IN LOVE WITH HIS ENEMY
After a long moment, I said, "What do you want me to do? Sit around and stare at walls?"
"No." His voice was gentle. "I want you to figure out what you actually want. Not what needs doing. Not what's expected. What you want. For yourself. For your life. For—" He gestured vaguely. "Whatever comes next."
I stared at him.
No one had ever asked me that. Not really. My father asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, but that was different—that was about achievement, ambition, legacy. Scott asked what I wanted for dinner, for vacations, for our anniversary. But what I actually wanted, deep down, for myself?
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