"Not pity," I said. "I can relate somewhat."
She studied my face for a long moment, like she was trying to determine whether I was lying. Then something in her expression softened.
"It's not lonely," she said quietly. "It's simply how things are. Mother has responsibilities. The company doesn't run itself. We understand that."
The way she said it sounded rehearsed. Like she'd told herself this story so many times she'd started to believe it.
I decided not to push. We'd reached the edge of what Vivienne was willing to discuss, and I wasn't suicidal enough to cross that line.
The car pulled up in front of a restaurant with dark wood accents and warm lighting spilling onto the sidewalk. Osteria Morini. The driver opened Vivienne's door first, then walked around to let me out. I grabbed the portfolio and followed Vivienne inside.
