an open wound. Because he and Harper would never be living together at Castello di Trevente, let alone raising a family here. The whole thing had been a big fat lie. And Alfonso’s kindness had only exposed the nasty little fraud for what it really was.
Getting to his feet, he raked a hand through his hair, then turned and stuffed Alfonso’s letter into his suitcase, slamming down the lid. He would tell Harper about the ‘wedding present’ at a later date, when he had calmed down. She could have the whole castello as far as he was concerned, to live in or to sell, or to give to her wretched sister if that was what she wanted. It didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was getting away from here.
Picking up his suitcase, he cast one last look around him and then headed out of the door. He couldn’t get back to New York fast enough—back to the ordered, controlled life he had had before this whole wretched debacle had kicked off. Before Harper had happened. Only then would he be able to think straight again.
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