in one of the first rooms inside," she confides. "I think it would look great in our living room."
"It's a museum, not a gallery, Nikki."
"Everything's for sale, for the right price," she says with a shrug. "I'm going to go find out about the seating arrangements. I want to make sure we're at the same table."
"OK, but don't switch my—" I begin, but she's already off. And I know she'll be able to make whatever changes she wants to; she knows every event planner in town from hosting her own lavish parties.
"Look," Carter says, nodding across the water to the shadowy turrets of the University of South Florida in the distance. "Your future school."
"Do you agree with Jack? You think my father will like the idea?"
"I don't know. He's a hard man to read."
"Well, one thing I think I know for sure. He's crazy about your mom."
"Yeah? That's his crazy?" he asks, nodding toward my father's impassive face.
I laugh. "Yup, believe it or not. That expression means he's head over heels."
"Her too," he says. We watch Anne's face, upturned toward Ray as he nods in agreement with someone. Nikki hurries back over with a grin on her face.
"Fixed it! Moved our seats to your table. You won't be sorry," she says, wiggling her eyebrows.
"Oh, no. What does that mean?" I ask suspiciously.
"You'll see!" she replies gaily. "Jonathan!" She hails her husband with a wave and goes scampering off.
Jack and Bree find us, and we manage to escape much of the small talk that we usually have to go through at these types of events. Jack is only asked for a few photo opportunities, as most people here consider themselves before asking someone for a selfie, even if he is an NFL star.