Re: second floor ; smoking
He liked that. Despite honesty not being his strong suit, not in matters of the heart, it was a truth he could not deny and she spoke the words like they mattered. "Forced honesty is never the same," he agreed. "It lacks the same worth. There is no trust involved." Honesty and trust, two of his weak points. The latter was especially troublesome. "Has anyone ever told you how wise you are, bella? You should come to Italy with me--" Never mind that his home wasn't across the sea, and it wasn't anywhere beautiful where the corrupt could be so easily defeated. "And teach the men there what you know." It was a teasing thing, nothing that would ever truly come to fruition, though sometimes he wished his life were so easily dictated. Those he trusted were very few, and his trust, difficult to gain, was easily lost. As for extreme circumstances, he merely sighed. "No, they are not, but in them we do, sometimes, discover who we really are." There was much to be learned in the shadows, if one was suited for them. He gave a slight smile when she said loneliness never ceased to matter, though he said nothing. Perhaps she was right, and it only seemed to lack importance, but the sentiment remained the same.
"We might," he said, a lean forward and a shrug of his shoulder. "My mother would like to hear it. And your secret, I will take it to my grave." He brought two fingers to his lips in a gesture of his promise, and if there was one thing which remained true across the board it was that he was a man of his word. Speaking of his mother was, like his father, painful, but he had fond memories of his parents and the ache of their loss was bittersweet. "Sometimes, it feels as though it has only been a day. Other times, it feels like an eternity. I worry that I might forget, but then I remember, and I know such a thing would never be possible." Her answer was not clear, but little here was, and he appreciated the honesty (or what he perceived to be such) in her response regardless.
Her words brought forth honest laughter. "Ah, yes. I would rather risk my life in battle than risk my heart in love," he declared. "There are all kinds of bravery, I suppose." No, love was never like the tales written in books, even he knew that. But real love was better than any story one could tell. "You know a great deal," he insisted. "And you only wish for what you deserve."
He obliged her request without question, sliding his chair across the floor until his knees were mere inches from hers and he leaned forward still, the weakness in her laugh troubling him. "You know me well, even after such a short time. But what would you do?"