The group hushed again, seeming to brace itself for another argument.

“You know”—Enzo dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin—“in Italy, it is considered impolite to discuss politics at the table before coffee. We need time to digest.”

“I agree.” Alex smiled at him, making a point to linger in her gaze while Danial stared at her from across the table. “Does anyone want to try my pasta?”

The conversation turned to another topic, politics being just another ball for this ultra-privileged group to bat around while they sipped their drinks. And even though she was feeling unusually confident, Alex knew the change in subject was for the best: each plank of her party’s platform opposed the existence of virtually everyone at this table; it was only a matter of time before the dissonance became too great. She retreated back into her conversation with Enzo: where the stakes were low, and the chances of being touched by a beautiful Italian man were extremely high.

“Does anyone want coffee?” A bit later, Paul scanned the table as the now-impatient waiter stood by. “Alex? Hello?” He bumped her gently to grab her attention.

“Coffee? Uh, yes, please. Espresso.”

“Due,” Enzo echoed, holding up two long, elegant fingers before turning his attention back to Alex.

“And this is last call for drinks, you lushes,” Paul chided. “I want to get moving.”

“I’m going home,” Danial declared from across the table. “I’m tired.”

Alex looked over at him, and he immediately averted his gaze.

“Uh, no the fuck you are not,” Dev corrected. “My stomach finally stopped hurting. I’m not going to karaoke without you.”

“We’re not even going to karaoke for another two hours, at least,” Danial pushed back.

“Why not?” Sophie asked, never one to pay attention to schedules or plans.

“We’re going to a bar first, there’s some live music,” Guy explained, moving out of the way slightly as a waiter set down his cappuccino.

“Oh, come on,” Bee whined, “I don’t want to go sit at a bar.”

“This place is supposed to be really nice,” Alex chimed in. “It’s jazz music.”

“You like jazz?” Enzo asked, genuinely curious.

“I love jazz.” She smiled.

“She’s a great dancer,” Danial added, a light slur in his voice. He seemed to snap to attention the second the words escaped him.

“I’ll make a deal,” Paul inserted himself, eager to play the diplomat in service of getting what he wanted. “We go to karaoke next, and then whoever wants to will go to the Sireneuse after, for a nightcap.”

“I want to see you dance,” Enzo whispered, gently running his fingertips along Alex’s exposed back.

“We can dance at karaoke,” she replied, not really meaning it but wanting to go along with whatever he said.