“I’m going to grab a drink,” Daphne chirped, leading Danial by the hand into the kitchen. Alex watched their hands together, the delicate way hers rested in his palm, the contrast of their skin. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, something concerned and almost mournful behind his eyes that she had no desire to acknowledge.

Before she had time to rethink what she’d said, Paul appeared in front of her, placing a glass of water into her unsteady hand.

“Lex, what the fuck are you doing?”

She rolled her eyes in an unconvincing display of certainty, adjusting the top of her low-cut dress. “I’m making conversation.”

“Okay, well, make less of it then, because you look insane.”

“Hey,” she slur-whispered, pushing his shoulder, “you were the one who gave me drugs to calm me down, and look—” she raised her hands above her head, doing a little shimmy, “I’m calm!”

His eyes followed her hands as they slowly dropped back to her sides.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“I don’t know. A couple glasses of prosecco.” At the mental count, she grabbed her glass from the table, trading it in for her water, and Paul instinctively wiped his hand on the ring of condensation it left.

“Please use a coaster, you know how Guy is about his furniture. And you’re only drinking water from now on. I should have told you that.”

She was so used to being the one to worry for Paul that seeing him like this, so serious and concerned, filled her with an enormous tenderness. Without the constant internal chatter of her anxieties, she could see what he actually was to her: a guardian angel.

“I have to run back to my place to grab something for Guy,” he continued, somewhat nervously. “Why don’t you come with me?”

At his proposition, she started moving to the music, setting down her glass and taking his hands into hers for a little dance.

“No way!” she laughed, throwing her head back, “I’m having fun!”

She really was, somehow.

“Alright, well,” he looked around for Dev, spotting him in the far corner of the living room next to an enormous Bird of Paradise, and nodded. “You stay here, I’ll be back in twenty. And don’t do anything weird until then, okay?”

His hands were still in hers, moving back and forth in time with the music.

“Sure!”

“And no more drinking, I’m serious.”

She furrowed her brows in imitation, taking on the deep southern drawl of his father. “Mistah Kennedy says no more ah-drinkin’.”

“Jesus Christ.” Paul sighed. He caught Guy’s eye from across the room, who responded by tilting his head and impatiently tapping at his watch.