“And people? Do they deserve second chances?”
She looks up at that. “Mostly. Not pedophiles, rapists, and serial killers, though.”
A quiet settles between us, not heavy, but thoughtful.
“What about you?” she asks. “Why business? And don’t say legacy or because of Joseph.”
I give her a look. “You eliminated all my prepared answers.”
“Good. I don’t want prepared, I want truth.”
I roll the stem of my glass between my fingers. “Control,” I say finally.
She waits.
“I grew up around instability,” I continue evenly. “Money fixes instability. Systems fix chaos. If you build something strong enough, it doesn’t fall apart when someone unreliable leaves.”
Her expression shifts. Not pity, not judgment, just understanding. “So, you build structures,” she says quietly. “Like Leonardo.”
“I suppose I do.”
She studies me, her gaze searching my face. “But what happens when something unpredictable enters the frame?”
I hold her eyes with mine. “It depends on whether or not it strengthens the composition.”
Her mouth curves faintly. “You talk about life like it’s a hostile takeover.”
“It’s more efficient that way.”
“But surely, lonelier?”
The word lands softly.
“I like solitude,” I say.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I look at her more closely now. “You’re very direct.”
“I don’t like guessing games.”
“Most people do.”
“I restore damaged things for a living,” she says. “Guessing wrong can ruin them.”
The honesty in that tightens something in my throat for a moment.
“Tell me something else,” she says gently. “Something no one would assume about you.”
I consider deflecting. Instead, I decide to give her something. “I play the piano.”
Her eyebrows lift. “You do not.”
“Sorry, I do.”
“Classical?”
“Of course.”