"Sis, are you listening?" Azazel asked, leaning forward as if the weight of his story required her full attention.
Julie nodded quickly, her soft bob of the head almost childlike.
For a brief second, her gaze flickered to Roman—who sat across from her, quiet and unreadable—before she turned back to Azazel.
"I'm talking about the past," Azazel continued, shoulders lifting with theatrical emphasis.
"Our beautiful grandma Lisa was a fan of this icy man, Roman Thompson. In fact, I think she loved him even more than she loved her own husband."
Julie blinked, surprised, her lips curving into a small, amused smile.
From the corner of her eye, she caught Roman stiffen just slightly, the faintest crease forming between his brows—but he said nothing.
"You know," Azazel went on, placing a hand dramatically over his chest, "there was a time when Roman—my handsome and disgustingly wealthy brother—was not as cold as he is right now. Or should I say, not cold at all."
