The Morelli estate in Westchester was the type of mansion that could make you feel underdressed by just existing. It was hidden behind iron gates, which were guarded by ancient oaks whose roots had been cracking the cobblestone driveway for so long that Aria hadn't been alive yet; and the facade-pale limestone, with ivy spread and almost alive, and the entire stonework being gently lit up by subtle garden lighting,was something a European novelist would invent for a story about old money and old secrets. Aria was sitting next to the driver in Adrian's car and her hands were folded in her lap so that she would not be able to fidget. "They will definitely ask how we met, " she gave out. Adrian kept his eyes on the road. "I know." "What am I supposed to say?" "Say that we met at the Langham c
