“No,” Mags says patiently, grinning at Chris before vanishing back into the lounge.

I can’t help my laughter, and my sister shakes her head. “It’s a good job I love him. No one else would get away with demanding the hostess change her seating arrangement five minutes before dinner is served.”

“He could,” Chris says. “He’s the darling of the dinner party circuit.”

“Makes him sound like Lewis Hamilton with a tray,” I observe.

He laughs. “He’s too charming. It’s always been his problem.”

“I suppose I’d better do it for him,” Lennie says with a put-upon sigh.

I nudge her. “Stop looking so martyrish. You probably did the table seating by drawing straws anyway.”

She grins. “You’d be right.”

She wanders off into the dining room, and I follow Chris into the lounge.

Mags is standing by the fireplace. The blond young man is next to him, and a group of three men and two women are listening to Mags speak, obviously hanging on every word. The group burst into laughter when Mags finishes whatever story he’s telling.

Chris nudges me. “Drink?” he asks.

I nod, and he moves away, knowing my drink order, as well as he knows that I hate mayonnaise.

My sister appears at the door. “Dinner’s ready,” she says, raising her voice over the hum of conversation. “Come on through.”

The group moves en masse, and Mags comes up next to me. “I think we might be seat partners.”

“How utterly thrilling.”

He grins, and my sister intercepts us at the door. “I’ve done as you wished,” she says to Mags. “It might be easier for people if you just wore a crown from now on.”

“It would blind you with its glowing light. You are definitely not worthy,” he informs her, and she shoves him.

“Table looks nice,” I say to her. The oak table has a starched white runner and is ablaze with candles and sparkling glassware. White roses lend a sweet scent to the room. “Thank God, you stuck to laying out plates and glasses and let someone else cook.”

Mags breaks into such loud laughter that everyone stops talking and looks around.

My sister slaps my arm. “Smart arse,” she says. “You and he deserve each other.”

The comment startles me for some reason, and when I meet her gaze, there’s a sparkle in her eyes that tells me I’m fucked. She has always liked interfering in my life, as if by being blessed with a vagina, she knows everything better than me.

A woman calls to her, and before Lennie darts away, she levels a look at me that says we’ll be talking soon.

“Great,” I groan.

Mags looks at me enquiringly.

“Lennie is going to question me,” I say.

“Nothing to tell,” he says, finding his place card at the end of the table.