Alaric, Colette’s husband of three years, approached with two glasses of champagne. He was tall and angular, with dark hair that was starting to recede at the temples. He handed one to Bennett. “For the non-pregnant among us,” he joked, his British accent clipping the words.

“Congratulations,” Bennett said, clinking glasses. “First-time fatherhood. Big change coming.”

“The biggest,” Alaric agreed, though his eyes darted briefly to Colette. Something passed between them, a look I couldn’t decipher.