No British people were harmed in the making of this scene.
Probably.
.
"My prince, I cannot help but notice that . . . whenever you watch this Great British Bake-Off, you end up rather irretrievably angry. Are you certain it wouldn't be a better idea, for your health at least if not your mood, to not watch it?" Kisara looked honestly concerned, and the grim seriousness of her expression forced Seto to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
"Sometimes," Seto said lightly, "I watch something specifically so that I can get angry at it." The confusion left Kisara's face almost immediately. Presented this way, she seemed to understand the concept with ease. "It's cathartic. Perhaps you've noticed sports fans, yelling at their screens during a game."
Kisara nodded. "Rhett had to stop holding drinks during football, so that he wouldn't throw them at his television. He only drinks during commercials now."
Seto nodded in turn. "I know well this sacrifice," he said solemnly.
"You know, it's a shame he couldn't come to the house for Christmas. I think you would have enjoyed spending time with Rhett. Certainly he would have enjoyed spending time with you." The way Kisara's softened as she said this caught Seto's attention; he realized that, in all the time they'd known each other, she'd so rarely talked about her family so as to avoid anxiety and anger that she never had the chance to talk about what brought her joy or comfort.
Seto hummed low in his throat. "Where is your brother?"
"You know," Kisara said, suddenly realizing something, "I think he is in London, actually. You see? This is what happens whenever anyone invokes Great Britain. It comes to steal away even conversation topics." Her eyes narrowed. "They simply cannot help it, can they?"
Seto snickered. "I don't think they can," he said; he watched out the window of his study, as a hummingbird flitted around the yard. "You know," he went on, "if you ever want to visit somewhere, we can arrange it for you."
Kisara put a hand to her chest. "My prince," she said, pretending to be scandalized, "are you trying to be rid of me?"
Seto smirked. "If I wanted to be rid of you, I wouldn't have hired you as the one person whose specific job it is to stay at my side. You are literally my babysitter."
"You know," Kisara said, holding up a finger, "I had a question about that. Why did Mokuba handle my second interview? Is this standard procedure in your company? I understand that he is your vice-president. But surely you would be the final arbiter of who stands beside you during the day."
"You might think that," Seto said, shaking his head, "but I'm really not. Mokuba cares much more about my safety and general welfare than I do. His was a much more difficult hurdle than mine. I interviewed you to ensure that you would not grate on my nerves. Which, naturally, you have not. Well done. He interviewed you to ensure that you would actually keep me safe."
Kisara smiled. "Well," she said, "I am pleased to have met with his approval."
"It's harder than you might think," Seto said. "If you think I get angry watching British people bake, you should listen to him."