THIS IS PURE ENGLISH.The house smelled like citrus and steam—the kind of bright, clean scent that made mornings feel ritualized. Samarah lay very still for a moment, listening to her breath and the distant clink of a spoon against a mug. Light sifted through the curtains and painted a gold stripe across the bedroom wall; somewhere down the hall, Thalia and Arthur were already talking in the softened, excited timbre reserved for weddings.She reached for the small velvet box on the bedside table out of habit, not because she needed to check its contents. When she opened her fingers, the familiar weight of the ring felt like the steadying pulse of a promise. Sean had left it with her the night before—an impulse, a joke, a gentling of nerves—and the memory unfurled like the warmest thing in her chest. She kissed her palm and let the ring sit there, a bright coin of possibility, before tucking it back under the pillow where, logically, it would be safest.Below, the kitchen had become a
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