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Summary
“You never let anyone see your pretty face,” she’d said that morning, all groggy and bare-legged in bed, lips puffy from sleep and hair an absolute mess. “Just this once. No helmet. For me?”
And Clorinde, against every ounce of reason and dignity, had nodded.
Now, here she stood—exposed.
And next to her, Navia was glowing.
Not subtle glances either. They were obvious and devastatingly fond.
