"I think, if I was going to be scared off by anything your mind could invent, I'd have run far away a long time ago, Marly-girl." He rolled his eye. "And no photos."
Alastor huffed. "Not getting hexed sounds like a brilliant," likely impossible, "plan."
Hugging was usually a good sign that he'd done something right and Alastor was smiling as she pulled away. Nodding, he led the way to the chaise and motioned for her to sit while he dealt with the champagne. Once poured, he handed one flute to her while mentally laughing at himself for indulging in such a flight of fancy. How the practical seemed to have fallen. "I suppose there's a proper way to do a toast, isn't there?"