Fiorella de Marco's eyes softened into a contented squint as her betrothed settled beside her, his head finding a rest against her shoulder. She skillfully balanced her attention between Damien Morreti’s whispered confidences and the colorful strokes her daughter was applying to her canvas.
"[You had previously offended him, and yet he has not fractured a single bone in your body. Consider it progress.]"
Her laughter, though soft, carried a melodious quality, echoing lightly after her remark. She then gently nudged her daughter's shoulder, lifting a finger in mild reproach.
"[Ciara, darling, won’t you greet your father?]"
Wide-eyed and momentarily taken aback, little Ciara's gaze darted between the paint and Damien, her expression mingling surprise with hesitation. After a brief pause, her features softened into a smile as she extended her paint-smeared hands for a hug.
