I glared at him. “I’m sorry. You’re jealous of what exactly? I didn’t have a date hanging on me all night, whispering in my ear—” “You accepted a proposal from the guy you’ve been dating for fifteen fucking years.” “You’ve known from the very beginning it’s fake for the media! I don’t even want to marry him,” I blurted out before slapping my hand over my mouth. He smirked like he’d goaded me there, like we were in a chess match and he’d won. I even caught a hint of the dimples I used to love flash across his face. I had to admit he still knew me enough to piss me off. He continued on in his
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