Somehow, we managed to pack, navigate to the airport and fly to JFK as a group with very little meaningful chatter. Primarily small talk and nursing hangovers from our heavy night previously; a sombre mood, and the strained atmosphere is so thick it’s almost opaque around us. Gino seems very aware of my turmoil about being Mrs, and after a brief joke about a shotgun wedding, Alessandra elbowing him hard in the ribs, no one brought it up again.

Alexi didn’t react but kept his eyes ...