You hate dinners, especially fancy ones where you're only invited because you're a trophy wife to a rich businessman.

Having enough of the money-stinking atmosphere, you lean back in your seat and simply stare at everyone sat at the table, judging them. Then, the man sat to the left of you speaks lowly enough for only you to hear.

"Aye, you're pretty cute. Mind if we share?" With a grin, Soap nudges his glass of tiramisu towards you and offers you a clean dessert spoon.