“I don’t work for Congressman Stephens,” Alex countered, staying aloof but turning to face him. “I work for his party.”

“Is there a difference?” He looked across the center console for the first time, his almond eyes turned the slightest bit downward at their corners, giving him an air of perpetual melancholy.

“Yes.” She turned her gaze back toward the road, and he did the same. “There’s a big difference.”

He allowed a brief silence before taking a sharp breath inward, pushing out his thoughts in a stream of consciousness: “I know you have plenty to say about the work I do, so why don’t you just get it all out now while it’s just the two of us? I’d rather not ruin everyone else’s vacation with your grandstanding.”

Even in the context of their prickly back-and-forth, his words hit her like a fist to the chest.

She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I’ve seen the videos you make. I’ve read your manifestos on Instagram. I know it’s an election year. You think I’m some capitalist demon, so why don’t you just say that now before we get on this quarter-million-dollar boat ride around the Mediterranean?”

So it wasn’t just Alex sitting around in anticipation of this trip, lingering in her resentment: Danial had been doing the same, with the added righteousness of feeling like Alex was a complete hypocrite.

“I’m sorry, was I not supposed to come along for my best friend’s wedding just because it’s expensive?” She turned toward him again, her nerves fading into a familiar competitiveness.

“No. Actually, Alex, I think it’s fine that you’re coming, because I’m not judging you for your life choices. All I’d like is the same respect.”

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

“Right, because only the choices you make are okay.” His fingers opened and closed around the steering wheel, knuckles going white. “I mean,” he emphasized, bringing himself to heel, “I just don’t like this air of judgment. I care about politics too, you know.”

She scoffed, more audibly than she’d intended. “I saw your Ronald Reagan tattoo when you were grabbing my suitcase.”

“Very funny.” His eyes darted in her direction before rolling and refocusing on the road. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I actually agree with a lot of what you do. I vote straight-ticket Democrat.”

“That’s not—” she considered explaining that his mentality was what enabled both major parties to abandon the working class, but stopped short. “I’m glad you’re voting.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“I’m not.”