Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. Her head swam. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. "If you thought that, why did you give me this job?"—his voice faint and thick. But I trusted to that ring of yours.
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