“Shut it,” I replied, only half concentrating on Tristan as my gaze caught a woman in a white dress, strands of treacle-colored hair tumbling down her back. She was carrying a glass of champagne and an old-fashioned reporter’s notebook, though she was focused on neither as she squeezed by us, nearly tipping alcohol over Gabriel’s very expensive jacket. “It was fifteen years ago and I was asleep,” I said as the woman passed. I tracked her as she headed toward one of the display cases, where her face lit up with a huge smile as she took in a pair of earrings my parents had produced to go with
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