As the grandfather clock in the dining room struck 7, I took a seat at the middle of the table, next to my cousin Paul and my Aunt Ethie. Christabelle sat opposite me, her eyes never meeting mine, and concentrated on her silver cutlery. Other family members also took their places, with Uncle Alan at the head of the table. It was his countryside manor, after all.

“I would like to propose a toast,” Uncle Alan began, “to Christabelle, who when saying yes to Paul has become a member of our family. To Christabelle and happy couple!”

Unfortunately I was sipping my cocktail when that announcement was made, and began to choke horribly on the spot. My face flushed and turned an ugly shade of beetroot, as I spluttered and gasped for breath.

After my little “show”, I met Christabelle out in the hallway, away from my relatives.

“Well?” I asked her, smoothing my hair to stop myself from releasing too much anger.

“Henry, when Paul proposed-”

“Did you even think of me? Oh God, did you even think of me while-”

“Yes.”