Ben wasn't sure what he'd really been expecting from his wife, but certainly not for her to bring up Art Pettigrew. His mouth fell open slightly in absolute confusion as she rose from her chair and continued blustering. Where had she gotten that idea? Certainly not from anything Ben had said or done, he was sure. Ben would never have told anyone, least of all Art — but not, as she said, because he was the least trustworthy person in existence (Art had never, for instance, used a potion to trick someone into marriage, so he at least had that distinction over Melody — but even in the heat of the moment, Ben knew better than to say anything like that to her). No, Ben could never have told Art for the same reason he could never have told Aldous. There was no chance they would have let him stay with her. Art cared too much about Ben to see him perpetually unhappy — as did his brothers, for all their disagreements.

"I didn't," he said when she finally stopped. At first his tone was blank; still in shock. Then, after a moment, he laughed. It was entirely inappropriate, but he heard the noise before he even realized it was happening. He couldn't help it; the entire suggestion was just so ridiculous. "Do you think he'd be coming to dinner and playing nice if he knew? He hates you," Ben said, shaking his head and laughing again. "He's only tolerating you because he thinks I'm fucking in love with you."