Her room was, unsurprisingly, beautiful: all gleaming mahogany and tasteful white fabrics, with recessed lighting and built-in storage everywhere she looked. It screamed intentionality like no space she’d ever seen. Her luggage was already arranged neatly in a corner of the room, as if materialized from thin air and somehow appearing to not take up much space at all. In such small quarters, providing a truly luxury experience was no small feat—but the Verseau had managed it. Paul pressed theatrically on one of the lacquered wooden panels along the wall and it popped out slightly, which he extended fully to reveal a gleaming coat and shoe rack.

“Wow,” Alex said, handing him her denim jacket to hang.

“Bitch, that is nothing.” He laughed, walking around her room to open various cabinets and drawers, each more inventive and helpful than the last.

“I feel like I’m in a spy movie,” Alex said, sitting herself on the edge of her tall, fluffy bed. Next to her was a nightstand complete with a large ceramic lamp, a fresh journal and expensive-looking pen, a bottle of sparkling water, and an upturned glass on a monogrammed coaster. She thought of pouring herself a glass, but didn’t want to disrupt the still life.

“You haven’t even seen the bathroom yet.” Paul extended his hand and Alex placed hers upon it, allowing him to guide her up from her seated position. “I wanted you to have the double because it has a bathtub. Danny doesn’t get a bathtub.”

She marveled at the similarly ingenious bathroom, with a sprawling vanity, paneled cream walls, tasteful brass fixtures, and a marble bathtub full of jets that rivaled anything she’d seen in a spa. “Oh, come on,” she muttered, running her hand along the counter.

“What? You think I didn’t make absolutely fucking sure you had a nicer setup than him?”

She laughed, doing her best impression of a woman who was no longer bothered by the situation. “I told you, I don’t care anymore. I got over that whole thing years ago.”

Paul sat himself on the edge of the tub, taking her in. “That’s not what Sophie said.”

Alex reeled. “What Sophie said? When could Sophie have possibly formed an opinion on the matter?” She knew her anger was betraying her attempted coolness, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“When she was texting me the whole way down from Paris, complaining about you guys fighting.”

“She was supposed to be asleep!”

“She was trying to sleep, but you obnoxious motherfuckers couldn’t help yourselves. And you didn’t even notice her texting because you were too busy laying into him about his job. Apparently.” Paul smiled, sipping his champagne.

“Jesus, is nothing sacred?” She looked in the mirror, wiping under her tired eyes. “And by the way, we agreed to be friends—not that she texted you that part, I’m sure.”