There's that urge to just make a break for it. Out the door, out the fake window. Anywhere to get out of this conversation that he knew was coming. At least it isn't are you going to get married, which is possibly the only thing worse at this point. Maybe if.. maybe if he just does what he does best.

"Serious, Mamere?"

And play the fool. He doesn't know, they haven't talked about it. He doesn't think so, mostly because of that not-talking-about-it thing. His eyes flick to Elizabeth for some clue, some sign, but mostly: he'd like to make his excuses and leave.

But he has the gut sinking feeling that his mother would stop him right in his tracks if he tried. Good God.