It was late at noon. The sun was turning dull orange, the clouds were leaving the sky.
Ember rays spilled into the large, polished living room of the Steele residence, casting a bright gleam across the marble floors.
Darren stood by the wall-length mirror near the stairs, buttoning the cuff of his dark blue shirt while trying — and failing — to fend off the fussing hands of his mother.
"Stop moving," she scolded lightly, her small but determined hands batting away his halfhearted attempts to wave her off.
"I can dress myself, Mom," Darren grumbled under his breath, tugging slightly at his sleeve.
"Yes, and you'd walk into a reunion looking like you just crawled out of an investment war zone," she quipped, expertly smoothing the shoulders of his shirt. "You men. You need someone to keep you looking civilized."
Darren raised a brow. "Civilized? Mum, what are you on about now?"
