The house is gorgeous. It’s a sprawling, one-story villa right on the beach—five suites, a gym, an infinity pool, even an organic garden for the chef to harvest from. The place is insane.Like I’ve said before, my family is well off and I’ve traveled across the globe, staying in villas and five-star hotels. But this place? It obnoxiously screams Small Fortune. It’s dripping money to the point that I’m afraid to touch anything.“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Luciano,” the concierge, Teva, greets us with a bright smile.“Good morning, Teva. You can call me Quinn,” I say.Dante just grunts. Asshole.“Very good, Mrs. Quinn. Mr. Luciano. The chef is preparing your welcome meal—it’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. That gives you time to freshen up and pick whichever suite you’d like. Of course, there’s the main honeymoon suite, but some couples prefer one of the others.”“You can place Mr. Luciano’s baggage in the honeymoon suite. I’d like mine placed in whichever suite is furthest from tha
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