Guy was as he always had been: the grown-up in the room. After he finally won Paul over—or wore him down, depending on who you asked—his fundamental seriousness only sharpened. If Paul was mercurial, Guy was stoic. When Paul made a vulgar joke, Guy was right behind to diplomatically soften it. Even the way he dressed felt like an anchor to Paul’s whimsy: his blond hair was neatly slicked back, and he wore a beige linen shirt with crisp white pants and buttery white boat shoes. He was nothing if not perfectly reasonable.

“You could also come down and greet them like a normal human,” Paul yelled back without turning to face him. “I’ll show you around,” he continued, gesturing them toward the boat.

“This is our baby for the next two weeks, the Verseau. That’s French for Aquarius, I looked it up.” Paul said to Sophie as they walked, who nodded in a half-interested way. He continued: “One hundred seventy feet, with a reclaimed mahogany deck and custom interior design by Maxime Niederhoffer, one of only two yachts he’s worked on, plus—”

Guy cut in as soon as he was in proper earshot, leaning over the railing. “Top performance engine with a maximum speed of sixteen knots.”

Without needing to be instructed, Sophie immediately reached down to slip off her loafers as soon as they were above deck, setting them down neatly beside her. Alex followed the gesture as if it were always her intention, and felt Danial moving behind her with the same delay—for all his upward mobility, he was still her equal when it came to yacht instincts.

In front of her, the crew was lined up in a neat little row, each in their respective uniforms: polos and khakis for the hospitality crew, chef coats for the kitchen staff, captain’s uniform, complete with epaulets, for the friendly looking older man who would be their captain. She moved down the line, shaking hands and introducing herself, willing herself to remember their names even as they insisted with a friendly flourish that they would meet again. Behind her was a flurry of activity, as still more crew members loaded their suitcases onto the passerelle.

“Melanie, you have to let me show them around,” Paul insisted to a deeply tanned blonde woman from hospitality. “You know I love giving the speeches.”

“Of course, Mr. Kennedy.” She nodded, ticking something on her tablet with a stylus pen. “But you’ll need to bring them back for the safety brief.”

“Can’t forget the safety brief.” He smiled in Alex’s direction.

“You guys must be hungry,” Guy cut in.

“Or thirsty,” Paul added impishly, gesturing his arm wide toward the interior of the yacht.

The Verseau was, in a word, magnificent.