She stared back pointedly, as if waiting for him to do something other than cock his eyebrow at her in that infernally confident manner. Octavia tried to picture their married life, what it would be feel like waking up next to him for the next however many years of their lives, eagerly awaiting his arrival from work after her own time at the restaurant, going to bed with him at night.
It felt retch-worthy, that's what.
Except she couldn't quite reconcile the queasy feeling with that little jolt of adrenaline she had every time they engaged in a verbal sparring match. Just imagining how that might manifest itself physically, well... The whole thing read like a bad romance novel, anyway. Who was she to put a stop to the tawdry fun now?
Not, of course, she'd like to point out, that her feelings on Rabastan Lestrange had changed in the slightest.
"If I have to, I suppose," she replied, remaining in her sitting position, head held quite high and very much refusing to look in his direction now.
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