Running a hand through his hair, Bruce gave a harsh laugh. "Yeah... that would seem to be the Hollywood ending to this story. Unless we're somewhere in act one or two still, of some epic melodrama, and then I'm screwed."
Leaning against the balcony, he looked out over the gardens. "I'm sure that you have no desire to hear about our personal lives, but just for a bit of context, when she left for Saudi Arabi six months ago, it was a split decision, without warning, and the first I heard of it was through the rough equivalent of a 'Dear John' letter after she was already long gone. And since we've never had a committed relationship, it was considerate of her to give me that much."
On another night, where he didn't need to be here with Cassandra, he might have tried to convince Maria, or someone other than her if she wouldn't go, to join Bruce Wayne in doing something foolish to bolster his reputation. Tonight though, he needed to be more or less responsible, for the sake of his daughter. Looking back into the party, he sighed.
"You should go... surveil, or whatever it is you're doing here." Bruce looked at her, his smile rakish, but a bit worn. "This is what she and I do, Agent Hill: when one of us starts to get too close, the other one runs. This time, she ran far, and apparently," he nodded into the party. "She's not done running."
Gesturing for her to go ahead of him, he smiled. "Go on then, you're free. I suppose I'll try and track her down after I check on my daughter and make sure she's not eating all the shrimp."