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Hunter and I managed to escape from the guests a little later, and we left for another endless photo shoot. Inside the white limousine "led by the same driver who has been with us since we arrived in the city", our ceremonialist instructs what we should do at the magnificent reception she prepared.

Hunter holds my hand all the time, but he can't talk to me at any time. All the moment someone puts himself in our way and distracts us. We can only say what we can't through glances, because it's the only method of communication that no one can stop us from having.

Our party takes place in a two-story concert hall, and I am surprised to see all the guests present, applauding our entrance with the same euphoria as before. We pose for more photos, dance, talk, but we never have a second of intimacy. Not even during our long-awaited waltz, because we avoid talking so that one does not step on the other's foot. All I have left is to drool over his beauty with excessive admiration.

My husband d
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