The mayor’s move toward Alexa was so smooth, it took her by surprise. They were talking about the ocean, and she was thinking that the color of his eyes was like the Aegean, and then he was standing next to her. He was close enough so one of his hands rested on the counter, while the other slipped around her waist. She wasn’t flustered, only ready. She had been imagining a moment like this since their first encounter. He jolted her system into gear that day in Fair Harbor, and she wanted more than clever conversation. She placed her hand on his chest, not to ward him off but to reassure him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

The kiss was light and playful. He was good at this. Then there was much more as he leaned into her and she leaned into him, the pressure and the pleasure increasing. Judging by his reaction, she was good at this, too. Their kisses tasted like lemon.

He pulled away slowly, a satisfied smile on his face. “You know, I’m going to have some time on my hands after the first of the year,” he said, alluding to the end of his term. “Maybe you will, too, after we pull off this wedding?”

“We’re a ‘we’ now, are we?”

“As Americans like to say, we both have skin in the game. You want a son-in-law and I want a candidate. We are going to make that happen.” He traced his hand across her breastbone and down her arm, over her hip.

She smoothed his hair. “I like your confidence. About the wedding.”

“And about your schedule in January?”

“How about we start with tonight? And see where it goes.”

*  *  *

The next morning, Alexa marched into the hotel lobby, dragging her Rimowa roller bag behind her, the result of having gone straight from the plane to dinner and never getting over to the hotel to check in. She was grateful to have a change of clothes and her own toothbrush with her this morning. She had been dropped off at this modest tourist hotel in Midtown by the mayor of the greatest city in the world on his way to a breakfast meeting with the secretary of labor. (At least, that’s what Timmo Lynch had reminded her when they parted.) She hoped she had enough time to get to her room, change, and return to the lobby before the nine o’clock meetup. She figured the time change was in her favor and most of her companions would just be waking up.

But no. The Merry Widows were camped out in the breakfast room, which faced the front door of the hotel. Were they waiting for her?