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... clinks of glasses, but Avery’s eyes kept drifting to the two empty seats. Her perfectly painted nails tapped slowly against her wine glass.
"I mean, how long are we supposed to wait?" Avery finally said, her voice loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. "Valentina is always late. Always."
Then a few heads turned. Some of the other guests exchanged looks, the tension creeping in slowly like a stain on clean fabric. No one said anything outright, but the murmurs began.
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