[ Navia's expression takes on a hint of exasperation at Wriothesley's non-answer, but he doesn't owe her anything. If he wants to keep that information to himself, it's his right to do so, regardless of how emotionally vulnerable she'd made herself with her tears. He was kind to indulge her, and he doesn't have to talk about his feelings in return.

When Wriothesley stands up from the bed, Navia makes a pointed effort to keep her eyes in respectful places. The messages on their watches might say they're married, but a few words on a tiny screen (or even rings on their fingers) don't mean anything in practical terms. ]

I can help you look. But... maybe we could eat first?

[ Navia's stomach growls at the sight of the breakfast spread that's been set out for them. There's more food than either of them would likely be able to finish in one sitting: sweet and savory pastries filled either with ham and cheese or fruit compote, pain au chocolat and croissants filled with almond paste, and crepes topped with sweet, creamy cheese and jam; scrambled and poached eggs and omelets; thinly-sliced radishes on buttery toast; a large charcuterie board piled high with fruit, thinly-sliced cured meats and cheeses, and various sauces and spreads. Beside that, there's a whole plateful of chocolate-dipped strawberries.

Fortunately for both of their dignity, Navia spots a pair of His and Hers robes folded neatly by the food, so she hands Wriothesley the much larger one and slips into the smaller. ]

I've always wanted to get married, but I never imagined it would be like this.