Ricardo turns his head toward you, not offended exactly, just startled. Joaquín looks like he may faint on the sidewalk. Mateo, however, lets out the smallest, most shocked laugh.
You shift Santiago higher and keep going because now that you’ve started, stopping would be worse.
“He’s freezing,” you say. “He’s upset. And whatever happened with the chauffeur, clearly it’s not really about the chauffeur. So maybe before anyone starts deciding who was right, you put the child in a warm car and let him eat the rest of his empanada.”
Mateo’s eyes flick to you, then to his father.
Ricardo stays still for a beat too long.
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