I’m waiting on the couch, my suitcases packed and a coffee in my hand, when Dante walks out of his bedroom. The housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes, is fluttering around me. “Ma’am, I can make whatever you want, I promise. A breakfast sandwich. Crepes. Waffles. You need food to fortify you for the day,” she says. “I promise, Mrs. Hughes, I’m perfectly fine. I never heat breakfast,” I smile at the woman, who truly is just trying to do her job. “But Mrs. Luciano,” she begins and I can’t help but cringe at the name. Dante, who I hadn’t notice come into the room while I was talking about Ms. Hughes, interrupts her from behind me. “It’s fine Mrs. Hughes. We’ll be on our private plane, so if Quinn wants anything later, she can get anything she wants.” Mrs. Hughes sighs. “Of course, sir. What can I get for you today? “ “A coffee and half a grapefruit. My stomach isn’t quite awake,” Dante says, causing the older woman to chuckle. “I’ll make sure to pack some of the sausage and eg
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