“It’s fine! We’ve talked about it. It’s all good. But I mean, no, I really couldn’t stay there long-term, and not because of the video. I mean”—he paused, shifting on his feet—“you said it, you know? I can still take care of my mother and do something that’s less… harmful.”

“Danial, I really didn’t realize—”

“We can talk about it later.” He nodded at her with a strangely diplomatic reassurance. “I have to go grab Dev to practice our speech. I’ll see you at the table, okay?” He looked around, sipping from his flute.

“Table?”

“You think Paul didn’t seat us together?”

Their table was really just a repeat of the boat, minus the grooms and with the addition of Guy’s friend Conrad and his wife. The table itself was gorgeous, featuring a centerpiece of hanging candle lanterns and cascading flowers that begged the question of how they could possibly up the ante for the actual wedding. Each table also held a Polaroid camera, which the group was using liberally to take photos of each other, giving the whole scene a vaguely indie feel that obscured its exorbitant price tag. A sommelier flitted by the table every now and again to explain the pairings for their five-course meal, lobster and caviar and lamb and truffled potatoes and every other decadent ingredient a person could imagine.

Bee and Sophie sat side by side in their silk sheath dresses, Bee’s dark hair gathered at the base of her neck and Sophie’s long, light brown waves flowing around her shoulders. Gabriel had been upgraded to wedding date status—after an hours-long astrological reading on the boat that left him in reverent tears, according to Paul—and was now holding court with the two women about the weddings his family hosted at their hotel. Alex smiled at the three of them, the way Bee looked on at Sophie’s new relationship approvingly, feeling every bit like an older sister despite being her exact same age.

And to her left, Danial and Dev were rapt in their never-ending conversation, which now included Conrad. Part of her wanted to jump in, to give her own take on the headlines they were running through, but she thought better of it. Conrad’s wife, Monica, was sitting by herself across the table, looking rather lonely.

“How good is this food?” Alex half-shouted in a friendly voice, pointing at her plate with her fork.

Monica looked up. “Yeah, it’s great.” She smiled, clearly relieved to have a conversation partner. Her honey-blonde bob just brushed the top of her pronounced shoulder bones as she spoke. “Paul said you’re Greek. Where in Greece are you from?”

“I’m not from Greece,” Alex clarified, in a matter-of-fact tone that bordered on pride. “My family is Greek, and I’ve lived in Greece, but we’re from upstate New York.”