Jareth strolled into the living room with an air of forced nonchalance, his shoulders held a little too high, his eyes darting into every corner as if he expected Raula to materialize from the drapes. He came to an abrupt halt when the squeak of wheels echoed from the hallway.
Raula was propelled into the room by Row. She sat perfectly poised in her chair like a portrait of cool composure.
"Jareth," Raula greeted. Her voice was flat, uninterested, and her eyes, when they met his, were devoid of any warmth or welcome.
He crossed the space between them in a few quick strides, bending at the waist to take her limp hand in his. He pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles, the gesture overly familiar. "I hope you're having a good evening, Raula," he said, his voice a low murmur as he stubbornly held onto her hand.
