"It will never happen," she insists rather vehemently. "No more than your shouting is going to attract anyone up here where there isn't anyone."

He can't just leave her alone to sulk, can he?

Her arms cross stubbornly and she frowns in a manner that is decidedly uncondusive to his 'sharing the joy' plan, "It doesn't matter if I believe it or not, that's just the way things are."

And it is.

Doesn't matter how much he grins at her like that, it's not going to change anything. He wants to get rid of her and settle down with his perfect pastry-wife and she can't go home. (Not that her sisters wouldn't laugh at her if she did.) So there.

A quiet mumble, changing the subject, "How's your hand?"