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seeing her.”
It wasn’t a question.
He finally looked at her.
“We’ve had dinner a few times.”
“A few times,” Vivian repeated, her voice hollow. “While you were married to me.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Beatatrice cut in. “Preston was exploring his options. Something he should have done before he shackled himself to you.”
Then she tapped the papers.
“Now sign. You’re continue reading …
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