His cocky, indifferent demeanor was enough to set her teeth grinding on a daily basis--but now, her focuses were directed elsewhere and she had no time to let petty annoyances bother her. Octavia's fingers didn't cease in the stroking of the apothecary's pendant as her eyebrows lifted in greeting to her husband's arrival. The sight of him was positively repulsive to Octavia, now, and part of it was because of her extreme annoyance with herself. She was incensed that she'd placed herself in a position to be blindsided by news of this apparent infidelity--barring that, it was damn near close to it. To think her husband had not only entertained the notion of doing it, but had been caught, no less--of course she'd entertained the notion herself. Octavia would even go so far as to say she fantasized about it; though she was by no means a woman of loose morals, it could not be denied that Octavia enjoyed sex as much as the next independent-thinking woman. But she refused to be subservient to her husband, particularly when it was Rabastan Lestrange she was to be submissive to. To even think that she had ever found him attractive, at all, was a repulsive thought right now.
But her face betrayed no such thoughts. It was a carefully blank, almost friendly expression that she gave her husband, the corners of her lips tugging upwards. "You're awfully late," her voice, English accent just barely touched with a hint of Austrian, lilted. "Tell me why."
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