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... ing that had happened earlier. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw him Domenico.
My father-in-law. The man I should’ve been running from, not aching for.
The taste of him still lingered on my tongue.
I lay there in the dim light from the nightstand lamp, beside the man who was supposed to be my husband. His arm was draped over his face, snoring like nothing was wrong, like I wasn’t the dirtiest wife alive.
I turned my head, studying the outline of his face in the moo ...
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