Micah had known by process of elimination that she could only be Damon’s youngest sister, Sophie, even before she’d said so, but he still found himself a bit taken back. Because while she was just as beautiful as her siblings, she also didn’t quite look like the rest, whose angular features and blue eyes marked them as obviously related. Sophie had a softer look, a more rounded face, and big doe eyes. Not to mention the fact that her skin was brown.

Damon had talked a lot about Sophie to Micah. Apparently, she didn’t run as hot as Joelle or as cold as Caprice, and was fairly even-tempered. She was a college student still deciding on what she wanted to do with her life. (According to Damon, she’d changed her major about half a dozen times since she started at Columbia three years ago.) The way Damon spoke of her made it clear he had a soft spot for her, and that he was protective of her in ways that he wasn’t of his older sisters.

But Damon had never once mentioned the fact that she was adopted. There was no conceivable way she shared both biological parents with her siblings.

“Hi, Sophie,” Micah said, offering her a grateful smile, and hoping his surprise didn’t show on his face, “I’m Micah.” He immediately flushed. “Obviously.”

Micah didn’t think it was his imagination that Sophie’s smile grew a tad more genuine at his obvious lack of grace.

“Great!” Joelle said, clapping her hands together. “Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s eat. Micah needs some fattening up, and it smells absolutely heavenly in here.” Joelle wasn’t wrong. The smell of freshly baked rolls, along with something more savory, filled the air.

Micah allowed Damon to lead him from the sitting room to the formal dining area. It was the only room in Damon’s penthouse that was somewhat closed off from the rest. (Damon had given Micah a tour last Saturday after he’d woken up in the man’s home and agreed to his unorthodox proposal.)

He’d wondered at the time why Damon needed such a long, magnificent table with a dozen fancy, upholstered chairs – all identical, of course, not like Micah’s mismatched chairs that surrounded his dingy table at home.

Now he guessed he knew.

On the table laid a magnificent spread of food. Micah supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised it consisted of mostly Italian cuisine: creamy chicken and broccoli alfredo and meat-stuffed ravioli in some kind of mushroom sauce in fancy glass platters, two baskets of flakey rolls, fruit galore, and last but not least, a platter of what looked like chocolate cannoli. Damon hadn’t seen fit to go over any special dining etiquette on Wednesday, so Micah was relieved to see that there was only one set of silverware sitting at each fancy table setting.