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... efore she could stop them. Last night. She’d actually waited up for Dante. She’d wanted to pin him down, look him in the eye, and demand to know when they could finally make this official. When could she stop being Mrs. Wilson?
But he’d left. Just vanished into the night like he always did, forgetting he’d even promised her five minutes of his precious time.
Across the table, Johnny just sighed, poking at his salad. “Just get it over with, Elodie.”
“I know,” she muttered. ...
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