A/N- This is a giftfic for the amazingly awesome Lizz (TuesdayNovember) as part of the fic exchange on the Bellatrix forum. Since she has an allergy to fluff, I decided on this lovely topic, using the prompts sin and temptation. Hope you enjoy it :)
A quick note on my headcanon – Mireille is from a relatively poor, pureblood family in a French-speaking area of Africa, and was brought to Italy by the very wealthy politician, Mr Zabini, who became her first husband and Blaise's father.
Reviews are love :)
Beautiful Things
"You'll come with me, won't you darling?"
It was this question, spoken in a hushed, anxious tone, that made Mireille Zabini realise that her husband really did not understand her, and their relationship really could not last much longer.
She had been standing in front of an ornate, antique mirror, combing out her long, black hair, as she did every evening, when he had burst in complaining about some scandal at the Italian Ministry of Magic.
Politics were of no interest to her, and she barely even recognised the names of the politicians he was mentioning, but sensing that this was a time at which she should be playing the dutiful wife, she moved towards him with a concerned, sympathetic expression and traced soothing circles on his arms, whilst she pretended to listen to his complaints.
It was only when he mentioned their future that she began to pay attention.
"...and now that they've found out about the embezzled funds, we might need to leave the country for a while. We'll disappear somewhere, just you, me and Blaise, just until all this dies down."
"But what about our home, all our things?" Mireille asked incredulously.
"We can manage without all of that," he whispered with a tender smile, as if he were describing some wonderful adventure as opposed to Mireille's worst nightmare. "My dear, I don't have much choice, but at least we'll have each other. You'll come with me, won't you darling?"
"Surely we don't need to go quite yet?" she pleaded. She needed time to think. "Get some sleep and we'll talk this over properly in the morning."
He sighed and nodded, too weary to argue and made his way to the bathroom to bathe. The second the door clicked shut behind him, all trace of her sympathetic pretence dropped from Mireille's face and she returned to the mirror, gazing intently into her own eyes as she mulled over what to do.
If she left with her husband, she would have to leave behind all her beautiful things, and the way it sounded, she might never get them back. She could not go back to the way things were before her marriage, when she could not afford anything she wanted. She had grown accustomed to the sense of power that her wealth gave her and the comfortable lifestyle she lived. Not to mention, if they ran away, she would probably have to spend more time with her husband, whom she did not think she could tolerate if he was not providing that lifestyle for her.
His plan, then, was out of the question.
It left only one glaringly obvious option open to her.
If her husband were to mysteriously die, she, the grieving widow, would be left to do whatever she liked. The vast Zabini fortune would be inherited by Blaise, as its sole heir, and as he was of course too young to spend a penny of it, it would be hers to do with what she pleased until her son came of age. Even if there were complications over her husband's slightly irregular methods of earning money, she doubted the Ministry would be so cruel as to prosecute a distraught woman and her infant son.
And she could do it. She knew just how to make it look like an accident, to ensure that anyone with suspicions would be unable to find evidence of her guilt.
She took a deep breath. The temptation was unbearable. It would take just the slightest effort and she would be free. Free to buy whatever she wanted, to fill her already beautiful life with yet more beautiful things.
She gazed around her luxurious bedroom. Yes, she deserved to live like this. And just the sight of that little haven of perfection she had created was enough to make her give in to sin. She strode decisively from the room.
ooo
When her husband came out of their bathroom, wrapped only in a towel, Mireille was already in her nightdress and the picture of wifely concern as she indicated towards his bedside table.
"I've brought up a warm drink for you."
"Thank you, darling," he said softly as he sat on the bed, and began cradling the mug. "You do take care of me."
Mireille sat beside him and watched as he drank every last drop. His eyelids were already beginning to droop.
"Aren't you going to take your medicine?" she asked as he began to clamber beneath the covers.
"I'm feeling tired as it is, I don't think I'll need anything to help me sleep tonight. And besides, the healer said I shouldn't be taking so much of that stuff. It can be quite dangerous."
"Nonsense. You must take some. You won't be able to sleep with all those worries going through your head; you know what you're like."
Too tired to argue, he obediently gulped down the potion Mireille handed to him and fell back against the pillows. She looked down at his already sleeping form and smiled to herself at how easy it would be to convince everyone that her husband had been so stressed when he came home, that he had overdosed on his sleeping draught, and slipped away peacefully in the night.
She brushed her silky black hair away from her ears and rested her head against his still bare chest, to hear better the slow thrum of his heartbeat.
And so Mireille knew exactly the moment her first husband's heart stopped beating.