Her words were mild, yet every syllable reminded me of my place—reminded me that I existed only at their sufferance, that my standing in this world was borrowed, not earned.
I met her gaze, calm and without emotion.
"I am here," I said. "Being late was my fault."
The corner of her lips lifted slightly. It was not a smile, more like confirmation of something she had always known. "You are always like this," she said quietly. "Not proactive, and not likable."
Before her words fully settled, Giorgio had already taken over.
"Do not be like that, Silvia," he said. "Tonight should not be spoiled by something like this."
When he looked at her, his tone softened, his gaze carrying an unmistakable bias—the kind of tenderness that should have been reserved for the woman he was sworn to marry. She responded naturally, as if long accustomed to this kind of protection, this unspoken devotion.
I did not look at them again.