Edward and Naomi Kennedy, much like their son, were a familiar port in the storm from this very specific kind of money. Despite their grandiose fortune, their enormous home South of Broad and their compound on Hilton Head, everything about them felt distinct from the other guests. Even Naomi’s look—her perfectly preserved face, teased red hair, and pearlescent white St. John suit—seemed out of place in a sea of Ivy League and European culture.

“Hi, Mrs. Kennedy.” Alex smiled, opening for a hug.

“Well, this might just have to be your wedding, with that gorgeous dress,” she answered in her familiar drawl: half-Charleston, half-Xanax. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” she replied, turning to Edward for a firm handshake.

“Paul tells me there’s an election for governor coming up,” he said as they shook, meeting her with his sharp green eyes. “That’s a big one.”

As lifelong blue dots in their sea of red, Edward had always taken particular interest in Alex’s work, even back in her volunteer days when she was dating his son. She warmed in nostalgia.

“It’s a big one, but it’s one we can win,” she replied, effortlessly assuming his grandiose speech patterns.

“Anyone can win with you on the team,” Naomi said, nudging her conspiratorially with her shoulder. “Now can someone tell the band to play something a little more upbeat? I feel like I’m at a funeral.”

“That’s just the kind of music they like, dear,” Edward said. He adjusted the collar of his linen suit in the heat, looking at his wife with a familiar amusement. “They’re European.”

“Whatever they are, they don’t know how to dance.” Naomi gave a little shimmy, stopping mid-movement to point a long, beautifully manicured finger at an approaching man. “Well, hi, Danny!”

Alex turned around, immediately regretting it. The sight of Danial—dark tan setting off his cream suit, black hair expertly styled, collar of his shirt open just slightly to reveal a delicate gold chain—stopped her heart. She had briefly deluded herself that sleeping with him would break his spell over her, but in practice, it had the opposite effect. Now, it was as if she was noticing entirely new depths of attractiveness she had never seen before.

Her eyes were drawn to the backs of his hands, the veins that formed little upturned rivers all the way down to his long fingers. And when he swallowed, she followed the pronounced, almost jagged Adam’s apple that moved beneath his skin. Every detail of him felt erotic now, like an echo of the even more extraordinary things no one else at this wedding could see but her. Something as simple as him walking over to their group took her straight back to that bathroom counter, to the delirious feeling of her back knocking against the mirror, over and over again.