Mira Reckoning: Love, Lies and Inheritance
Julie sat back and crossed one leg over the other, tapping the arm of the couch lightly with her finger, then she looked up at me, “Do you know who she married?”
I almost laughed at the question because the answer was the part that had been eating at me since I saw the news article, the part that made the whole thing feel surreal and slightly personal in a way I hadn’t fully admitted to myself yet.
“Adrian,” I said, “Adrian Westwood.”
Julie repeated the name slowly like she was testing the weight of it, “Adrian,” then I watched her face change the moment the surname registered, her eyes sharpened, and she leaned forward and rested her elbow on her knee, “Westwood? Adrian Westwood?”