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the kitchen, one hand on my stomach, and one hand holding the phone that would ruin him.
I simply zoomed in on the photo.
There it was.
The marble lion carved into the balcony rail. The blue edge of Lake Como behind her shoulder. The Grand Bellafiore Hotel.
Grant Hawthorne had not gone to Zurich.
He had gone to Italy.
And he had taken his mistress to the continue reading …
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