That evening in Boston, Claire and Nathan stayed at their private boutique suite overlooking the Public Garden. Outside, the gas lamps cast warm amber pools across the snow-covered paths, and the city hummed with quiet, distant elegance. In the suite’s intimate parlor, a soft fire flickered in the hearth. Nathan had poured two glasses of vintage Bordeaux and ordered a quiet supper of pan-seared sea bass with saffron risotto. Claire…
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