“No,” he said quietly. “You’re going to list it as exactly what it is.”
That was the first thing Liam noticed when the realtor finally slid the antique brass key into the lock and pushed open the heavy oak door. It wasn't perfume, exactly—more like the ghost of one: bergamot, old paper, and the faint, salty whisper of the Mediterranean. The realtor, a pinched woman named Mrs. Halder, wrinkled her nose as if she smelled a gas leak. capri cavanni room
Liam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Theatrical. That was like calling the Sistine Chapel a nicely decorated shed. “No,” he said quietly
“The previous owner,” Mrs. Halder announced, stepping aside to let Liam enter first, “was a rather… theatrical person.” The realtor, a pinched woman named Mrs
The room still smelled like her.