She chuckles, “Yeah, well, if we get there and every other woman is in a long, formal dress, you’re a dead man.”
I make a point of dragging my gaze up her delicious body until we’re making eye contact. “A gamble worth taking.” She looks out the window but not before I catch the way her cheeks heat. My fingers twitch at the urge to touch them, to hold her face stilland tell her every wonderful thing about herself. Refuse to let her run and hide.
She shifts again, tugging at her hem and my hands flex at everything else they want to touch. I’m…a man obsessed. If she knew the number of times I’d pictured her—her naked body, her open mouth, her bent over in my shower—in place of my right hand lately, how much would she blush then? Or would she?
Half of me thinks she’d face it full on. She knows I ogle and drool over every inch of her and while she cannot take a compliment without squirming, she doesn’t seem to mind. Hell, she wouldn’t have walked out from behind that curtain today in this tiny dress if she didn’t want me to look.
“Mysterium?” She reads as we pull up to the black carpet.
“Yes, bit on the nose isn’t it? I’ll get the door,” I remind my driver before I step out. I hear the clicks of cameras in the distance as I round the car. Everything is closed off to the public but someone must’ve leaked the event. I open the door and reach down for Janie’s hand. She takes it but I see a flash of something across her face. Insecurity? Can’t be.
“Just long enough to eat the food, then it’s sexy sweatpants and Dumbledore, yeah?”
She relaxes a fraction, “I don’t think sexy and Dumbledore should ever be said in the same sentence.”
“Professor McConagall begs to differ,” I scoff.
“I told you—”
“I know, you say they’re just colleagues. I say you’re daft. What witch wouldn’t want the wisest and most powerful wizard?”
I start to lead her into the event, which she’s barely noticing because she’s too busy lecturing me about McConagall’s professionalism. She also doesn’t fuss with her dress or scowl at the nearby paparazzi. I knew she’d get worked up about it.
Not bad for a rookie husband, if I do say so myself.
After a masked hostess scans the email on my phone, we enter what’s definitely a cocktail party. I wag my eyebrows at all of the non-black-tie attire. No long dresses in sight. But Janie’s frowning.
“Everything alright, love?” I ask quietly as I look around.
We’re in a dark, industrial space but filled with bright lights and a shit-ton of artwork and greenery. The whole concept is guessing mixtures, in the drinks, in the foods. The experience is supposed to be a test for your palette and maybe your senses as well.
While there’ssoft classical music playing, there’s a huge, modern sculpture of two torsos embracing, lit with garish, bright lights. The sculpture is intentionally crude, with only some portions including details, others are chunks of seemingly untouched plaster or something?
It’s a weird vibe.
“Fine, yeah, it’s just…a weird vibe, isn’t it?” She says.
I fight a smile, “Very weird, yes. You want to go?”
“No, no, let’s eat at least. You said this chef is incredible.”
“You’re sure?”
“Benedict, you read me his entire Wikipedia page. We’re eating.”
I dip my chin, “I mean, if you insist.”
She laughs.
Yes! I’m getting bloody good at that.
“Ah, there’s Aiden, let me introduce you.”
“Aiden?”
“Best mate from college.”
She nods as we cross the space. She looks nervous again so I move my hand from her lower back to her waist, tucking her into my side a bit as we walk. Surprising me, she moves closer rather than pulling away.
