"People aren't always on time. Ever met a Spaniard or Italian?" Alejandra joked, giving him a knowing smirk.
She was always late. He'd learned to lie about the time they needed to leave—by fifteen minutes—just to make sure she'd be on time. White lies for the sake of his sanity.
The front door opened with a soft creak, and a woman about their age stepped in. Definitely not the lawyer—he was supposed to be an older man—and by the way she looked at him, head tilted, cautious but confident, Callum knew. She was his half-sister.
She looked nothing like him.
Her long, dark brown hair was worn loose, a subtle half-up twist framing her face, falling in soft, natural waves past her chest. Her complexion was olive-toned and glowing despite the cold light of the office. Her eyebrows were thick and expressive, and her light grey eyes were striking against her darker features. She had a presence. A calm intensity.
She wore a sleeveless white top that made her skin glow, paired with a dark skirt patterned with tiny red and green flowers. Her accessories were simple but somehow Callum could tell they meant something to her: gold lotus-shaped earrings and a green string bracelet on one wrist. A suede jacket was hooked over her arm.
She looked like she could be friends with Alejandra. They shared a similar aesthetic, a similar taste for clothes.
As he was studying her, she took them in with her sharp grey eyes before interrupting the silence, "You must be my half-brother."
Her accent wasn't British. Romance language, for sure. Spanish? Italian? Portuguese?
"Yes, hi. I'm Callum Evans," he said, standing, outstretching his hand, feeling awkward as hell. Like a kid on the first day of school.
She stepped forward. "Leonor Moreira," she replied, shaking his hand. Her bracelets tinkled softly.
Alejandra appeared beside him, her expression shifting into mild suspicion. "Are you the one who used to ride big waves?"
Leonor's eyes lit up, flicking from Callum to her. Before he could introduce her, Leonor blinked. "Oh meu deus‚ are you Alejandra López Romero? The Olympic champion?"
"In the flesh." Alejandra flashed a blinding smile. God, she was always so charming and so at ease in every situation. Could he borrow her confidence for once?
"Nice to meet you." She extended her hand.
Leonor shook it. "I heard about your injury. I hope you're doing better."
"Working on it."
Then Leonor turned back to him. "Are you a surfer too?” That explained why she had a similar aesthetic to Alejandra—two surfers.The chances.He had spent his entire life not even considering surfing a too important sport, just something people did on Cardigan Bay and nothing more, and now he had a surf legend as a girlfriend and someone important as a step sister, considering Alejandra knew who she was. Then, Leonor surprised him with the next sentence, not even waiting for him to reply to her previous question, “Like that poor excuse of a father?"
"Nope. Accountant. I used to swim until I shattered my knee. She's the cool one in the couple."
"What can I say?" Alejandra shrugged. "It’s effortless."
Leonor smiled faintly.
"Did you ever meet him?" he asked. No need to tiptoe around the big elephant in the room.
"My mother used to receive money from him, for school and things. Once, I saw him at a surf event, and he pretended I didn't exist."
“Well, it happened to me too just a couple of months ago. But I didn’t know who he was and…I think he panicked, probably recognizing my name.”
"What an asshole," Alejandra added.
"Yep. The worst. Glad he's dead. And you?"
"I had no idea he was my father until a week ago. So yeah, feeling are mixed. He sent money to my mom too."
"At least he was consistent," Leonor said right before her lips turned to a thin line.
Just then, the lawyer—a round-bellied man in a straining button-up shirt—called them in.
Alejandra kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck," she whispered, “text me when you are done.”
