"Roman," a soft voice floated down, gentle and unhurried, followed by the faint shuffling of slippers padding against the polished marble floor.
Denovan, seated comfortably in an armchair, took the porcelain coffee cup from the maid who had just served him. The rich aroma of the freshly brewed coffee wafted up, but his attention was swiftly stolen by the quiet figure descending the staircase.
"Who's at the door?" Julie asked, her voice still clouded with sleep, delicate and not yet fully clear. She appeared on the staircase, wrapped in a pale milk-colored sleeping dress that fell softly around her. The early morning light filtering through the tall mansion windows touched her lightly, making her seem ethereal, as if she had accidentally stepped out of a dream.
