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The Romeros couldn’t hold Claudia back anymore, and Sterling would never let her be trapped.
He had taken very good care of her.
She was radiant now–bold, lively, full of laughter. A far cry from the girl she’d been seven years ago, stuck in that storm, lost and dimmed.
Suddenly, a server nearby stumbled–someone must’ve twisted an ankle–and a tray of drinks flew straight toward Claudia, who was sitting on the couch.
Frederick instinctively moved to shield her.
But in the next second, Claudia had already been pulled into someone else’s arms.
Sterling’s back was soaked, but he didn’t even look at himself. His brow furrowed immediately as he checked her over. “Did it spill on you?”
Claudia blinked, caught off guard, she hadn’t even processed what happened yet.
“I’m fine.”
It was just a splash of wine, no big deal.
If anything, Sterling got hit worse. He’d leaned in so close, the glass must’ve spilled more on him than her.
“Your shirt’s soaked. Go change,” she said.
Sterling took her hand. “Come with me.”
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