Her breath caught in her chest at the raise of his brow, but she kept her expression still. Painfully still. Was it normal for a wife to live in such anticipation, such fear, when it came to her husband? She was not scared of him, of course, even if he could be a bit broody and dark at times, but she had taken a long time to decide he was worth giving her heart to, only for him to push it aside.
And she hated it.
He did not smile suggestively. He did not smile at all. He didn't seem to wear any expression at all; Matilda might have even called it disinterested if she was being pessimistic. But that was life with Domitian Zabini, and she'd accepted it after ten years of straight faces.
She did not reply straight away and instead dropped her gaze to her plate, trying not to look downcast.
"You may do as you wish," she said. And then, under her breath, "As you usually do."
And she hated it.
He did not smile suggestively. He did not smile at all. He didn't seem to wear any expression at all; Matilda might have even called it disinterested if she was being pessimistic. But that was life with Domitian Zabini, and she'd accepted it after ten years of straight faces.
She did not reply straight away and instead dropped her gaze to her plate, trying not to look downcast.
"You may do as you wish," she said. And then, under her breath, "As you usually do."
