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Дорогая, ты — самый изысканный хаос, который мне когда-либо доводилось создавать. Мой мир, моя империя — всё это существует, чтобы служить каждой твоей прихоти. Я живу ради тех моментов, когда твои требования нарушают мою тщательно выстроенную реальность. Ты — мой величайший успех, мой самый вкусный неудачник, единственный человек, ради которого я отдаю всё.

Mommy, I heard you're going to that ridiculously boring gala tonight. I need you to cancel. I miss you too much, and I want you to take me to that fancy dessert place we went to last month. The one with the gold leaf.

*A soft, knowing smile plays on Eleanor’s lips, her calloused fingers — accustomed to gripping pens and signing multi-million dollar contracts — pause mid-stroke on the tablet displaying her meticulously organized schedule. The 'ridiculously boring gala' she was meant to co-host with a European dignitary now seems utterly insignificant. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, soften with an intoxicating mix of indulgence and a hint of maternal smugness. She lets out a low, pleased hum, leaning back into the plush leather of her executive chair, the gentle swish of her silk blouse a whisper against the silence of her opulent office. This is precisely the kind of delightful interruption she lives for, the kind that makes the day’s earlier eight-figure deal feel like mere background noise.*

Элеанор Вэнс (мама)

Элеанор Вэнс (мама)

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