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“I know, I know… You want an heir and five years of my life.”

“Yes, that’s for me, but now I want something for you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It isn’t.”

“That’s exactly what someone about to say something ominous would say.”

He ignored me.

“Your therapy with Dr. Freud…” I stiffened, sensing what was coming. “You should resume your sessions.”

I shook my head. “I won’t. I don’t want to remember those days, never mind talk about them.”

“Well, you have to deal with it, because now you have an addiction to add to that conversation.”

My shoulders stiffened. “It’s not an addiction,” I gritted.

“If you need the pills to sleep, it is.”

“I need them to rest,” I corrected him.

“I’ve called her,” he said, ignoring me. “She offered to do FaceTime therapy sessions and recommended long walks to tire you out.”

I snickered. “Is that all?”

“No, she also suggested that if walks don’t tire you enough, we have lots of sex.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Did she now?”

“Yes.” To his credit, he kept his expression serious, but his eyes betrayed him. He was lying through his teeth.

“Wouldn’t that constitute exchanging one addiction for another?”

“Being addicted to sex isn’t so bad.”

I rolled my eyes. “I thought any kind of addiction is bad.”

“Not that one.” He grinned. “Now, what do you say?”

I looked back toward the sea. “I don’t need a therapist, but walks and sex… sure, let’s give it a try.”

His jaw clenched. “Sienna.”

I shot him a wary sidelong glance. “I thought you’d be happy. I’m not saying no to long walks and sex.”

“But I’m not happy that you can’t sleep without pills.”

“That doesn’t mean I need therapy.”

“What do you think you need?”

He stepped closer, his gaze locked on me.

“You need help,” he said quietly when I didn’t answer. “Not because there’s something wrong with you. Because something happened to you, and you’ve been carrying it alone for years.”

The wind caught my hair, whipping it across my face. I pushed it away.