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Tate wasn’t only my first love…
​
He’s my first heartache.
Frenemy.
Regret.
He’s Italian.
Older.
A gorgeous tattooed Harley lover…
And the one man I can never have.
He's my husband.
The love of my life.
But if this is supposed to be the end of us,
then why does it feel like it's only just the beginning?