CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
MELINDA
The weekend at the beach house made Kieran softer and less brash. On the drive home Sunday evening, his hand on my thigh, the ocean fading behind us, he'd been quieter than usual and more thoughtful.
I wanted to ask him what was going on in his mind but I didn't push. Just let him think.
It was on Monday morning, when we were having breakfast on the terrace that he finally said it.
"Tell me what you want."
I looked up from my tea. "What?"
"I've always carried this mindset that I provide enough for my wife and she doesn't need to work. But I've never asked you your passions, you know what you'd have liked to established if you had the money." He set down his coffee, watching me with those dark eyes that missed nothing. "What does Melinda actually want?"
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