Merlin, she was good. Savino could only suppress a snort at that. Only his mother's encouragements, that notable softening in her tone, could come crammed full of accusations of his being maudlin and sullen, offered in such a sugary coating. He wanted to believe she cared – part of him was sure she meant well, and of course she was not working with the full picture of things, as he was – but he could also see precisely why the other Zabinis hated her so. She really was a piece of work.
But he loved her, he loved his family, he did. And if he had to fight her when it came to marriage, he would, without hesitation, but maybe there was some way to steer her more gently onto a different course of action. He didn't have that long left with his family, after all, so he would rather not break up their happy façade if he did not have to; if he could just – walk the line here for long enough, everything might just hold together without anyone getting hurt.
So, although he wanted nothing more than to shake his head, to protest, to make some sarcastic remark about seeing any joy in all this, her trying to mould his life into her ladder up and making herself sound blameless and selfless in it – Savino said nothing, just inclined his head wordlessly; whatever you say.
"How about an assistant to the director, at first," Savino counselled, gently enough. It would signal enough for her purposes, he thought, while tempering her ambitions. One could not just leap up from the inexperienced bottom rungs of a business without raising a few eyebrows, even if one's family owned it; better to take it gradually for appearance's sakes. (And Savino's own sake, obviously, but he was pretending to acquiesce to all this for his mother's.) And neither his grandfather or his father were gone or retired yet; there was no need to push them out. He smiled, keeping the irony in it to himself. "There's time."
wrap?
But he loved her, he loved his family, he did. And if he had to fight her when it came to marriage, he would, without hesitation, but maybe there was some way to steer her more gently onto a different course of action. He didn't have that long left with his family, after all, so he would rather not break up their happy façade if he did not have to; if he could just – walk the line here for long enough, everything might just hold together without anyone getting hurt.
So, although he wanted nothing more than to shake his head, to protest, to make some sarcastic remark about seeing any joy in all this, her trying to mould his life into her ladder up and making herself sound blameless and selfless in it – Savino said nothing, just inclined his head wordlessly; whatever you say.
"How about an assistant to the director, at first," Savino counselled, gently enough. It would signal enough for her purposes, he thought, while tempering her ambitions. One could not just leap up from the inexperienced bottom rungs of a business without raising a few eyebrows, even if one's family owned it; better to take it gradually for appearance's sakes. (And Savino's own sake, obviously, but he was pretending to acquiesce to all this for his mother's.) And neither his grandfather or his father were gone or retired yet; there was no need to push them out. He smiled, keeping the irony in it to himself. "There's time."
