As if sensing a micro-shift in the environment, Danial’s hand moved to Alex’s knee under the table.

“Oh, really?” she asked, clearly less interested now that Alex wasn’t providing any cultural intrigue. “What part?”

“I’m from Rochester. It’s a town near Buff—”

“I know Rochester,” Monica cut her off, sipping her crisp white wine. “My father owns a stake in the Bills.”

“Wait—” Alex leaned forward, channeling the excitement of her father almost subconsciously. “Your dad literally owns part of the Bills?”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “You’re a fan?”

“Oh, my god.” Alex smiled, reaching for her phone. “I’m literally going to FaceTime my dad right now. Please tell me you’ve met Pinto Ron?”

“Who?” Monica set her glass down, looking slightly distracted.

“The…” Alex looked at her with a blinking confusion, catching Danial observing her from the corner of her eye. “The guy who everyone covers with ketchup and mustard? Who eats the hot dog? He’s at literally every game.”

“Oh, I don’t really follow football,” Monica clarified, clicking her phone to dismiss an incoming message. “But he sounds like fun.”

Alex laughed in genuine surprise, raising an eyebrow at her across the centerpiece. Danial squeezed her knee, and she glanced over at him. He cleared his throat, turning away from Dev and toward Alex. “Let’s dance,” he whispered, his hand migrating from her knee to the small of her back, guiding her upward. “I like this song.”

“Sure.” She nodded, turning away from the table and toward the crowded floor. “Let’s dance.”

She placed her hand securely in Danial’s, allowing him to lead her. Above them, string lights crisscrossed in a seemingly endless pattern, mingling with the stars behind. The jazz band had joined forces with a DJ, adding a live component to the dance-worthy, disco-heavy music. Edward and Naomi were unsurprisingly in the center of the gray-and-white checkerboard terrace, moving expertly to the song. Paul was swaying rather distractedly in Guy’s arms, and a few other familiar faces punctuated the sea of Nordic millionaires occupying the dance floor. It was funny how quickly her exchange with Monica faded just from being with Danial, losing herself in the crowd with him the way they couldn’t at their claustrophobic table.

He had always been a great dancer, but they had only ever danced together as “friends,” separated by several inches and the pretense of platonic fun. Now, though, he positioned himself behind her, extending her arms with his own to grasp her palms and encouraging her to lean back onto him so he could effortlessly move her body.

He brought his lips to her ear from behind, swaying to the music as he spoke: “I had to get you out of there before you jumped across the table.”

“You’re wrong.” She smiled. “I just felt a little bad for her, honestly.”