"Wow, to think the great Arthur Nightingale is making time for his cute sister, how absolutely noble of you!" Aria declared with exaggerated reverence, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I shot her a withering glare that only made her grin wider. She was lounging comfortably in the self-driving car, looking every bit the modern teenager in her light denim jacket layered over a crisp white t-shirt and artfully ripped jeans. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few strands framing her face—deliberately casual in that way that actually took significant effort.
"You're the one who practically begged for this outing," I reminded her, adjusting the sleeve of my own short-sleeved navy shirt. I'd paired it with dark jeans that, I now realized with mild horror, matched my sister's almost exactly.
"We're matching," Aria pointed out gleefully, noticing at the same time. "How adorable. I should take a photo for your fan club."
