His expression softened, and he leaned closer to her, speaking in a low, affectionate murmur—in Italian.
"Preparati, Signora mia. Dopo tutto questo, giocheremo insieme come prima."
Rosaline beamed instantly. "Really? Yayy....!"
Mervyn narrowed his eyes slightly.
He didn't like it.
The way Clyde's voice softened only for Rosaline. The way she lit up like the world had just been handed to her.
He didn't understand a word of what Clyde had said, but it was painfully obvious how much stronger Rosaline's reaction had been compared to Morgan's.
It irritated him more than he cared to admit.
His instincts, sharp and immediate, kicked in before he could stop himself.
"Morgan," he called, keeping his voice calm but firm.
The boy turned his head, curious.
"Come here," Mervyn said, stretching his hand out. "Your father needs to rest."
