Clothing

For years, her classmates had called her "Souri-Cécile"[1] because, as the name implies, she always had a smile on her face like a simpleton who found joy in every situation, even the bad ones. Those that knew her knew otherwise of course. They could tell what smiles belied what emotions. The tight-lipped smile when she was angry... the wan, weak smile when she was sad... the wide, toothy grin when she was actually happy...The list went on. But to an untrained eye, one assumed all the smiles meant the same thing: Cécile was blissfully unaware of the world around her. And who could blame them for thinking it? She was often found wandering around, her soft pink lips curled into a small smile and her eyes staring off into the distance, as though she was laughing at a private joke that no one else could see. However, her expression and her emotions were often two very different things.

Today, for example. There she was, wandering in a aimless fashion down the streets of Hogsmeade with a smile plastered across her face, like a first-year stepping foot in the magical little hamlet for the first time. Granted it was her first time and she had every reason to be amazed, but the look in her eyes told a different story. Her smile was tight-lipped and her brow was ever so slightly furrowed in irritation mixed with dread. As if to drive the point home, a tightly rolled sheet of parchment was crumpled in a grip that was turning her knuckles a stark white. She also wasn't wandering aimlessly, she knew where she had to go, she simply didn't want to go. Right now, the Three Broomsticks resembled less of a cozy place to get a drink and more of a overly-large coffin.

Chere Cécile, the letter in her hand read in the saccharine tones her Grandmother only ever used when she wanted something, Soyez une bonne fille et aller aux Trois Balais, le 4 octobre. Il ya quelqu'un que je voudrais que vous y rencontrer. Assurez-vous que vous êtes présentable...[2] Cécile had a sinking feeling that she knew exactly who she would be meeting. It wasn't a hard to figure out her intentions. Constance only ever showed any real interest in her granddaughter when she wished to either show her off (Which wasn't very often) or when she wanted something.

Since Cécile hadn't actually done anything impressive thus far, she couldn't imagine it was the former. So, her grandmother wanted her to do something for her and Cécile could think of one thing Constance wanted from her: To purify the Fontaine name by wedding a man of her choosing (Her being Constance, not Cécile). Cécile had hoped that she had the rest of the school year to enjoy her freedom before being tied down, but apparently Constance had something else in mind. It also meant that her husband-to-be was here, at the tournament, and was more than likely not a Beauxbaton boy. This idea left a miserable sensation in her stomach and a foul taste in her mouth. Not only did she not get to choose the young man, but she didn't even get to know him.

After waiting several minutes past the meeting time, since Cécile had no intention of being early to her own funeral, Cécile took a deep breath and put on a polite smile, like a good girl. Opening the door to the Three Broomsticks, she was overwhelmed with a burst of warm air and cheery conversation. Normally such a welcoming air would please the petite Parisian, but Cécile's mood was only made worse by it. She really would have preferred a somber, depressing graveyard in a time like this. Glancing around the room, she spotted her grandmother sitting in a far corner, perched on the edge of the booth as though she was trying her best not to get her pristine white robes sullied by the dirt of the common man. There was someone sitting across from her that Cécile couldn't see fully, but she could tell it was a man.

Turn back Cécile... It isn't too late... A voice urged her in the back of her mind, and she seriously considered obeying it. However, before she could turn and escape, Constance spotted her. "Oh, Cécile, my love, over here!" The addition of 'my love' was just another nail into the coffin and Cécile's smile tightened a bit more as she made her way towards the pair. Her grandmother rose to meet her, embracing her in an awkward hug as she planted the obligatory kisses on both of her cheeks. Cécile's hug and kisses were just as forced, but she actually wanted to embrace her grandmother, as though it would keep her from having to turn and face the young man behind her. The hug didn't last long enough, though, before Constance turned and gave the man a simpering smile "Lyov, this is my darling grand daughter, Cécile... Cécile, this is Lyov... Your future husband."

1.	"Smiling Cécile"
2.	Be a good girl and go to the Three Broomsticks on 4 october. There is someone I would like you to meet there. Make sure you are presentable.

Lyov had been more than punctual. He’d shown up a good half hour prior to the meeting to ‘prepare’ himself. Practicing his Legilimency was easy work on those inebriated; it was also easier on those focused on a conversation, though they were more likely to notice something amiss. And then you had the occasional person who seemed to know what was going on, and he had to back off rather quickly (and hide his wand) or risk getting in more trouble than it was worth.

He had plenty of victims he could play with at the school, but Lyov was meeting someone. As fowl a mood as he might feel about the reasons behind the meeting, he could keep his opinions to himself long enough to muddle through it. His mum had been eager to right some of the wrong she had done by marrying Lyov’s father. What better way than to marry her children off to some pureblood family, one after the other? It wasn’t enough to stay in the motherland, either. She wanted to expand the bloodline.

Lyov had grown up with a strong sense of family, even if you had to fight for your place in it. So when his mother told him what he was to do... he didn’t really fight it. If it made his mother happy, it was bound to at least make his father somewhat pleased. He hoped.

Besides, just because he was being married away didn’t mean he had to give up his fun. It wasn’t an Unbreakable Vow, after all. As long as he provided for her, Lyov felt he could continue exactly how he had been. There were too many options right now to settle for one. With four schools together... it allowed for variety. And he had enjoyed the small sampling he had partaken in all ready.

When the old woman showed up, Lyov tried not to appear alarmed. What was his mother playing at?!

But then he realized (embarrassingly slow for an Oberteil) who she was supposed to be, and he quickly stood up and offered his hand, giving the older woman a welcoming shake. His dark suit had been pressed by some of the younger students-he thought it was becoming, against his pale skin. Plus, it was what his mother had sent him for this meeting.

He had to entertain the chatty French woman, his accent thick as he maneuvered around her questions as best he could. By the time Cécile arrived, he had divulged information about his siblings, as well as what his older sister was doing. Luckily she was distracted with the arrival of her granddaughter.

Standing from the table, Lyov took the few moments they were embracing to straighten out his jacket. He got a look at her side profile, examining her legs as he did; with the heels on, she was about his height. Lyov admired the dress before snapping his eyes back up to her face, giving a closed-mouth smile (rare on his face) to Cécile. She wasn’t like the many blondes he chased after. There was something... French about her. “Nice to meet you, Cécile.” His hand moved out in the space between them, waiting for her next move. "Glad you could make it in time for ordering another round of drinks."

Although her grandmothers abruptness didn't surprise her, since she knew what she was walking into, Cecile couldn't help but feel a bit put out that Constance hadn't been a bit more... gentle with it. It was a sensitive situation for the two teens and Cecile just wished she had been a bit more subtle. Which was laughable because Constance Fontaine was not known for 'gentle' or 'subtle'. She had earned the nickname "Iron Butterfly" amongst her social group for a reason.

Now Cecile was put in a difficult situation. She didn't want to turn around and face her fiancé out of fear that her horror at the situation would be clear on her face nor did she want to lose her composure in such a crowded place. Constance had likely chosen the venue for this reason alone, knowing well that Cecile wasn't the kind to make a scene in public. So she had no choice but to plaster on a smile and turn to greet her future face to face.

She was surprised, at first. His name evoked a Durmstrang student and she had expected a terrifying, towering Russian, glaring down at her with disgust, but found him to only be a bit taller than herself (thanks to the heels Elodie lent her). He was also wearing a smile, which put her off guard for a moment. Granted it was a very cool, detached smile that looked like it was so rarely used that he had to dust it off before showing it, but it was still a smile. She hadn't expected that.

Her eyes flickered over him quickly, though her look was more curious than judgmental. Despite not being as tall as some of his classmates, he certainly had the angular features of a Russian, complete with cheekbones that could cut marble. Actually, he looked like he was marble. His skin was pale and firm, belying a trim muscular that was accentuated by a dark, well cut suit. She didn't have to be a fashionista to note that it was made from fine, expensive fabrics. But then, what did she expect? Constance would never marry her off to a poor pureblood, no matter how desperate she was.

“Nice to meet you, Cécile. Glad you could make it in time for ordering another round of drinks."

Realizing she was staring, ignoring his offered hand, Cecile quickly regain her composure and gave him an equally thin-lipped smile. "Oh... Oui... I mean, yes, of course... Pleased to meet you as well." She managed to sound polite at least, though a bit distracted. She was going to shake his hand when Constance pushed her forward with an unspoken command that she give him the more informal bises. Usually she save those for those she wasn't meeting for the first time, but considering she would be sharing a bed with him in the near future, he wasn't just an acquaintance.

Leaning up, she pressed a light kiss to both his cheeks, her pink lips barely puckering as they tapped the hollow below his cheekbones. She was, rather pleasantly, surprised that he didn't smell like atrociously expensive cologne, like she had assumed. Instead, she could smell something salty but fresh, like the sea... though there was a muskier scent layered below it, like wood or perhaps moss. She didn't mind the smell, in fact she preferred a more natural, earthy scent on men and would have gladly taken it over the flowery musk of her grandmother, had it not been attached to someone she had already made up her mind to hate. Reminding herself of this, she pulled away quickly.

"Lovely... Now that you two have met, I shall go and see if they have a decent selection of wines. Cecile, entertain Lyov while I am gone..." Constance ordered, motioning towards the seat next to where Lyov had been sitting, clearly stating that Cecile was to sit next to him in the booth, rather then across. She then swept away, her white robes billowing behind her, leaving the two to stand there awkwardly. Cecile swallowed, suddenly more nervous than before. Why hadn't she brought Elodie along? Elodie was the one who took after grandmother. She was so charming and outgoing that Cecile normally let her do the talking. But she had made the decision to do this on her own as she couldn't rely on Lola forever. Putting on an overly bright smile, she took a deep breath and said "Well... I guess... um... we should get to know... each other..." She didn't sound as enthused as her smile would suggest.

When the inquisitive old woman had nestled into money, very subtly, he had been just as subtle back. Of course his family was loaded. She might not understand that his ‘family’ consisted of the mafia, and that he wasn’t entitled to that sort of luxury. But his mother could put a good foot forward and appear as well off as she could. It wasn’t as if his brothers (or himself) asked for a lot, outside of items for school.

The occasional well put-together suit was much appreciated.

Her rushed greeting made an eyebrow raise momentarily, but the shove towards him made it jump up. Luckily he’d gone through a similar ritual before; it was a little too intimate, perhaps, but since she was at least worth looking at... he wasn’t going to complain. A small smirk slid off his face before she pulled away.

Giving the old woman a nod of agreement, he stepped aside and waited for Cécile to take a seat. “That would probably be a good idea.” His words clipped in English, his accent stumbling over words before he followed her into the booth. Now she was effectively trapped.

He assessed her once again, glancing over her without trying to hide it, before focusing on her face. “I’m assuming this is your last year at Beauxbatons. I would hope my mother would have found someone at least close to my age.” Someone whom he could marry quickly and be done with it. She still had the twins to worry about, after all, and these things took time to set up and arrange. If they even agreed to it.

“What is your favorite past-time?” Why not pass the time before the wine arrived? He had to get to know her a bit anyway, to make this tolerable. "Favorite lesson?" And to be sure he caught her really off guard, an eyebrow once again rose as his voice dropped down to quietly ask his next question. Theatrics were really overrated. "Have you had many... relationships?" It was going to come out sooner or later. Why not during the first meeting?

When he motioned for her to sit first, Cecile knew she was trapped. Now there was no going back... no escaping... Smiling weakly at him, she sat down carefully and slid down to make room. Even squishing herself as far against the wall as possible did little to alleviate the snugness of the booth. Cecile bet that Constance chose the smallest booth in the house so that Cecile would have to practically sit on his lap. Tugging at the hem of her skirt, she suddenly wished she had worn something a bit longer. This idea was only strengthened when she caught Lyov looking her over, evaluating her like a fine cut of steak. She struggled with the quickly fading smile, managing to plaster it back on when he found his way to her face and finally spoke.

“I’m assuming this is your last year at Beauxbatons. I would hope my mother would have found someone at least close to my age.”

"Yes, that would be correct." her reply was curt but not rude, as though she were applying for a job and he was the interviewer. Come to think of it, that was exactly what this was. Getting to know each other was less about enjoying each others differences and more about what they brought to the table. Plenty of arranged marriages ended with one of the spouses coming down with a serious case of death, a la poisoned tea, because they didn't know each other well enough.

“What is your favorite past-time?”

"um... Reading and Music... and some writing, now and then" She didn't elaborate further then that. It seemed like a bad idea to admit that she read muggle philosophy and played muggle music on a muggle violin. And it most definitely didn't seem like a good idea to describe the types of writing she did, especially when the hero of the stories bore a striking resemblance to the certain muggleborn and the heroine seemed to be modeled after a certain French lass. No, she didn't think he needed to know that much. Apparently at least something was in her favor because he didn't insist she elaborate.

"Favorite lesson?"

"Hm... Transfiguration probably... Though, I enjoy many of my classes" She replied lightly. Standard question, nothing too invasive. Perhaps this was going to be smoother than she had originally thought. At least, that was her hope before he leaned closer and said in a soft, probing tone.

"Have you had many... relationships?"

Although he had the decency to lower his voice, the implication of his question came across loud and clear. Are you a virgin, his cocked eyebrow seemed to be inquiring. She felt her ears start to burn furiously as all attempts to maintain her composure was lost. "W...why would that... m...matter?" She stuttered, sitting up straight and staring at the far booth in an attempt to appear nonchalant. She failed quite spectacularly.

It was at this moment that Constance decided to return, wine bottle in hand as cat-like eyes scanned the label with scrutiny. Cecile had never been so happy to see her grandmother before. "Well... Its no Puligny-Montrachet... But it will do." She sighed as she approached the table, only to stop short when she finally looked up and observed the scene. Constance could be called a lot of things, mostly derogatory when she was out of earshot, but unobservant was not one of them.

"Oh... what's going on here?" She said, immediately taking her seat as she observed the flushed, stiff-shouldered Cecile and the tell-tale arched eyebrow of her suitor. A satisfied smirk curled the corner of her thin, red lips and she waggled a finger playfully at Lyov "You devil you... Already making my granddaughter blush like that... I be I know what you asked her!" She tittered in a sing-song voice before clasping Cecile's hands within her own manicured claws. "Lyov, love, that isn't a question you need worry about so soon..." Her tone became a bit more serious and Cecile's expression turned from horror to incredulous disbelief. For once, Constance was going to come to her aid!

Boy, was she wrong.

"I mean... I know for a fact that dear little Cecile is a virgin..." Constance deftly destroyed any cautious optimism that Cecile might have had, patting her hand patronizingly as she gave Lyov a conspiratorial wink. Paling, except for her ears which were still a vibrant shade of red, Cecile tried to run damage control with a meek interjection of "Grand-mere..." but Constance didn't seem to notice, or simply didn't care. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying Cecile's discomfort, which was only tripled in intensity when she added in a loud whisper "... In fact, I heard from a little bird that she hasn't even had her first kiss!"

"Grand-Mere! S'il. Te. Plait!" Cecile choked, yanking her hands from the grasping talons as the color, which had been thankfully confined to her ears, spread rapidly to her cheeks. In seconds, her entire face was on fire and she was doing all she could not to burst into horrified tears. Constance laughed "Oh, darling, don't be so dramatic. Does a farmer not deserve to know the quality of a cow before buying her?..." Somehow, this comparison to livestock did not sooth Cecile.

He scrutinized her, tried to read between the lines she spoke. She wasn’t very active, but then Lyov wasn’t a star athlete. He didn’t have much use for music, aside from background noise, but reading could be enjoyable. Most things he did were because they did something for him; he seldom did something for his own enjoyment, outside of his studies. And even those were for a greater picture.

As he was just running over questions, and she wasn’t pausing to ask him in return, Lyov could focus on her, eyes imploring as he frowned slightly. He was always thinking about something, which was perhaps one of the greatest influences for his specialty training. He needed to shield others from things in his head. Extraction of information was an added bonus.

And the uses past Durmstrang were endless. He had hopes for his future.

His head bobbed slightly from side to side as he considered her favorite lesson, shrugging in response as if he didn’t mind it one way or another. At least his mother had chosen someone well educated. It was important to find learning essential, whether one enjoyed it or not. At Durmstrang, you just did it. If you wanted to exceed, you did it exceptionally well.

The edge of his lips started to slide up, satisfaction in his eyes at her floundering. It was enough of an answer. His hand, attached to the arm resting on the table, lightly lifted palm up in a shrug before falling back against the wood. His lips parted and he was about to respond when the noise of someone near came into earshot. Eyes narrowed as he lost his smirk, and Lyov squared himself back on the bench to watch as Cecile’s grandmother made her reappearance.

It could’ve taken another minute or two to get the wine. Glancing up at her face, an eyebrow rose at her question. He had been good at blaming things on his brothers, especially once his sister left the home.

The reaction she had, however, was not quite what he was expecting. Eyes widened before he quickly glanced to Cecile and back to her grandmother, mild shock evident on his features. How had she figured it out? “Oh?” He waited for a reprimand; from what little he understood of the French, they seemed carefree about a lot of... intimate things. The little blonde he’d taken to a broom closet the last week had been very enlightening. But he had grown up in a culture that was very stoic; if his parents had overheard the conversation, flipped, they would have moved on to a different subject and ignored it all together.

Mild shock turned into a frown, a hand coming up as he glanced from granddaughter to grandmother. “My English isn’t... perfect. But I had only asked if she’d had other... relationships. Boyfriends, I think they call them?” He looked towards Cecile, eyebrows raised as if he was really trying to get his words out correctly. Though he had been pushing for the status that her grandmother had so willingly given, he hadn’t wanted it that way.

Lyov had enjoyed making Cecile squirm in the company of two. Glancing back to the grandmother, he kept his face impassive, a small frown wrinkling at the bridge of his nose. “I’m not a farmer. And I’m not buying a cow.” Standing up, he straightened out his jacket and looked at the older woman carefully. The saying was not completely lost on him. Turning his attention back to Cecile, he softened his features slightly, inclining his head towards her. “We’ve met. This arrangement is official?” He rotated his wand hand reflexively. “Cecile, would you like some sweets? The... kids from Hogwarts go on about Honeydukes.” His free hand moved up and motioned towards the door.

“My English isn’t... perfect. But I had only asked if she’d had other... relationships. Boyfriends, I think they call them?”

Cecile wanted to look at him, to see if he found this funny, but she was too embarrassed to meet his gaze. She couldn't believe that Constance had blurted out such.... private information in such  public place... and in front of the man she was going to marry no less! She was absolutely mortified. So she sat there, face burning and eyes ready to tear up, as she waited for the inevitable snicker.

“I’m not a farmer. And I’m not buying a cow.”

Cecile eyes finally found the courage to look at him, albeit in surprise. She had half-expected him to agree with Constance and perhaps crack an off color joke about her having small udders or something cruel like that. But he caught her so off guard with his gesture of kindness that Cecile felt a slender ray of sunlight break through the clouds and send a wave of warmth over the chilled wasteland that was her opinion of him. Her eyes then flickered towards her grandmother, who was also looking surprised, although Cecile knew that her surprise was less that he was sticking up for her, but that he had dared to stand up to her. No one talked to Constance Fontaine with such impudence! Cecile considered warning him to avoid having tea with her in the future, or at least packing a few bezoars, but thought better of it. She might be feeling a bit warmer towards him, but she didn't like him that much.

“We’ve met. This arrangement is official? Cécile, would you like some sweets? The... kids from Hogwarts go on about Honeydukes.”

Oh, now this was a tempting and conflicting offer. On one hand, sweets! She had been intending to visit Honeydukes from the moment she learnt of its existence and to couple it with avoiding speaking any longer to her grandmother was almost too good to resist. However, she was still wary. There was something about the way he looked at her, scrutinizing her with that intense, unreadible gaze, that made her feel very... nervous. She suspected that he found this discomfort very amusing, which just made her more irritated with him than before. It made her feel like she was a puppet in his personal play, only there for his enjoyment.

And then there was a little part of her that didn't want to be seen with him. Not because of any stigma regarding blood or appearances. He was an attractive young pureblood whose breeding and, god willing, intelligence landed him n the most prestigious houses of one of the most prestigious schools in the world, in other words, there wasn't much stigma attached. At least not anything negative. But the real reason she didn't want to be seen with him was because of Corey, whom she had not told of this arrangement. She didn't know why, but the idea of him witnessing her with another man tortured her. She would have to decline...

Unless, of course, if her grandmother made her mind up for her.

"Nonsense! As your chaperone, I can't allow the two of you to go off and do merlin knows what...And a lady of my breeding does not find herself slumming amongst sweets like a sticky little child." Constance cut in, her voice dripping with a sticky sweetness that would have given the aforementioned child a heart attack and yet still failed to fully conceal the anger underneath. Lyov had gotten to her, Cecile noted and smirked inwardly, pleased to see Constance being the one made the fool for once. At least until she added ".... and Cecile doesn't need to be eating so much sugar... One must watch their figure!"

Cecile balked at this, an incredulous look crossing her face before it was replaced with one of determination. How dare that old... hag suggest that she was fat. Not only was it nowhere near the truth, it was slander! as well as proof that Constance would do anything to keep from being the fool. It was then that Cecile decided that she would take her chances with Lyov, alone.

"Grandmere..." She said calmly, reverting to French as her face smoothed into a placid smile "... I am seventeen years old and this man is my fiancé" Merlin, that was hard to say with a smile "... What could we possibly do to warrant the need for a chaperone? Besides, this arrangement is so far in your favor that your reputation is above reproach. Baring an attempt to conceive a child in the middle of the street, no one would even dare think less of you..." She was treading on thin ice here, because one wrong step, one ounce of sarcasm in her voice, would shatter the illusion that she still had some respect for the old woman. She needed to wrap this up while Constance's ego was still satiated.

"Besides..." She reverted back to English, tilting her head to smile at Lyov as she laced her fingers through his and leaned into his shoulder "... I would like the chance to get to know my future husband... alone..." Constance sat in shocked silence, obviously trying to decide how to react to what was either flagrant sarcasm or shameless ego-stroking. Cecile wasn't going to give her a chance to decide, "Lead the way, chéri..."  the word felt leaden on her tongue, but she managed to push it through her lips without losing her smile. Showing either of them the overwhelming anger boiling inside her would only mean that they won, and she couldn't allow that to happen.

Lyov wasn’t happy about having a marriage arranged for him. He wasn’t pleased that he had no say in it. But he loved his mother, in his own way, and was happy to do what she asked; she didn’t ask a lot of him, after all. His father, on the other hand, expected a lot from his son.

The arrangement did not outline a need to kiss some old hags ass, however. And it did not specifically state he had to stop being who he was, and who he wanted to be with. Or, if it did, he could feign ignorance.

The attempt made by Cecile’s grandmother to keep them there was laughable at best. They had just met to feel out each other for their marriage! Lyov raised an eyebrow but stayed where he was for a moment. If Cecile didn’t want to go, then he would go himself. Lyov was tired of waiting around for something more exciting to happen. The constant dig from the grandmother to the granddaughter about weight was enough to make him roll his eyes, which he did. First calling her a cow, then saying she needed to watch her figure.

Lyov ate what he wanted when he wanted. If he had to watch his figure later in life, then he would. He stared at the woman, blinking lazily as Cecile spoke in French, catching a word here and there. Though he was surprised at her sudden warmth, he gave the old woman a small smirk as he took her hand. When the command came, Lyov merely nodded his head towards Cecile’s grandmother before pulling her with him towards the door. Stopping after opening it, he leaned over and gave Cecile a kiss on the lips, briefly pecking them before pulling back.

“Let’s get you some sweets, then.”

The plan was going perfectly. She had kept any sign of anger from her smiling face and acted like a perfect lady as she was escorted towards the door by Lyov, who, to his favor, was being a perfect gentleman. All she had to do was make it outside, dislodge herself from his grasp, and go find a place to hide before she burst with the tears of fury that were begging to be free from the corners of her eyes. As the door opened to let the crisp fall air in, which would now become the smell of freedom for Cecile, she felt the churning in her stomach and the heaviness in her heart lighten somewhat. Just  a few more feet and she could be free. At the thought, her smile brightened, this time genuinely.

And then Lyov wiped it off her face... with a kiss.

It wasn't a bad kiss. No slobbering tongue or awkward fish lips or bad breath. In fact, it was rather light and quick, as though it was obligatory rather than passionate. Somehow, that made it worse. It was her first kiss, after all, and she had hoped her first one would be, at least, a little romantic... and with someone she actually, you know, liked. She barely managed not to recoil in horror and slap him across the face like he deserved, mainly because Constance was still in the line of sight. Her lips thinned out and clamped tight into a rather strained smile as she allowed him to lead her from the pub and from her grandmothers expectant gaze. Once the door slammed behind them, however, the smile quickly faded.

Cecile wasn't the type to lose her temper and call people mean things or attack them. She was more of a grudge holder, the kind who waited years to passive-aggressively seek revenge, though she didn't like to admit this part of her. So once the door obscured her grandmothers vision, Cecile didn't whirl around and give him a good wallop across the head like she would have liked to. In fact, she didn't even yell. Instead, she turned to him with a sweet but somewhat strained smile and a all together too bright tone of voice "Well! That is done then! You played your part tres bon, I must say. Ma grandmere will not suspect a thing!"

Dislodging her fingers from his grip gently, she gave him a polite nod "I appreciate you playing along with me, I did not want to incur her anger right now. She could make life difficult, you see." As she said this she pulled off her heels and dropped several inches, replacing them with a pair of slim black ballet flats, before looking back up at him "... I am off to Honeyduke's. No need to escort me, I am sure you have better things to do." Her smile made it clear that she had no intention of keeping up the ruse past this point.