His name was Roman, he looked like her husband except for the absence of stillness that her husband possessed. When Aria came down the stairs the next morning, there he was, leaning comfortably against the doorway of the main sitting room in the penthouse. Arms crossed, he was wearing a smile on his face the way a well tailored coat fits one who knows exactly how they look in it. Perhaps he was four years younger than Adrian, had the same dark hair and grey eyes, but while control had carved Adrian's face, Roman's face was more fluid, charm was just one of his tools, and warmth was given. without a promise. She knew the type. She had met him in different guises before. "You must be the wife, " he said. "And you must be the brother who was dead, " she responded with a friendly smile. He loo
