Élodie Lavictoire

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“You are . . .” a soft whisper right next to my ear, “so beautiful . . . when you smile.” I squeeze my arms tighter around her and brush my cheek against hers. My silly little sunray. “No one . . .” another whisper, “compares to . . . you.”
Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect, #2)
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