The door swung open before Liam could knock.
Elsa's mother stood in the doorway, and for a second, Liam had to remind himself this was actually her mom and not an older sister.
She looked young.
Too young to have a daughter Elsa's age.
Her white hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the same color as Elsa's but styled differently, more mature, swept to one side.
Her skin was smooth, barely a line on her face, and if Liam had to guess, he'd say she looked like she was in her early thirties at most.
She wore a deep burgundy sweater dress that hugged her figure, the fabric soft and clinging to her curves.
The neckline was modest but the way it draped showed the swell of her breasts and the narrowness of her waist.
The dress stopped mid-thigh, showing off her long legs, and she wore black stockings underneath that disappeared into ankle boots with a small heel.
A thin gold necklace rested against her collarbone.
Above her head, faint and glowing, was a number.
