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“Wars fought over a face like this,” he murmured like he was talking to himself. My heart stopped beating and his thumbs moved lightly across my cheeks. “A man would work himself into the ground for it, go down to his knees to beg to keep it, endure torture to protect it, take a bullet for it,” his gaze came to mine, “poison his brother to possess a face like this.”
I’m naming my first boy after him. Which, admittedly, is not a hardship since his name is badass and not Herbert. But, still.”