The High Dive

25. Polis Chrysochous, Cyprus

25

POLIS CHRYSOCHOUS, CYPRUS

Now

“I t’s silly, honestly,” Bee explained as the designated caviar waiter placed a small mound of the stuff onto the skin between her index finger and thumb, which she quickly sucked into her mouth. “But it’s fun.”

“I can’t believe I’ve never done this before.” Alex laughed, extending her own hand for a dollop.

The waiter emptied the mother of pearl spoon full of tiny fish eggs onto Alex’s hand and she ate it dutifully, relishing the creamy, salty flavor as it filled her mouth and slipped down her throat.

“Thank you,” she said as the waiter headed toward another eager group of wedding guests. “And thank you for teaching me the art of the caviar bump,” she said to Bee.

“It’s my pleasure.” She smiled, silver bangles tinkling on her wrist as she raised her flute of champagne to Alex’s. “Now I just have to find my husband before he eats that entire tin.”

If the Charleston Kennedys were responsible for the absurdly lavish bachelor trip, the Nilsen family was determined to match them—if not surpass them—with the wedding itself. Guy’s father was one of the wealthier men in Europe, a pharmaceutical billionaire from Norway who frequented the kind of conferences that could easily double as Illuminati gatherings. Like Guy, he was tall, fit, blond, and perfectly stoic, presiding over his son’s wedding with the unamused intensity of a high school principal. They had shut down the entire hotel for the long weekend, turning the most luxurious beachfront resort on the island into their own private playground.

Everyone had been instructed to wear formal white to the rehearsal dinner, making the hundred or so guests milling around the opulent cliffside terrace appear distinctly cultish. And as with any celebration of this caliber, there were extravagant canapés, flutes of fine champagne, a tasteful jazz band in tuxedo jackets, and—apparently—a roving waiter passing out bumps of caviar.

Alex had packed two white dresses for the occasion, allowing her to make a game-time decision on what to wear. One was a minimalist, Carolyn Bessette-esque silk number that would make her fit in seamlessly with this group, and the other was a strapless dress she had purchased from the bridal section of a favorite Philly boutique. It looked molded to her body, structured in the bodice and scooped in the neckline, floor-length and flowing from the waist down. She had opted for the latter, dusting her deeply tanned body with a golden highlight, piling her dark curls high with a thin gold headband placed at the crown of her head.

“Don’t you just look fabulous,” a passing woman remarked in her subtle shift dress, probably from Brunello Cucinelli or The Row.

“Thanks,” Alex replied, noting the minor condescension and pushing through it like a thin gauze curtain. “You, too.”

As she sipped her champagne toward the far end of the ornately tiled terrace where Bee had left her, Paul sauntered over. He was in the white embroidered tunic-and-pants set he had custom made on his last trip to Sri Lanka, punctuated by his royal blue silk loafers.

“Something blue.” Alex smiled, opening her arm for him to slip into a side hug.

“And I borrowed the underwear.”

“Of course you did. Are you having fun?” She squeezed his shoulder as she asked.

“I am,” he said rather quietly, grabbing a flute from a passing server’s tray. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it.

“Good,” he said, squeezing her in return. “Oh, hey, guys.”

Paul released Alex from his grasp, placing a hand at the small of her back and turning her slightly to face his parents.

Edward and Naomi Kennedy, much like their son, were a familiar port in the storm from this very specific kind of money. Despite their grandiose fortune, their enormous home South of Broad and their compound on Hilton Head, everything about them felt distinct from the other guests. Even Naomi’s look—her perfectly preserved face, teased red hair, and pearlescent white St. John suit—seemed out of place in a sea of Ivy League and European culture.

“Hi, Mrs. Kennedy.” Alex smiled, opening for a hug.

“Well, this might just have to be your wedding, with that gorgeous dress,” she answered in her familiar drawl: half-Charleston, half-Xanax. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” she replied, turning to Edward for a firm handshake.

“Paul tells me there’s an election for governor coming up,” he said as they shook, meeting her with his sharp green eyes. “That’s a big one.”

As lifelong blue dots in their sea of red, Edward had always taken particular interest in Alex’s work, even back in her volunteer days when she was dating his son. She warmed in nostalgia.

“It’s a big one, but it’s one we can win,” she replied, effortlessly assuming his grandiose speech patterns.

“Anyone can win with you on the team,” Naomi said, nudging her conspiratorially with her shoulder. “Now can someone tell the band to play something a little more upbeat? I feel like I’m at a funeral.”

“That’s just the kind of music they like, dear,” Edward said. He adjusted the collar of his linen suit in the heat, looking at his wife with a familiar amusement. “They’re European.”

“Whatever they are, they don’t know how to dance.” Naomi gave a little shimmy, stopping mid-movement to point a long, beautifully manicured finger at an approaching man. “Well, hi, Danny!”

Alex turned around, immediately regretting it. The sight of Danial—dark tan setting off his cream suit, black hair expertly styled, collar of his shirt open just slightly to reveal a delicate gold chain—stopped her heart. She had briefly deluded herself that sleeping with him would break his spell over her, but in practice, it had the opposite effect. Now, it was as if she was noticing entirely new depths of attractiveness she had never seen before.

Her eyes were drawn to the backs of his hands, the veins that formed little upturned rivers all the way down to his long fingers. And when he swallowed, she followed the pronounced, almost jagged Adam’s apple that moved beneath his skin. Every detail of him felt erotic now, like an echo of the even more extraordinary things no one else at this wedding could see but her. Something as simple as him walking over to their group took her straight back to that bathroom counter, to the delirious feeling of her back knocking against the mirror, over and over again.

Faced with the lack of something more productive to do, she drew a heavy sip from her champagne, realizing just how long this wedding was going to be.

“Naomi, hi,” he said from over Mrs. Kennedy’s shoulder, patting her lightly on the back as they embraced. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And it’s great to see you , sweetheart. How have you been ?”

It was funny seeing the response he elicited from women: Paul’s mom was a perpetual flirt, but Danial had such an overwhelming, effortless charm that it acted like a force multiplier. The two of them together were positively electric.

“Hi, Alex,” he said, pulling back from the hug. “You look”—he cleared his throat, eyes meeting her with an intensity that made her mouth go dry—“very nice.”

“Doesn’t she?” Paul asked, bumping his hip into hers. “I fear she might overshadow me at my own wedding.”

“It’s just the headband,” she demurred, averting her eyes and taking another sip of her champagne.

“Danial,” Edward interjected, accent lingering rather humorously on the y’all in Danial’s name. He extended his hand for a vigorous shake. “Good to see you, son. Are the bastards at Horace still working you round the clock?”

“Well,” he started to reply, “yes. But I’m—I’ve tendered my resignation.”

“Congratulations!” Paul exhaled in relief, nudging Alex subtly with his elbow.

“You quit ?” Alex asked, eyebrows rising to the top of her forehead in shock. “You quit… your job?”

“Uh, well, yes.” Danial shifted on his feet. “I let the partners know that I would be making my transition in the coming months.”

“This wedding just got a lot more interesting,” Edward grinned, looping his arm through his wife’s and turning her toward an approaching family. “You know my offer still stands: we want more of what you’re doing at Surtech. I must excuse my family for a little diplomacy, but expect an email from me on Monday.”

“Excuse us,” Naomi purred, lingering in her observation of Danial. “Let’s go, Paulie.”

The Kennedys floated over to a group on the far end of the terrace, while Alex turned squarely to Danial in the vacuum of their absence.

“Please tell me this isn’t because of the video.”

“I—no.” His voice sounded more unsure than she’d ever heard it, stammering and sweet. “I mean, I won’t lie, it’s been an awkward few days at work: My partners follow me, and I’ve been tagged in photos with you, the producer of that video. Right? The optics aren’t great.”

Her heart sank, heavy at the thought of putting him in that position. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine! We’ve talked about it. It’s all good. But I mean, no, I really couldn’t stay there long-term, and not because of the video. I mean”—he paused, shifting on his feet—“you said it, you know? I can still take care of my mother and do something that’s less… harmful.”

“Danial, I really didn’t realize—”

“We can talk about it later.” He nodded at her with a strangely diplomatic reassurance. “I have to go grab Dev to practice our speech. I’ll see you at the table, okay?” He looked around, sipping from his flute.

“Table?”

“You think Paul didn’t seat us together?”

Their table was really just a repeat of the boat, minus the grooms and with the addition of Guy’s friend Conrad and his wife. The table itself was gorgeous, featuring a centerpiece of hanging candle lanterns and cascading flowers that begged the question of how they could possibly up the ante for the actual wedding. Each table also held a Polaroid camera, which the group was using liberally to take photos of each other, giving the whole scene a vaguely indie feel that obscured its exorbitant price tag. A sommelier flitted by the table every now and again to explain the pairings for their five-course meal, lobster and caviar and lamb and truffled potatoes and every other decadent ingredient a person could imagine.

Bee and Sophie sat side by side in their silk sheath dresses, Bee’s dark hair gathered at the base of her neck and Sophie’s long, light brown waves flowing around her shoulders. Gabriel had been upgraded to wedding date status—after an hours-long astrological reading on the boat that left him in reverent tears, according to Paul—and was now holding court with the two women about the weddings his family hosted at their hotel. Alex smiled at the three of them, the way Bee looked on at Sophie’s new relationship approvingly, feeling every bit like an older sister despite being her exact same age.

And to her left, Danial and Dev were rapt in their never-ending conversation, which now included Conrad. Part of her wanted to jump in, to give her own take on the headlines they were running through, but she thought better of it. Conrad’s wife, Monica, was sitting by herself across the table, looking rather lonely.

“How good is this food?” Alex half-shouted in a friendly voice, pointing at her plate with her fork.

Monica looked up. “Yeah, it’s great.” She smiled, clearly relieved to have a conversation partner. Her honey-blonde bob just brushed the top of her pronounced shoulder bones as she spoke. “Paul said you’re Greek. Where in Greece are you from?”

“I’m not from Greece,” Alex clarified, in a matter-of-fact tone that bordered on pride. “My family is Greek, and I’ve lived in Greece, but we’re from upstate New York.”

As if sensing a micro-shift in the environment, Danial’s hand moved to Alex’s knee under the table.

“Oh, really?” she asked, clearly less interested now that Alex wasn’t providing any cultural intrigue. “What part?”

“I’m from Rochester. It’s a town near Buff—”

“I know Rochester,” Monica cut her off, sipping her crisp white wine. “My father owns a stake in the Bills.”

“Wait—” Alex leaned forward, channeling the excitement of her father almost subconsciously. “Your dad literally owns part of the Bills?”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “You’re a fan?”

“Oh, my god.” Alex smiled, reaching for her phone. “I’m literally going to FaceTime my dad right now. Please tell me you’ve met Pinto Ron?”

“Who?” Monica set her glass down, looking slightly distracted.

“The…” Alex looked at her with a blinking confusion, catching Danial observing her from the corner of her eye. “The guy who everyone covers with ketchup and mustard? Who eats the hot dog? He’s at literally every game.”

“Oh, I don’t really follow football,” Monica clarified, clicking her phone to dismiss an incoming message. “But he sounds like fun.”

Alex laughed in genuine surprise, raising an eyebrow at her across the centerpiece. Danial squeezed her knee, and she glanced over at him. He cleared his throat, turning away from Dev and toward Alex. “Let’s dance,” he whispered, his hand migrating from her knee to the small of her back, guiding her upward. “I like this song.”

“Sure.” She nodded, turning away from the table and toward the crowded floor. “Let’s dance.”

She placed her hand securely in Danial’s, allowing him to lead her. Above them, string lights crisscrossed in a seemingly endless pattern, mingling with the stars behind. The jazz band had joined forces with a DJ, adding a live component to the dance-worthy, disco-heavy music. Edward and Naomi were unsurprisingly in the center of the gray-and-white checkerboard terrace, moving expertly to the song. Paul was swaying rather distractedly in Guy’s arms, and a few other familiar faces punctuated the sea of Nordic millionaires occupying the dance floor. It was funny how quickly her exchange with Monica faded just from being with Danial, losing herself in the crowd with him the way they couldn’t at their claustrophobic table.

He had always been a great dancer, but they had only ever danced together as “friends,” separated by several inches and the pretense of platonic fun. Now, though, he positioned himself behind her, extending her arms with his own to grasp her palms and encouraging her to lean back onto him so he could effortlessly move her body.

He brought his lips to her ear from behind, swaying to the music as he spoke: “I had to get you out of there before you jumped across the table.”

“You’re wrong.” She smiled. “I just felt a little bad for her, honestly.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” he gently guided her outward, turning her under his arm and bringing her against him, chest-to-chest, his leg slipping between hers to dictate the rhythm.

She laughed, looking out at the dance floor from over his shoulder, “It’s funny. I built this trip up in my head for so long, and honestly? Rich people are so boring . It’s like they don’t even notice anything going on around them.”

She could feel him looking down toward her, the soft movement of his head shaking in amusement. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” she continued, swaying with him in time. “Like, even on the boat—did our friends even realize there were people taking care of them? Did they even know their names?”

“Did you?”

“Did I know their names?” she said, bringing herself to face him. “I talked to Melanie all the time.”

“Well…” He smiled down at her. “You did leave the boat without saying goodbye or thank you to anyone on the crew, including Melanie. That felt slightly rich-girl-coded.”

She stopped in the middle of the floor, burning with embarrassment that she had indeed been so callous, and that he had perfectly clocked her hypocrisy, as usual.

“It’s fine,” he reassured, moving his hand firmly onto her lower back and bringing her into an effortless movement. “I told her that you had to leave for an urgent personal matter, and I got her contact information if you wanted to send her a note. She loves your videos, by the way.”

For a moment, they moved in silence to the music, and she could almost feel the heat of his self-satisfaction blooming against her chest.

“Thank you,” she finally mumbled, rather petulantly.

His smile had spread wide across his face, little lines of delight forming on his cheeks.

“I know it’s very hard for you to be gracious when you’re feeling embarrassed, so you’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head as they moved across the floor, stifling a grin of her own. “Am I getting therapy from Danial Azad right now? Do I get to psychoanalyze you next?”

“I’m not giving you therapy.” He smiled, openly amused. “And you are welcome to analyze me anytime.”

“Is that right?” She lifted a hand from his palm to move a loose strand of hair that had fallen in his eyes.

“I have nothing to hide.” He reached up and met her fingers as they pushed his hair behind his ear, bringing her hand back into his own and using it to guide her into another tidy spin. When their bodies met again, he gripped her more firmly, not unlike the way he had in her hotel room. “Analyze away.”

She moved seamlessly against him, feeling the heat radiate from his body and into hers. The invitation to intimacy was too appealing not to indulge, especially after multiple glasses of wine.

“I think you’re feeling anxious about quitting your job,” she said, her face craning up toward him as they danced.

“You don’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that.” He laughed, slowing their hips along with the tempo of the song. “But yes. It’s a big change.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said, with no sarcasm or double meaning behind her statement.

His eyes darted downward to meet hers, transforming in real time to that tender expression, lashes heavy.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet. “And it wasn’t just about your video. It had been coming for a long time.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He nodded, moving them effortlessly out of the way of a couple that had gotten too close on the dance floor.

“You know, I’ve always been so envious of you,” he continued. “Not just getting to do something you care about, but feeling like you deserve it, you know?”

“Deserve what?” Her face was craned up toward him now, but he kept his eyes fixed on the dance floor around him.

“Everything. Taking risks, doing something actually important for the world.” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. “Chasing your dreams instead of the largest possible paycheck.”

She remained quiet, observing him.

“I can’t remember the last time I did anything that was just… living my own life, you know? I spend my Friday nights making financial models and estate planning in case anything happens to me while my mom is still alive.” A bitter laugh escaped him, and he shook his head.

She squeezed his hand in hers, letting the words linger and expand between them.

“What was I like in college?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes directly.

She paused, letting a thousand adjectives flutter through her mind before settling on the most accurate one she could think of: “Extraordinary.”

He smiled, a joyful little breath accompanying his change in expression. And at this, they only danced, the song rising between them as their bodies moved weightlessly together. From the corner of her eye, she caught Dev and Bee stepping onto the dance floor, looking so much happier than they had that first morning on the boat. Maybe two weeks away from the twins had returned them to their essential, perfectly suited selves. Seeing the two of them felt like a jolt of electricity, a buzzing reminder that her time with Danial was coming to a close in just a few days. After this, they would be in separate cities, living separate lives—a thought that made Alex slightly ill.

“I want you to come to my room tonight,” she whispered, the words escaping her before she even registered their exit. Her courage hadn’t quite reached the level of admitting she was still in love with him, but it was enough to tell him she wanted to sleep with him again.

Danial’s eyes darted around the dance floor, as if seeking to preserve their modesty despite the overwhelming volume of the music. He leaned down, his lips closer to her neck than her ear, pulling her so close to his body that she felt she might disappear within him.

“You want me to come to your room?” he repeated, luxuriating in the words.

“I do,” she confirmed, feeling the song crescendo around her and wanting to freeze it in time, to extend this perfect moment forever.

“And what do you want me to do?” He freed one of his hands, running it up her arm mid-movement and deftly turning her around so that her back was once again to his chest. “Once I get to your room?”

She turned her face toward his and could feel him instinctively bury himself in her hair, inhaling her deeply. She closed her eyes, forgetting the crowd of strangers and losing herself to the intoxicating feeling.

“I want you to take off my dress,” she breathed.

“But you look so good,” he replied, and she could hear the smile on his voice. He moved one hand over her stomach, spreading his fingers across the expanse of it as the other guided her extended arm. “Can’t we keep it on?”

“We can,” she whimpered, feeling so lightheaded with desire that she needed to rest her weight on his body. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Hmm,” he said, voice deep in his chest. “I don’t know that I believe you. Tell me again.”

“ We can do whatever you want .”

His fingers kneaded softly at the base of her stomach, pulling her closer to feel every detail of him against her back. She continued, barely audible, “I put my other key in your jacket, so you can come right up.”

“Oh,” he whispered, sounding nothing short of hypnotized. “You want me to surprise you, then?”

God , she did. She wanted to be awoken from the deepest sleep by the feeling of him on top of her. And she wanted so many other things, things she wouldn’t dare verbalize for fear of ruining their tenuous connection. She would happily take another glorious night with him, even if it was only sex.

“I want you,” she continued, surrendering to hedonistic release, “I want you to write a list of everything you never got to do to me over the past ten years, and I want you to check them off one by one until you are completely, fully satisfied.”

The sound of his moan in her ear was drowned out only by the sound of the dance floor clapping. The song was over, and Alex pulled herself roughly from Danial’s chest, opening her eyes like she had just been doused with a bucket of cold water.

As the opening notes rose on the next number, she turned around and smiled awkwardly, muttering something about how she needed a glass of water.

The two of them walked, separately, toward the table, avoiding eye contact along the way. They poured themselves back into their seats, chests rising and falling with the intensity of what they had shared on the dance floor. And waiting between their dessert plates was a polaroid of them from earlier that evening. Danial’s arm was around Alex’s shoulder, her in a romantic white gown and him in an impeccable suit. She was pitched slightly forward in laughter, golden dust glimmering on her collarbones, his deep, dark eyes cast down toward her. For a moment, they only took in the photo, totally silent. And when she turned toward him, searching for a shared recognition, he continued to look at the photo, a stern, almost nervous expression on his face.

“I have to run upstairs for a moment,” he said, and before she could reply, he was off toward the double doors leading into the hotel.

Alex’s heart sank.

Even when she knew better than to ask for something real between them—even when she was willing to settle for his body, when she wanted much more—the implication alone was too much. Just a photo of them looking like a couple had filled him with anxiety. The thought of the emotions it must have sparked in him made her blush with embarrassment.

Quietly, she lifted her dessert plate and slid the small photo underneath, a familiar sadness stinging at her heart.

“I need to talk to you.” From behind Alex, a desperate-sounding whisper pulled her away from her self-indulgent longing.

Paul looked utterly distraught: he was crouched behind her chair, tears filling his eyes, nose red. He looked a little wobbly in his intoxication, rocking slightly as he looked up at Alex.

“What happened?” she whispered back, turning herself fully toward him to shield him from the table’s view.

“Please trust me, I need to talk to you right now.”

“Okay,” she answered, standing and taking her hand in his. “We’ll talk.”