Barbara nodded. If she was going to keep being on my side about things, I was going to need to see a doctor because something was clearly wrong with me. “Yes. I hope you’ll be more considerate when you’re picking a venue for your wedding.”

“Our wedding?” I asked.

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Oh, not you as well. I thought it was only Alex who forgot he was getting married.”

“No, I remember I’m getting married,” I began, and then the realisation crept up on me that this conversation was about to go to a very uncomfortable place. “I just wasn’t sure what you meant about a considerate venue.”

“Well, you’ve got to admit, Luc,” said Rhys, “it’s been a lovely trip but it was a bit of a palaver.”

Definitely going to an uncomfortable place. “Yes, I–I agree with that. It’s just that our wedding isn’t necessarily… We’re not going to necessarily…”

“You’re both local, though, aren’t you?” observed Rhys. “To London, I mean, not to here. So I’m assuming you’ll be having the ceremony somewhere everybody can get to easily.”

“Yeees…” This wasn’t going well. “For everybody who’s invited. It’s just…”

“It’s just we haven’t discussed the guest list in detail,” said Oliver, who was always way better at being diplomatic than I was. “And a lot of the venues we’re looking at are rather small.”

Even though Oliver had been the one to say it—or rather imply it strongly enough that they got the hint—they all turned to me.

“I hope”—there was a genuine tremor in Rhys Jones Bowen’s voice—“that you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting.”

I squirmed. “Umm…”

Rhys already had his phone out. “Hello, Rhystocrats,” he was saying, “this is a bit of a… Well, I’ve just had a bit of a shock. As you all know, my friend and colleague Luc O’Donnell is getting married soon—”

“Did you…” I seized on the opportunity to claim the moral high ground. “Did you announce my wedding on social media without consulting me?”

“Don’t you try to talk your way out of this. The Rhystocrats are going to want to know why you think we’re not good enough for your wedding.”

“I don’t think we’d put it quite like that…” I tried.

Barbara Clench was glaring at me, which at least felt familiar. “How would you put it?”

This one seemed like an easy answer. “Well, in your case, I would probably say, ‘We hate each other so I didn’t think you’d want to come.’”

A deathly silence fell over the room. There was a tiny, tiny chance that we both hate each other, right wasn’t the most tactful thing to say when you’d just driven several hours to attend a coworker’s wedding.