24 April 1895 - Belle Époque Illuminé Ball, Wixeldorf Estate, London

Given enough time to watch the occupants of the ball, June could list the number of times she’d rather jump from the balcony than have to converse with them. There was that nasty looking man with a tacky golden suit that had tried to fondle her butt while they danced, a dour man who had just come out of mourning but wasn’t quite over his wife, and a few more fresh faced bachelors who constantly bored her to tears; the worst part was them not even being old enough to marry yet.

(Clearly conversation wasn’t something they taught in etiquette class anymore.)

June made a beeline for Mr. Longbottom the moment she saw him after quickly leaving her dance partner, if only because he was at least interesting enough to not make her want to throw herself off a balcony from boredom. “I’ve learned several things tonight,” she started as she came up beside him near the refreshment table, not caring that she didn’t offer much of a greeting to him, “First of all, these sandwiches are a thousand times better than they look.” They were little French ones, filled with who knew what.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a small tugging at the edge of her lips. “Secondly, Miss Ladyworth, the one you were just dancing with, is willing to marry anything with a pulse, so I hope you didn’t like her too much.” If he was that desperate, well, June was going to judge him.

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Beckett was not excited for the upcoming season, but he was resigned to it. With his thirty-sixth birthday passed, he supposed it was time. It still sort of terrified him, even if he felt more resigned than anything else. His mother was certainly taking the news well. He wondered just how nervous it made her that he was approaching forty and still unsettled. If all went well, at least he could take that worry off her plate.

Tonight's venture was interesting to say the least. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but he was amused if nothing else. Beckett had always been a patron of the arts, even if it was not always straightforward (or in his case, proper). After stepping off the dance floor with a Miss Ladyworth, Beckett was pleased to have made it out with the use of his fingers. She had quite the grip on his hand and he wasn't sure if she was nervous or uncoordinated, or both, but he flexed his fingers, regardless.

"Oh my chances are high then," Beckett nearly rolled his eyes at June, but managed to keep it to a low chuckle. "It is my intent to marry this year, or have you not heard?" At least that was what the rumors fluttering about society were saying. The success of the endeavor remained to be seen. He then smirked as he plucked the sandwich from her fingers and ate it himself. "Delicious indeed." He chuckled as he picked up a glass of wine to wash it down with.

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June pressed a hand to her chest as she let out a dramatic gasp, as if Beckett had just delivered the most scandalous news she had ever heard. “You, marry?” She asked incredulously, “And here I thought you were committed to a lifetime of bachelorhood, sustained entirely by quidditch and nymphs of the pave.” Her lips twitching as she tried not to smile, because of course she knew he was looking to marry this season. Grace was always pointing out men Juniper should speak to if she wanted to get married before she became desperate, and Mr. Beckett Longbottom had just happened to be on the list this year.

June let out a small yelp of disapproval as the sandwich was snatched and eaten. Instantly a scowl appeared, but she didn’t even bother trying to hide it. Instead she stabbed a finger in his direction, her voice lowering into a whisper. “You better go get me another one, no, two more of those sandwiches, or so help me Beckett, I am telling your mother you proposed to me.” She just might believe it if June could be convincing enough. She waved at him so he'd get a move on it.

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Laying his free hand over his heart, he managed a crestfallen look on his face. "You wound me Juniper," she wasn't wrong, but he didn't need her broadcasting it around the room. He leaned in close, "And they're perfectly respectful young ladies, just like yourself." He'd temped her in the past, though no success. He didn't pay for his shenanigans, they always came free. Sometimes to his detriment.

"You wouldn't hate it." He mused after leaning back, sipping at his wine. Their banter was always his favorite part. Kept the evenings amusing in what could otherwise be a boring event. Plus he liked to see just how much he could make her blush. "Can't have my betrothed unhappy." He continued teasing, stepping away, looking around the refreshments table for replacement sandwiches as casually as he could muster..

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June wasn’t sure if being lumped in with respectable ladies who slept with someone prior to marriage was a backward compliment or not (nevermind the fact that it was true), so she narrowed her eyes at Beckett as if he was going to answer all of her burning questions. He didn’t, of course. “Respectable.” Juniper echoed with a soft laugh, “Is that what we’re calling it now?” There could be worse terms. “I’ll be sure to add that to my list of accomplishments when I speak to a gentleman; I can play the flute, and oh, Beckett Longbottom told me I’m a respectable lady who would make a fine society wife.”

She met his gaze as he leaned in toward him, lips curling into an amused grin. Beckett gave it as well as he took it, which always made for a fun night. It wasn’t like she had to dance with anyone tonight seeing as the season hadn’t officially started. “There are worse men out there than you.” She mused, watching as he finally stepped away to grab her those sandwiches. June followed him closely, although she let out a more high pitched noise of embarrassment at him actually calling her his betrothed.

She swallowed them with a gulp of wine. “The ones with the cucumber, darling.” Although really, June wasn’t going to be too picky about what he brought back to her. “We can have an entire table dedicated to sandwiches at our wedding.”

A beat. Then she added, deadpan: “How does this spring sound?”

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"And few better," Beckett knew what he was worth, probably a little too much. On paper he had a lot to offer; only son, high society family, not a complete (only partial) asshole. She could do far worse.

He scouted the sandwich options, smirking to himself, "Yes, dear," he replied casually as he set his wine down to collect a few for her, including the cucumber ones. Beckett also snagged a couple for himself, so the plate looked slightly gluttonous, but if they were to share, they would need ample choice.

Rounding the table once more, a small plate full of the requested snacks in hand. "Spring sounds soon, can't wait that long, then?" The teasing came far too naturally and he wasn't about to give it up yet.

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June couldn’t help but eye the plate Beckett was holding, wondering just how hungry he thought she was; it wasn’t like corsets left much room for food, but she wasn’t going to ever turn down something as delicious as these sandwiches were. His comment earned a reluctant smirk, if only because Juniper knew he’d be saying these two words for the rest of his life – only to his real wife, and not to her.

She reached out to take one, her bite into the sandwich slow and delicate. Then June raised her gaze to his. “Spring does sound soon, but it’s best to get it out of the way early so we can enjoy the Season, hm?” June playfully slapped his hand at the sandwich he was going toward so she could take it for herself. She grinned at him, leaning forward to pop it into her mouth.

“Although,” She started slowly after swallowing, “I suppose might not be feasible because I still need a ring. Preferably something enormous and tasteless.” June wondered if Beckett was actually looking at rings, what he might decide on.

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"But what about our extended honeymoon?" Beckett asked with faux-concern, as if she were ruining his plans. If they were going to continue the farce he was going to play in. "I had such an itinerary planned." Not that Beckett had ever thought of what a honeymoon might entail other than lots of getting to know his wife in the most intimate of ways. The travel and locations were a far bigger mystery. He wouldn't mind doing it though, Becks did love to travel.

Giving her puppy-dog eyes as she smacked his hand, he retracted it pouting. "Oh do tell? A diamond? Emerald? I think the emerald would suit you." He was teasing, but honestly. "Whatever you want, dearest." He blew her a kiss because he was having far too much fun with this; he hoped nobody was listening too closely.

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June arched an eyebrow at him, wondering just how far he was going to play into their fake wedding. She wasn’t going to be the one to back down first though, so she leaned into the banter full force. “Oh no, not the itinerary,” she playfully mocked him, “Let me take a wild guess – Paris, Rome and then some quiet little cottage tucked anywhere by the sea where no one can hear me scream?” June tipped her head as she glanced at him, a coy smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Beckett could take that however he wanted.

His puppy dog eyes didn’t deter her as she popped the sandwich into her mouth. Goodness these were heavenly. Swiftly though, June’s gaze went down toward her bare finger, and she took a moment to think about it. “Not a diamond. An emerald would be nice, especially on a gold band.” She scoffed quietly as he blew her a kiss, a slight blush painting her cheeks. “Green is my favorite color.”

Then, like an afterthought she added, “Unless you could convince my father to let you have my late mother’s ring. That would win you all kinds of favors.” June winked at him. Oh yes, this was a lot of fun indeed.

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"Such derision," Beckett laughed outright. Her assumption would be what most men would do. They thought that Paris was romantic, and while it was, it was far more fun than anything else. Beckett knew that those who lacked imagination would go that route, maybe dip off to some other nearby continental country, Belgium or Austria, but Beckett had other ideas for his future wife.

He leaned in, smirking, because her comment about screaming had given him all too vivid of a picture, as he whispered, "Not quite, the Mediterranean, Italy, Greece, Barcelona if we must," he figured it wouldn't hurt. "And while I have you all to myself on a sailboat, that is where nobody will be able to hear you scream." He was teasing, but the current beneath their imaginary nuptials had changed a little, more electric and harder to pretend it was just well, pretend.

"I will keep the ring choice in mind," it would suit her, an emerald set in gold, but he obviously didn't know what her mother's ring looked like, so it could have been perfect.

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June narrowed her eyes as Beckett leaned in closer, speaking in that low, wicked voice of his. Last time he’d propositioned her she’d declined, if only because it was fun to watch him not get everything he wanted in life. (Or perhaps in the future when she was feeling more generous, it would be fun to watch him strive for something he would ultimately get.) Not here though, not when June was still having too much fun, even if the conversation had shifted to something a little less playful and a hell of a lot more sultry.

“Of course Barcelona.” she confirmed, offering him a coy smile. “I haven’t been there yet. You wouldn’t want to skimp on showing your wife all the Mediterranean, would you?” In fact the only place she’d been was Italy, which had been soured by Cassian himself. Juniper took a slow sip of her wine before setting it back down with a soft clink. “And a few hours on a sailboat sounds tolerable enough, especially since you seem prepared to keep me very entertained.”

June glanced at Beckett, her head tilting to the side. She lowered her voice to a whisper.“Though I suppose if you bore me,” she started, “I can always throw myself overboard. Something dramatic. You’d have to dive in after me, and of course I’d be very willing to thank my hero husband for saving me.” She could play this game all day. "Or maybe I'll just toss you overboard and lounge in the sun."

As for the ring… June glanced down at her naked finger. There would be one there eventually, but she wasn’t in a hurry for one yet.

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"Yes, dear." He echoed, still grinning. "You'll be so entertained you won't have time to plan my murder, I promise. But I'll make sure before we leave that you get everything in the event of my untimely demise." He was an excellent swimmer, though. Beckett was good at just about all things athletic, given enough practice. He wasn't good at many things, but he was good with his body.

After plucking a sandwich from the plate, he ate it before she could steal it, following it with a sip of wine. "But if you did throw yourself overboard, I would hope you would make it worth my while." Beckett was pleased she was giving as good as she got. He'd missed this when hew as busy with the quidditch season; events were never boring with June around.

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June wondered for a brief moment if this counted as foreplay. It wasn’t like she was going to invite Beckett into her bed anytime soon (or ever), but the banter was definitely shifting from playful to something else. She smiled, clearly amused. “I’ve always wanted to sponsor the Wasps, so I’m not sure you’re tempting me to not plot your murder.” Wasps… god she hoped she’d picked the right team. He mentioned them often enough, but it wasn’t like June spent a lot of time following anything quidditch related.

“Well,” June leaned forward, “I’m afraid that all this fabric weighs a ton, and in order to save me some of it might have to sink to the bottom of the ocean.” She reached toward him, brushing off some imaginary crumbs from the lapel of his jacket, although she didn’t let her hands fall back to her side. “And I’m also afraid that your jacket might get heavy.” Her head tipped to the side before she shrugged like it was just an inconvenience, her fingers tightening just a smidge. “But we wouldn’t worry about any of that darling, because you’d be too busy giving me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

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Beckett felt the subtle shift in the underlying tone and was pleased by it. He enjoyed June's company, but it was even more fun when she went along with his nonsense, leaving him wondering if she would ever give in to him or not. "Ma Cher, if you want to run the Wasps then you do only have to say yes when I propose." It was teasing, but sometimes he wondered if they wouldn't make a good match. She hardly took him seriously though, so perhaps not.

The easy way she leaned him had him shifting a little closer, amused by her forward notions. "I highly doubt we would be wearing much at all, so your point is irrelevant." He mused, smirking again. He caught her scent, vanilla and something citrusy, and leaned in further, "In fact all you'd be wearing is that perfume." He added in a low murmur so that only she could hear him. Then he straightened up and drained the rest of his wine.

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“Oh mon chéri, only propose if you want me to run the team into the ground.” June didn’t know the first thing about quidditch, although briefly she couldn’t help but wonder what being a quidditch sponsor's wife would be like – would the parties be easier to host than an entire ball? Is the company better, less stifling? And more importantly would that count as being a socialite, because becoming someone who hosted balls and teas sounded downright terrible to June.

Not that she had any intention of courting, let alone marrying Beckett Longbottom.

His smirk was infuriating and June wanted to wipe it clean off his face as he leaned in close to him. “And here I thought all I would be wearing would be the scent of you.” She murmured just as he straightened up. Point. Match. June would never admit it, but it felt like Beckett had one this round of their little game; well, she’d just have to up the ante to win the next one. June snatched a sandwich off the plate and turned away.

“I guess I should go find my next dance partner.” She said as the music of the song started to die.”Don’t fall in love with anyone else while I'm gone.” June winked at him before she sighed heavily to wander off.

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   Beckett Longbottom

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