Prompt: 21; Divorce
Word Count: 394
A/N: Telling the pairing(s) would ruin the suspense, but I want feedback on it/them. ;) Can I get feedback on the narrative style, too?
Happiness is a Warm Gun
-x-
She's not a girl who misses much
-x-
He's going to divorce her, of course. He's said so several times, especially when the two of you are curled up post-coital like on a warm rumpled bed and he smirks at you with all the warmth of a snake. He lies with his eyes while his hands work overtime, bringing you inexorably to another peak of pleasure so that all the lingering doubts in your eyes are swept away on wave after wave of ecstasy.
His fingers trace your freckles delicately, almost reverently, and you giggle when he speaks to you in French endearments. You can't remember ever giggling over a man before, but you can't remember ever being the other woman either.
You can't believe he's doing this to you. You had your suspicions, but an overtaxed imagination is nothing compared to hard evidence, to a damning receipt, to her perfume on his shirts. Not something cheap and tacky as you'd expected, but all the more heartbreaking for its obvious taste. His taste. You know you look a wreck, clutching his shirt with a manicured hand and tears threatening to ruin carefully applied make-up. You know you should move before anyone sees you, but there's no one here but the elves. There's never anyone here but the elves.
Should you leave him? Your son is old enough to understand, and you've got enough money of your own to live comfortably. But, you think falteringly, society frowns upon divorce. And the Malfoy name could do without the bad publicity. You curl your fingers into the expensive cloth and without another thought Banish it from your sight. As your fingers reach for empty space, you only wish your problems could vanish that easily.
You adjust your tie with easy expertise and check your watch to make sure you're not late. A smirk graces your lips as you consider your darling wife, a few feet away in her own boudoir, both of you preparing for a dinner out to celebrate your silver anniversary. After all these years the thought of Narcissa still sets the blood thrumming through your veins. And the thought of Ginevra keeps you young inside. Divorce? Never. The marriage contract isn't one that allows for escape clauses either. You designed it yourself.
Satisfied with your appearance, you kiss her with a lover's lips and take her hand to Apparate you both away.