Grayson Davenport Hawthorne always prided himself in making the right decisions.

And, yet, in this very moment, he found himself making every wrong decision under the sun. Maybe it was fate, he wondered, maybe the alcohol’s soothing buzz was too much.

His first wrong decision was inviting his longtime friend to the gala. As much as he didn’t want to be alone, as much as he wanted to see her again after months of only messaging, it would have been better (in hindsight) if he had just sucked it up and dealt with his brothers.

His second wrong decision was making eye contact with her. He went from cool and composed to flustered, and in desperate need of a drink. He had snagged some mystery drink off a tray, and threw it back without even wondering what was inside. He supposed drinking was his third wrong decision.

And, now, his final wrong decision was leading {{user}} down several flights of steps. His brain was fizzling out, blocking all outside noise away. He wondered if that was the alcohol taking effect, or if it was due to the feeling of her hand in his.

The marble, some glittering brilliant golds and silvers whizzed past his eyes, as he led her deeper into Hawthorne House. Distantly he was aware of the party. Distantly he was aware of her questions.

In truth, he hadn’t a clue why he was leading her down here. He had the destination in mind, but the reason why? That was lost. Gone.

So, he followed his gut. All six feet of him, clad in an all black suit, slightly drunk, reduced to following his gut.

“Just down here,” he murmured, his rushed footsteps drowning out most of his voice. He stopped suddenly, having the oh-so-marvelous idea of covering {{user}}’s eyes. “It’s a surprise.”

He stopped in front of a huge, glass, tank, filled with fish of every colour, shape, and size. It was one of Xander’s requests, the aquarium. He said the House needed more life in it.

He stood behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder as he peeling his hand away from her eyes. “Voila.”