"Yes," he said. "We don't even accidentally meet anymore."
"Sebastian seems harsh," Sylvia said, leaning back in her chair. "But you aren't as good of a person as you pretend."
Nero looked at her across the candlelit table.
For a second, the restaurant around them seemed too elegant for the conversation. Too much crystal, too much dark marble, too many servers trained to pretend they had not just delivered spicy wings to a Sahan crown prince in one of Alamina's most esteemed establishments.
Then Nero smiled faintly.
"No, I'm not," he said. "I like my family and a few people, you included, but like my father, I'm not necessarily a good person."
Sylvia did not look away.
That, she decided, was the problem with Nero. He could say something terrible with enough calm honesty that it became difficult to accuse him of hiding.
She reached for a fry. "That is not as reassuring as you think."
"It wasn't meant to be."
"Wonderful. Dinner with moral clarity."
