Once both boys were gone, Dark and Daizi dropped their voices to a whisper, daring to imagine where this new budding relationship may go.
Two nights later, as promised, Dark was upstairs, preening and readying himself for this Awards Dinner. It felt rather odd, to him, to be dressing up for a night out with a woman other than his wife, but these were strange times. It took some time to decide what to wear---balancing black tie (which traditionally meant a tuxedo), with speakeasy (which didn't conjure to his mind tuxes, being more mobster than Gatsby), with "law abiding," was a difficult balance to strike. In the end, he went with his suit from the renewal, but he replaced the matching vest with one that, from the front, was all black without embroidery, but had a shiny red back to it, in case his jacket were ever removed. His shirt underneath the jacket, which was already cut and embellished in a more tuxedo-suitable style. His bowtie (since it was a black-tie event, and that meant a tuxedo, which meant a bow tie) was mostly black, and had a more gothic flair to it than was traditional, having just enough red accents to it to differentiate it from his black undershirt. All in all, he felt as he looked in the mirror, he did the best anyone could do at following such disparate dress codes. To top it off, he pinned a red rose to his lapel and clasped his sleeves with Death's Head Moth cufflinks. His hair he slicked back just enough and his beard (now very well regrown, nearly as though he had never shaved it), was carefully styled so not a single hair was out of place. His cologne wasn't overbearing, but noticeable and pleasant... It tortured Daizi to smell it, because she found it so alluring, and she languished on their bed in distress at him leaving without her.
"Now you know how I felt when you went off with Sally," he pointed out, affixing his pocket watch.
"That was two years ago!" She fussed, rolling onto her back, "I was six months pregnant, it was different!"
"I found you no less captivating then and you know it," He replied.
"Yeah, but we had to be so careful, so it wasn't the same," She whined, pushing herself off the bed and wrapping her arms around him, enjoying the feel of the fabric and his body beneath her hands, "Can't you be late?"
"Tempting," Dark confessed, shutting his eyes and leaning instinctively against the warmth of her mouth on his neck, "but she would kill me if I made her late. And," he spun her around and caught her firmly by the waist, "I spent too long getting ready to show up wrinked."
"Ciara is my enemy."
"She may be that," Dark agreed, kissing his wife before taking her hand and heading downstairs so he could say goodbye to his children.
If anything was certain, it was that G.M. Dark looked hot that night. If he failed in anything, it was in his inability to fully stamp out the sort of debonair rougishness so usual to him when he dressed his best, leading to him looking perhaps a tad more criminal than was ideal, but that failing was not the least caused by the backs of his tattooed hands. If two things were certain, it was that Daizi Samira Wahid felt cursed that night.
