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It was: Why is the ceiling so fancy?
Gilded patterns, swirling like whipped cream and gold frosting, stared back at me as if to say, You’re not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart.
’Okay. Don’t panic. Maybe this is a lucid dream. Or a coma. Or I got kidnapped by a billionaire duke who wanted to make me his beautiful doll wife—wait, no, that’s just Chapter twelve of Married to the Deranged Duke.’
I sat up, and my vision swam for a moment.
The room around me was hug ...
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