I’m sorry.’ That was it. Precise and definitive. Blunt and to the point. Just like a computer program. He did not look at them. Jane looked at Pau...a. ‘You were right,’ she said. Paula nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. They both glared at him. ‘What about us? What about all this?’ Jane asked, gesturing toward the house, reminding him it was his home, a home he had made with them, a happy home. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I will pay child-support,’ He had already let go of them, and moved past them, but he. ‘He’d likely want to get into her as well.’ Constance spilled her glass. Don Carlos was as swarthy and dark-haired as his son but lacked Enrique’s handsomeness. He was a squat, round man with greedy pig’s eyes and an upturned nose, and everything about him seemed somehow oily. It had never occurred to her that the dreaded fate of marrying Enrique would bring her into such proximity with Don Carlos, who had once ran a hand over her bottom and made as though it had been an accident. ‘That is a. More

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