“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Savino answered, with a lightness and smile that said the phrasing was a joke - some family in-joke, as if they still had that sort of thing - but which he presumed would be received with great sincerity from Camilla, who might be more likely to stick needles in his mother’s eyes than be pleased for her presence. “My mother’s enthusiasm for events like these is in no danger of fading,” he admitted - or warned, whichever - because when she had a goal in her head she was a very driven woman, and if that goal was social climb, she was undoubtedly not about to take an evening off. He said nothing about his sister; Luciana shared none of their mother’s enthusiasm. Or graces, according to their mother.
“Have you been enjoying it?” He inclined his head towards the auditorium; been enjoying it, because perhaps now that she knew they were here she would be stewing in her seat. He took another gulp of his drink, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes in public.
“Have you been enjoying it?” He inclined his head towards the auditorium; been enjoying it, because perhaps now that she knew they were here she would be stewing in her seat. He took another gulp of his drink, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes in public.
