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... voice came again through the speaker, warm but laced with something I couldn’t quite place.
"Will you be home for dinner, tesoro?"
My fingers stilled on the keyboard. There was a pause that was too long, and then she added, almost casually, "Your husband might be late as well."
Might be. As if she didn’t already know. As if Dante’s schedule wasn’t carved into stone and delivered to everyone but me.
"Nonna, I’m really sorry. I have a few things to wrap up here—" ...
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