Tino watched as, undoubtedly, every negative emotion ran through Mia's head. He watched her cling to her napkin, silently thinking of it as a euphemism of her clinging to her sanity. Or maybe restraint. He really wasn't sure, but he didn't want to ask. Not for several years, anyways, when the shock and anger from this moment dulled a little.
His eyes glazed over after a minute as he waited for her to say something-- anything. And then she did, and he snapped back to attention and waited patiently for her to finish her, seemingly strained, question(s).
"Yes," he answered, nodding his head curtly. "I thought that it might... lessen the blow. The kids are out in case you want to yell at me. Which I suppose you think I deserve." He let go of her hand and picked up his fork, cutting a piece of chicken and popping it into his mouth. A little dry, but nicely seasoned. A decent effort, if he didn't say so himself.