Sophia hummed in soft assent as Oz curled more into her, matching his deep breath with her own. Between the sex and wine her brain still felt foggy, distant enough that it hadn’t caught up to the reality of what she just admitted. Ordinarily, she’d keep something so vulnerable closer to her chest. But Ozymandias had caused her to break almost every rule of intimacy she made up in her head — starting with taking a wealthy man’s flirtations seriously, and ending with her inclination to be honest with him about how she felt, even if it was to her detriment.

The conflicts of interest at play did not escape Sophia either. She had no desire to force Oz’s affections for her, to become his scapegoat “temptress” at fault should things sour. Neither did she wish to be the object of his fabricated interest, simply for the sake of protecting the delicate sensibilities of a poor broken widow. Nor would she attempt to make him sacrifice his relationship with his wife, no matter how loveless their marriage may be. There were certainly exigent questions when it came to that, too… why have an affair at all being the most important one. But she wouldn’t cross this line now, not when her objective was rather simple by contrast: Sophia gained some claim on Ozy’s affection, and she had little desire to relinquish it without due cause. We can be very careful about this, she insisted to herself — a weak effort to pacify the swelling sense of anxiety every time she considered The Wife as more than a faceless, nameless figure. A victim, perhaps. By contrast, Sophia’s love for her late husband had been transparent, passionate, and all-consuming until the end (even if it was due in part to sharing every facet of their lives together - from their home to their professions). She could not even begin to understand the trappings of a marriage that bred so much secrecy and desire beyond its confines.

“This is complicated,” she ceded with a soft sigh, tipping her head to rest on his. Sophia had not wanted something so complicated, she could not imagine that Oz did either. Her fingers resumed their idle patterns over his bare skin while he ruminated. A positive sign, surely, but knowing how quickly he’d already reversed course she would not hold her breath that he would reach a satisfactory conclusion. The best thing she could do was wait and show him the merits of their affection.

When Ozymandias finally spoke again, she had been pondering disentangling herself from his embrace, however reluctantly, to retrieve a cigarette. At his question however she turned to look at him, curiously assessing his expression. Willing herself to not read into it too much, that he would consider adjusting his social calendar for their sake. Sophia leaned down to kiss away the furrow of his brow.

“There is little overlap. I do not frequent society events often, truly. I do not speak with my sister who is most likely to frequent some of the same balls and dinner parties you may.” Sophia frowned slightly, realizing that she had not really divulged to Oz the full… er, range the Ivanova triplets covered in magical British society. “And while there have been wealthy families that have invited our ballet for small performances at parties, like the Aldertons or the Blackwoods, I can easily excuse myself from such commitments should they arise.”

Turning slightly to rest more comfortably beside Oz now, Soph thoughtfully bit her lower lip. “The risk is highest in Hogsmeade. Events with the hospital, or parties catered to the poorer folk,” she added the last a bit teasingly. “That was where we ran into trouble last time. My other sister is quite familiar with your brother in law and wife. It’s often as a favor to her that I’ll come along with.”

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