Leave it," Beatrix whispered, her hand resting gently on Remo's shoulder. "It's all right, big brother." She cast him a defeated look, retracting her hand from his shoulder as she moved forward. Reluctantly, Remo stepped back, allowing her to approach Bolivar.
"What do you want now?" Beatrix hissed, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Forgive me, mia principesa," he began, his tone heavy with sincerity.
"Don't call me that!" Beatrix's retort was heated, edged with a sense of wounded pride.
"You're right," he conceded solemnly, catching her off guard. Their eyes locked, and she searched his gaze, perplexed. "I've lost the privilege to address you so personally. My choice has shattered that bond. I thought that my decision alone could bring you happiness."
His words seemed to tug at Beatrix's chest uncomfortably. She instinctively pressed a hand to her heart, as if physically trying to alleviate the pain. Against her will, fresh tears welled in her eyes.
