Work Text:
“So”, said Jane, carefully unfolding the scrap of paper she'd drawn from the hat. “Mark Darcy. Who chose him?”
“Oh my, that was me,” said Ana, biting her lip. “You don't mind, do you, Bridget?”
“God no. But why him?” Bridget gave a slight frown.
“The way you say 'Nice boys don't kiss like that,' and he just answers 'Oh yes they fucking well do.'”
“Flash Gordon?” said Jane holding the next scrap and sounding utterly baffled.
“Mine,” said Bridget. “I'm fed up with Mark making me feel stupid.”
“Your turn, Jane.”
“Antoinette Cosway. Reader, I did not marry him.”