Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty-Nine
Settimo's POV
The television filled the bedroom with music.
Lisa's voice floated softly through the room, accompanied by the roar of thousands of cheering fans. The performance had ended minutes ago, yet the older woman still hadn't changed the channel. She rarely did whenever Lisa appeared.
Settimo stood by the window with both hands clasped behind his back.
He had been standing there long enough for the tea beside him to grow cold.
"You've been unusually quiet." Her voice pulled him from his thoughts.
He turned.
She was watching him now instead of the television. There was a gentle smile on her face, one that only appeared when she was trying to coax something out of him.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer immediately. She knew that silence. After decades together, she'd learned every version of it.
"If it's bothering you this much," she said softly, patting the space beside her, "then say it."
