"Est-ce que ton mari?"
Juliet was drawn back into the moment by the heavy voice next to her, which--why was Matthieu speaking in French, she had strictly prohibited French from being used in her presence, it was such a stupid language--"Là-bas?"
Annoying. But this was no time to look upset with the man who was supposed to be her perfect date, and so she continued to feign a smile while sending the idiot a pointed look. "Yes, you could say that," she responded, pronouncing the English slowly as if she were speaking to a small child. Really, on any normal occasion, she would not consider associating with such an inferior human being, much less bringing him to a party on her arm. If there was one thing that she and Rhys could heartily agree on now, it was that Matthieu Lefèvre was indeed just as bad as he had always said. Not only embarrassingly stupid (well, truthfully most people were when you were Juliet), but far more bold and full of himself than he rightfully should have been.
Case in point--at that very moment, Matthieu cracked a shit-disturbing smirk in her direction and grabbed up Juliet's hand, pulling her out of her chair and across the room before she had a chance to realize what exactly was happening.
Not that it was a problem, in the end... But really, he was just so French. She had hoped for just the smallest bit less hand-holding out of the whole situation, if she had to choose.
"M. Nott!" he called, waving down his co-worker. "Ca fait longtemps!"
Well, at least she seemingly had to do little of the work here.
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