Morgan is stunning. A tight skirt shows off gazelle legs. She’s got thick, dark eyelashes and thick, long hair. The light might be dim, but her makeup is pretty, straddling that fine line of soft but smoldering.
“Nice to meet you.” She holds out a hand, and I take it, choosing to believe she takes after Harry. Out of the periphery of my eye, I notice Sammie’s ghost won’t stop staring at the woman.
“Same.” I shake her hand.
She settles back in her seat. “Alex is getting drinks,” she tells Hadrian and then adds to me, “My fiancé.”
“Nice,” Harry says and then looks around the booth, which is already feeling cramped.
Morgan waves his concern away. “We’ll make him stand. Or we can crowd around.”
She leans into her stepbrother. They must be on friendly terms because he rolls his eyes but allows her to tease him.
I’ve always known Hadrian has two younger step-sisters, twins. They belong to Andrea Petrova, but I’ve never come face-to-face with either of them. I’ve only heard Harry’s whispers and Sammie’s stories about the family’s blended dynamic.
I can’t help glancing at Hadrian. His face is even more muted now that his sister has joined.
“Birthday boy.” Morgan’s fiancé sets down a couple of drinks. He hands over a shot to Hadrian. “Don’t argue with me, mate. I don’t want to hear anything about shots being childish.”
“Drink up,” Morgan says, humor warming her words. She’s got a bright, happy thing going on.
Because they are the same level of stunning, I can’t help but compare Morgan to Adeline. There’s a warmth to thelatter, a serious edge. It might not be a fair impression, but Morgan lacks a type of gravity. Even Harry, with his pleasantness, it’s easy to spot the hard edges of where his flesh has now healed into scars along his wrists.
“I’m Alex,” her fiancé greets, smiling. I can’t see his shoes from here, but I’m guessing he only wears Italian loafers. He’s probably never worn a T-shirt in his life. He’s posh, and he knows it.
“Alex is Hadrian’s oldest friend,” Harry helpfully supplies. “Known him since kindergarten.”
“That’s cool that you’re still friends,” I say. Even before I moved countries, I could say I went out of my way to avoid my former classmates.
“They went to university together too,” Morgan says.
I’m not sure why this information surprises me. “Oxford?”
No wonder Sammie’s ghost is being quiet.
“I went to King’s,” Morgan offers, and I’m further off-balanced. She studied at King’s University in London. “Did you go to Oxford or somewhere nearby?”
Her voice is casual, but I keep catching the glances between her and her fiancé. It makes sense considering Hadrian doesn’t exactly have many friends.
“I didn’t go to uni,” I say. She doesn’t hide her surprise, but at least she doesn’t wrinkle her nose as she guesses what social class I belong to.
I don’t have a degree, but all the money in my bank account is mine.
Morgan sits forward slightly, even more intrigued as to where I’ve come from.
Hadrian offers nothing. I could be a dick. And bring up Sammie. Harry and their father, William, know exactly who and what I am, but it looks like the Petrova side of the family wasn’t brought into the loop.
“Father Francois introduced us.” I nod at Hadrian, noting how he doesn’t say a damn thing despite his sister’s curiosity.
“Father Francois?” she asks.
“St. Agnes Cathedral,” I clarify. “Grief group.”
Morgan blinks. “Oh.”
So she does at the very least know of Hadrian’s dead girlfriend.
“Father Francois is amazing,” Harry says. “I’ve been helping him organize an outreach project?—”
