“Oh,” he sighed sadly, with great understanding, as if the tragic proclamation that there hadn’t really been any romance was one he felt quite deeply. One couldn’t have romance when the taint of Pinot Gris lingered over everything, could they? He reached out to pat consolingly at the nearest limb to him (an ankle) and coiled forward to watch somewhat jealously as she swigged from the bottle of prosecco and crinkled her nose against the resulting fizz.
Adorable. She was an adorable (blonde) addition who had no business being here but honestly, Gilderoy was beginning to forget what exactly he had to be offended about.
“There’s always a scandal when it comes to disapproving families,” Gilderoy replied sagely, toying with the ends of the tie of his robe and staring through glazed dark eyes across at her as he tried to determine whether or not explaining his reference would completely crumple her sad little face. Perhaps it was best to keep that little spark of brilliance to himself.
“This is all very dramatic,” he declared, as if he weren’t draped over a chaise lounge in red silk at eleven in the morning, drunker than a socialite at a society brunch, “The sister caused a scene in the middle of your workplace over your — not romance?”
He bit back another Flowers in the Attic reference if only because it would be utterly wasted on his current company. “Over a date at the zoo?”
His eyebrows inched further upward and if he were in less of a state he might have been savouring the absurdity of it all. As it was he was merely bemused by the unconnected dots. “Are we certain his sister doesn’t have him locked in the attic somewhere?”
Batting his eyes he leaned heavily towards her to snag the prosecco back, hugging it to his chest with a protective hum and staring firmly across at her. “When you want something, darling, sometimes you just have to reach out and take it. Fuck his sister.”
There was a pause, nose wrinkling before he snorted and added, “I mean figuratively, of course, not literally. You go out there and you be—” he paused, incongruously, to take a long swig from the Prosecco like it might wash some conviction into his voice, “—you be the best palomino in the stable.” He sighed, taking another gulp from the bottle and lazed back into the sunlight, a warm and happy smile spilling across his lips. “Save your man from his attic prison.”
“Yes!” Amelia replied dramatically, clutching the bottle tighter to her chest. Oblivious to her social faux pas. It hadn’t occurred to Amelia that she should probably hand the bottle back. It felt comforting and if she were being honest, the prosecco was already making her feel a tad bit more relaxed. “Embarrassed me in front of all my coworkers, so I’ve been the talk of the department. Even before that, people kept asking me questions about why we were eating lunch together. It’s insane how nosy people can be.”
While Amelia couldn’t be certain that Alecto didn’t lock Amycus in some part of their home, whether that be attic or basement, she knew that they were close. She had somehow done something, squeezing her way between the two. While she should be angry ( she was, really ), Amelia also felt guilty. She loved her brothers deeply and the thought of some unknown figure swooping in and ruining things would surely make her sour.
“Oh, sorry.” There was a slight frown on her face as Gilderoy extracted the bottle from her grip. Maybe there was another? Amelia wasn’t brave enough to ask, she didn’t have free reign of Sofia’s homes, her things. Gilderoy seemed like a close companion and she didn’t want to press her luck. His encouragement felt nice but self-doubt was beginning to creep into her mind. The man did seem to have to have a lot more life experience than Amelia but, with her luck, he could be totally off base.
"You know, it's just...Maybe I’m not good enough?." Amelia sighed, momentarily thinking of how graceful women like Sofia were and how easy it was for them to attract partners. She could remember quite vividly, boys falling all over themselves for a chance with Narcissa Black. She was nothing like those women. Amelia was always too bold, too brazen, too boyish to attract much attention until she had gotten older. While not obnoxious about it, Amelia was outspoken and intelligent and didn’t take kindly to many ( especially men ) telling her what kind of woman she should be or what she should be doing. That seemed to be terrifying to most of them.
“I’m no Sofia Zabini, after all.” Amelia said, her voice somber, as she stared at one of the abstract painting adorning the wall across from them. Her brow furrowed as if she were contemplating expanding on that thought, her lips ticking downward, before glancing back over at Gilderoy. “Have you ever been in love?”