“I don’t.” Paul smiled, raising his glass for a refill. “But I love you two for being so serious.”

“You have problems too, I’m sure,” Alex said, looking at him sideways from her chair. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but the endless misfirings with his fiancé were, by anyone’s standards, a pretty big issue.

“I do, I do. Actually, on that note, there’s something I have to take care of.” Without further explanation or apology, Paul scooted his chair back from the table and walked into the salon, his auburn curls gleaming as his elaborate caftan wafted in the gentle breeze behind him.

“Is he okay?” Danial asked.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably going to text Guy to find out when they’re coming back.” She paused, sipping her wine. “And maybe change his outfit.”

He looked at her tentatively, almost asking permission to be honest. She met his eyes with hers, giving them a light roll of encouragement.

“He never gets tired of this shit, does he?”

“Right?” She leaned over the table with relief.

“I tried talking to him last year when we all went to the Grand Prix—you should have seen the fight they got into at the casino—but he’s determined to see it through, for whatever reason.”

“You did?” She had a hard time imagining anyone but herself having such candor with Paul.

“Yeah, but it was pointless. Guy has some weird power over him, I can’t explain it.”

“I can,” Alex sighed, cutting into a tomato.

“Yeah?”

“Guy is exactly who Paul’s dad wishes Paul was.”

“You think?”

“I know. His dad is always talking about how Paul should be more like him, take himself more seriously.” She shook her head, taking a drink of her water. “And, I mean, I get it. My mom wishes I was a marathon-running schoolteacher who lived in upstate New York. I’ve dated guys like that, and it was almost as good as if I were that person.”

At her words, Danial swallowed his bite, lightly dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin before taking another sip of water.

“And now?”

“Now what?”

He paused, as if deciding on the question in real time. “Are you still dating someone your mom likes?”

“No.” She laughed, setting down her utensils. “I’m not dating anyone. But don’t tell her that, or she’ll probably surprise me with a dating coach again.”

“Stop.” He suppressed a laugh, pausing as his last forkful hovered over his plate. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, yes, I am. The service was called The Marital Mindset. I still get email promotions, like, every other week.”

There was a brief silence, and a nod of acknowledgement to a crewmember who materialized as soon as their plates were empty. Amidst the light clatter, she continued, eager to dispel any possibility of seeming completely pathetic: