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The master bedroom of the estate was ridiculously large. It could have swallowed my entire Brooklyn apartment with room to spare.
A four-poster bed was draped in deep red velvet curtains, and a real fire crackled in the hearth, filling the air with the scent of cedar and lemon oil.
Dante set me down on the edge of the bed and knelt before me, taking off my heels. His palm cupped my ankle, his thumb stroking the arch of my foot.
"Tired?" he asked.
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