Your choice changes what happens next
The Unrehearsed Answer
Levin waited until Dara had both hands full. A waiter had given her two empty wineglasses, mistaking her for someone who knew where anything belonged. Through the glasshouse walls, the river at Marden Reach looked solid enough to walk across. Copper leaves hung above the supper table. Tomorrow there would be a wedding beneath them. Tonight her oldest friend straightened his navy cuff and said, "If anybody asks, we were together after supper."
Dara set down one glass. At thirty-six, she distrusted requests disguised as reminders of an agreement. Her crimson suit was too warm; one dark wave had escaped behind her ear. Levin, thirty-seven, wore a neat side part and an expectant smile. "Which supper?" she asked. "This one?" He nodded. "I thought you would understand."
Beyond his shoulder, Kit was turning his muted gold tie around to inspect its narrow end. Her brother was thirty-three and could restore a damaged chair without leaving a visible join, but formal clothes defeated him. Nessa stood beside the open garden door in teal, her coiled hair gathered low. She looked directly at Dara, then at Levin, and stopped lifting her hand. Dara could not tell whether she had been about to greet her or interrupt him.
"You can't be asking me that again," Dara said. Levin glanced towards the table, where someone tested a spoon against a glass. "Not here." His answer was so quick that the ordinary room changed around it. Dara had arrived expecting to make a speech about Kit's childhood. She had not expected to hear the sentence that had ended her own. This time she kept the second glass. Its weight gave her hand something definite to do.