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Chapter Eighty-Two: It

A boisterous laugh, one I was certain I held no capacity to produce, slips from my lips at his words.

“A real marriage?”

I repeat.

“With whom?”

I take a step back from him, doing my best to hide any emotion my body exhibited. I hate the keenness with which my gaze traces the muscles underneath his shirt.

Christ, for the first time this evening, I appreciate his shoulder garters, not because they remind me of Marko, but because they frame him like an Adonis.

Did…did he have good fashion before, or am I just noticing this?

“Alba.”

He calls my name in a low tone that almost causes me to inhale in preparation for…for what?

Is this how he gets his women?

Christ, I thought I was immune to his charms; what if he had never used them on me?

Still, before he says anything, I proceed with my point.

“So, let me get this straight, I utter to you that I am terrified to think of you in any other way for fear you will leave me, and your response is to taunt me?

"Which part of me terrifies you when I
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