6. Marseille, France
6
MARSEILLE, FRANCE
Now
T he knock on her cabin door came in three quick raps, soft yet certain.
“Miss Onassis?”
Still screwing the backing onto one of her thick gold hoops, Alex walked over and opened the door. “That’s me, hi.”
“Good evening, I hope I’m not interrupting—Mister Kennedy said you would be ready. I just wanted to introduce myself personally: I’m Melanie, your chief steward for our voyage.”
Alex was grateful she had googled the term.
“It’s great to meet you.” She extended her hand to shake Melanie’s.
“Kennedy and Onassis—that’s funny! Is there any relation?”
People had been asking her and Paul this question since they first introduced themselves in a freshman psychology class, but like many of the things that initially brought them together, it was just a happy coincidence.
“No, no relation.” She smiled.
“Well, Mister Kennedy wanted to let you know that the group is gathering in the salon for an informal cocktail hour. You are welcome to join them, or I can let them know that you’ll be joining later for dinner.”
“No, I’ll be ready in five minutes, thank you.” It was so strange being spoken to this way, hearing Paul referred to by his father’s name.
“Wonderful.” Melanie glanced down at her iPad. Her deep tan, polo shirt, and slicked-back blonde ponytail gave her the distinct look of a camp counselor. “I also wanted to confirm your allergies and dietary preferences. I have here that you’re allergic to pine nuts, but otherwise fine to eat everything. Is that right?”
“Exactly.” Truthfully, there were plenty of foods she didn’t love , but it felt too prissy to specify anything beyond a hard-and-fast allergy. “Thank you.”
“Excellent. If I can do anything else for you, please just let me or one of my crew know. No request is too small, so please do not hesitate. I’ll see you up there.”
“Great, thank you.”
And just like that, Melanie turned and walked down the hall, pointing her stylus at each cabin door as if checking off a mental list. It always thrilled Alex to meet a woman who was truly great at her job, and she especially loved experiencing them in their element. Knowing that Melanie would be around gave her an odd sense of comfort, if only because it meant there was at least one other person aboard who also probably used a budgeting app.
She turned to appraise her outfit in the mirror—a simple black dress with whisper-thin straps and a cream-colored pashmina—and wished that she could get a preview of what everyone else was wearing. Over-dressing was usually her fear in this group, and yet on occasion they would arrive with such effortless elegance that she suddenly felt like she was wearing a potato sack. So at least for the first evening, sleek and refined was the safest bet.
She took a deep breath and left the room, a rush of adrenaline passing through her body as the door clicked behind her. This was it: there was no going back now. The beautiful wood paneling continued down the hall, and she ran her hand along its length as she walked, decorated with tasteful sconces and nautical-themed oil paintings. She took her time coming up the stairs, holding the railing to steady herself in order to make a smooth and effortless entrance.
But no one even noticed when she arrived.
Guy and Sophie were already rapt in conversation, Paul was typing away on his phone with his usual level of intensity, and Danial was off to the far end of the salon, talking with Melanie. It felt exactly like college—a thought that made her smile from across the room. Everyone sorted themselves into the same essential categories, and even the lives they were living seemed like logical extensions of the paths they had started in school. Danial wanted to make as much money as possible, and he did. Bee and Dev were not just still together, but married with twins. Guy had finally locked Paul down after years of chasing him. Even Sophie was still her intrinsically chic self, now being paid to elevate others to the same status through expensive French clothing. It was hard not to wonder if they found her endearingly familiar, or if her consistency read more like stagnancy.
She graciously accepted a flute of champagne from a petite crewmember with dark hair, nodding a thank you and loading up a cocktail napkin with a few delicious-looking petit fours. It was probably gauche to eat too much before dinner, but she was starving .
“If you’re going right now, make it the dead of winter,” Sophie said as Alex sidled up to her conversation with Guy. “It’s like Disneyland otherwise. So many tourists.”
“What are we talking about?” Alex smiled, setting a rich olive mini-tart on her tongue.
“Paris. Guy and Paul are thinking about stopping by this year.”
“Oh, that’s exciting.” She turned toward Guy. “Honeymoon?”
“No.” Guy scoffed, tipping his flute for a passing crewmember to top off his champagne. “Honeymoon is in South Africa. This is for work.”
“Well, let me know when you’re there,” Sophie said. “I’m splitting my time 50/50 right now.”
“Didn’t you just say it was horrible outside of winter?” Alex asked, to a light chuckle from Guy. She only realized afterward that the question probably sounded sarcastic.
Sophie turned to face her, a husky-like glint in her eyes as she narrowed her gaze.
“It is. But I have to be there for work.”
“No, of course,” she corrected, clearing her throat.
“Speaking of, how’s work?” Guy asked, turning to face Alex with an unexpected change of subject.
“Well,” she started, clicking into the curated phrasing she’d prepared to describe her own life, “it’s going well. We have candidates in three governor races this fall.”
“Remind me what you do again?” Sophie spoke with a disaffected boredom that Alex knew better than to take personally. “For the campaigns?”
“I work in political communication and digital strategy.”
“Oh, right, right,” Sophie said, setting her glass down on the tray of a passing crewmember without looking. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah, it keeps me busy! And you, how is APC?”
“It’s good, you know. Work.” Sophie flipped her long, brown hair over her shoulder. “This dress is actually from our new collection.”
It was always difficult, pretending to know less than she did about these people. She probably shouldn’t have even mentioned the brand Sophie worked for, and she definitely wouldn’t clarify that she knew exactly what the dress was.
“It’s nice, I was actually looking at—”
Her words were drowned out by Paul clinking a fork to his glass, having moved over to stand by the marble island. He was in his yachtsman glory, auburn hair pushed back and pale pink sweater tied loosely around his neck.
“This won’t take long—”
“It’d better not,” Guy cut in, completely serious.
Alex couldn’t help but clock the flash of frustration crossing Paul’s face. She had heard about Guy’s condescension countless times through text, but it was quite another thing to see it in person.
“I just wanted to thank you for coming,” he continued in his light, almost breathy voice, “I feel so lucky seeing you all here together, even if there was an argument or two on the way down.”
Alex sarcastically hid her face behind her cocktail napkin, with no choice but to lean into the light mockery. She caught Danial out of the corner of her eye, looking embarrassed as well.
“In all seriousness, though, I love you guys. I can’t wait to share this incredible trip!” He raised his glass, moving toward Alex to cheer with her first. “See? I kept it short,” he said, shooting an irritated look in Guy’s direction. Before she knew what she was doing, she had pulled Paul into a hug, more to keep him from sniping at his husband-to-be than anything else.
“Hey, do you want to play?” Danial approached her from behind, touching her arm gently to get her attention and holding up three pétanque boules.
She pulled away from Paul before nodding, secretly wishing someone would save her. “There’s a pétanque court on the boat?”
“Of course there is.” Paul smiled, ushering them toward the sliding glass door. “Well, a mini one. A regulation one would have been a tough fit.”
Danial and Alex walked out to the deck, cool and clear and illuminated by the ample city lights surrounding them. From the corner of her eye, she caught Paul watching them from inside, miming the throwing gesture from the game. There was, indeed, a miniature pétanque court to one side of the afterdeck, fenced in with a small railing. She shook her head, laughing quietly to herself.
“You remember how to play, right?” Danial asked, handing her a set of heavy metal boules.
“Are you kidding?”
Anyone who had spent more than a casual evening with Edward and Naomi Kennedy knew how to play pétanque—it was practically their religion. The first long weekend she’d spent at their Hilton Head compound was essentially a pétanque boot camp. As Paul’s then-girlfriend, Alex worked diligently to become great at the game, flourishing under the approval that his father reserved only for excellent players. By the time they broke up, she was finding places in New York to play on her own, and mini family tournaments were a staple of her many visits to South Carolina in the subsequent years.
Danial, for his part, was reasonably good at the game. As in all things, his throws were measured, erring to the near side of the cochonnet but always at a fairly short distance. Alex was the bolder player, going for the glory the way he used to in their chess matches, and it paid off consistently enough to keep her ahead. It was comforting to her, being decidedly better at something than he was.
“Listen,” he said, standing off to the side as she prepared her next throw. She paused, looking over at him. As much as she hated to admit it, he looked dashing in his white linen pants and short-sleeved knit top. The gameplay had even loosened his slicked-back hair, making him appear unusually approachable. “In the interest of being friends, I want to apologize.”
Her stomach dropped, mind racing with all of the brutally unpleasant things he might want to apologize for. She brought her hand to her side, tightening her fingers around the metal sphere.
“For… for what?” she eked out, looking onto the docks at a group walking by, joking with each other in French.
“For the ride down. I wasn’t in a great headspace.”
She exhaled. “It’s fine. I’m not upset.” She returned to her position, lightly tossing the boule to a landing spot deliciously close to his nearest placement.
An instinctive yes of celebration escaped her as she moved aside to allow him his turn. She deliberately did not return his apology, even though she had been in a rather unfortunate headspace herself.
“Well, I just wanted to acknowledge that I might have been a little prickly,” he continued, leaning down to size up his next shot, “and that really wasn’t my goal coming into this trip. I was just a little caught off guard by all that work talk.”
It felt like such a cop-out, the kind of thing their former selves would have immediately called bullshit on. They both loved talking about work, and even back in their internship days would leap at the chance to monologue on some minor aspect of their jobs. She had once listened to him explain the wind turbine industry for three straight hours during his work-study program in alternative energy. Now, they had to pretend like work talk was taboo, like that was what threw him off and not the decade they had spent avoiding each other.
“Are we not supposed to talk about work?” She looked him square in the eye as he came up from his surprisingly weak throw, almost daring him to admit it was a lame distraction.
“I mean…” he rubbed the back of his neck, considering his words. “We can talk about work. I’ll just be nicer about it.” At the offer, he smiled, openly and rather nervously.
Her heart automatically softened, reminding herself of their pact in the car. She wasn’t convinced it was possible to emerge from the week as true friends, but she could at least treat him with the bouncy distance of a friendly acquaintance.
“I’m sure we’re both looking forward to not thinking about work for a while.” She smiled back, walking over to the bistro table next to the court to sip her drink. “This is my first real vacation in… I’d rather not say how long.”
“Tell me about it.” He looked out onto the passerelle, where a crew member was delivering crates of food. “Writing my Out of Office email was the single most exciting thing I’ve done all year.”
“Hah!” Alex let out a genuine laugh of recognition. “I put a sun emoji in my subject line. I even considered adding the palm tree, but I thought it might be a little much.”
He walked over to join her at the table, grabbing his own drink and gently clinking the glass to hers. “I think it also implies a certain level of tropicality that the Mediterranean doesn’t offer.” He took a sip, relaxing in their banter. “But I’m not an expert—emoji use of any kind is heavily frowned upon at Horace.”
“Is that right?”
“Emoji, work-life balance, starting meetings with anything other than the most depressing small talk you’ve ever heard: all forbidden.”
“I shudder to think of the small talk you’ll get after this vacation.”
“ Me?” He laughed. “Aren’t you the one who’s going to have to explain to the revolutionaries that you’ve just been eating caviar off of silk pillows for the past two weeks?”
She raised an eyebrow, bringing her glass to her lips to hide the smile behind it. “One of the many reasons I basically never take vacations.”
“I’m surprised.” His voice had taken on a familiar swagger, leaning further into the air of camaraderie. “Hard to believe the girl who ran away to Greece would have a problem taking time off.”
Her back stiffened at his words, blood running cold. How dare he bring that up, knowing exactly why she’d run.
“Excuse me?” she asked, smile completely evaporated.
His brows knitted in anxious regret, clearly understanding his mistake. “Hey, Alex, I didn’t—”
“Yoo hoo!” Dev shouted from the dock, an exhausted-looking Bee behind him. “Danny boy!”
He gave Alex one last uncomfortable look before putting on his most diplomatic smile and waving down to them. Alex watched his hand move, the well-groomed fingers and the gold signet ring, all the superficial signs of a class he wished he’d been born into. Her eyes flicked over to the court, where she was only one point from winning.
She wondered how she could have ever been friends with this man—how she could have ever thought they might be friendly again.