Leaning into Jax’s shoulder, Charlotte laughed at some private joke they’d just shared about the more-than-a-little less pretty couple sitting across the room. Even from their dim, candled corner of the elegant restaurant, the St. James woman could see the comical outline of the man’s faux head of hair. The woman’s dress was too hideous to even start on. All that mattered, in the end, was that Charlotte herself had arrived on the arm of the most handsome and notable man in the upscale and exclusive five-star place.

Rumor had it, there was even a private room for desserts. Charlotte was saving a bit of her appetite.

Sliding her foot from its lethal heel, she bumped Jax’s leg without any indication she was playing games. Her toes moved toward the bottom hem of his trouser leg with rather alarming expertise. Her pampered feet had been pedicured a coral, pinky orange-- about as close as she could get to the festive, autumn shade without being repulsed. Her fingernails were similarly peachy as the reached for the stem of her champagne glass.

“Do you have a favorite dessert?” She asked innocently, pulling away from her little nook of warm and sculpted Quidditch muscle long enough to study the Woolfolk man’s profile. Of course, they had to finish their meal first.