Though, she had to admit, she preferred the kind of beautiful he was when he was tousled and dazed, blinking into consciousness in the dim lighting of his bedroom, tangled in between his sheets and gazing at her as if she was the anchor to pull him back from his night terrors. Often, that was the case. It made her smile despite the flare of jealously bubbling in her at the sight of Fleur draping her delicate hands across his torso and pressing her lips to his jaw; the oversized glass bottle balanced precariously between her sculpted shoulder and his angled neck.