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She and Zane Foley—the billionaire?
Chuffing, she told herself that he’d just been wiping makeup off her face, and that was that. He was a control freak, and that obviously extended to making sure his nannies were just the way he wanted to see them, if anyone should ever get a gander.
But…
She closed her eyes. How about the desire she’d seen in his gaze? At least, that’s what she thought it’d been when it’d just about buckled her knees.
She opened her eyes again, wishing she could figure him all the way out.
Her gaze wandered to the living room, where he’d been looking at something in that chest the other night.
What if she took a peek, just in case it offered an answer?
Any answer.
Glancing around at the still house, with its blur of stained glass muting the morning, she put down the egg bowl before second guessing herself, then went to the living room, heading straight for the TV and the chest sitting on the shelves right beside it.
All while, she chided herself. Mel, think about what you’re doing.
But if this helped her to understand him, it couldn’t hurt, right?
She unlatched the chest—there was no lock, thank goodness—then eased it open to get a glimpse.
What she found made her close it and put it back the way she’d found it, her heartbeat strangled.
An urn.
Danielle’s ashes?
Feeling as if she’d intruded into someone’s most private secrets, Melanie retreated back to the kitchen to finish making breakfast.
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