Page 40 of I Almost Do

I wait until Carol has left the room before I pick up my fork and say, “I’ve made no objection to any of your other plans, Clarissa. But if you think I’m letting you leave here without your security detail, then you don’t know me at all.”

She picks up her fork and knife, cuts a small portion of her chicken, chews, swallows, and pats her mouth with her napkin. Then she says, “I like that word,let. It’s funny coming from you. It’s almost like you think I’m one of your employees.”

Impressive. And not at all the reaction I expected from her.

This is the same girl who sat at this table and smiled at Marcus while he told her it was too dangerous to join a swim team.

“Where is this coming from?” I question.

She stares at her plate hard, then stiffens her spine. “I don’t know.” She makes eye contact and holds it. “But I know I’m not sorry. And I know the more you push me, the harder I want to shove back at you.”

“This isn’t like you,” I say, frowning.

Eventually, she huffs. “Everyone thinks I don’t have a temper. I used to think I didn’t have one too.”

“But you do?” I try to put myself in her place: imagine myself sitting at this table and conceding the things I wanted to do and the life I wanted to live. Over and over, she did it with a smile.

I’d never have done it, not even to make Marcus happy. I was the poster child for the moody, rebellious teenager.

She nods and looks down at the linen napkin she’s twisting between her fingers. “I do have a temper.”

She sets the napkin on the table and keeps her eyes trained on it. “James,” she whispers, “I am so fucking angry right now.”

I watch her for a long, quiet moment, taking in the stiff set of her shoulders. The way her fingers twitch and a muscle flexes in her jaw. Finally, I say, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Her attention shoots to my face. Then she glares at me, fierce and wild. “You’re not my father. You don’t get to boss me around or tell me what to do.”

It’s not often that I’m caught without words, but I don’t have a single one.

She mutters something, and I’m not sure I trust my ears. “What did you say?”

Her voice is stronger when she says, “Keep fighting me over this, and you’ll suffer my wrath.”

I can’t help the quirk of my lips at her wording or the stab of pride at her spirit. The majority of her social life has taken place in the pages of her books. I hear it sometimes in her language.

I concede her point with a nod, but I can’t back down on this. It’s just not happening. The things I’m doing are for her own protection.

Clarissa is naive as hell. She’s a baby bird, and I’m trying to let her fly while still giving her the safety net she needs.

“We made promises to each other. I expect you to keep those promises,” I say.

“This isn’t the 1920’s. I never promised toobeyyou,” she says incredulously.

I dig my palm into my eye, then drop my hand to the table, clenching it into a fist. “I don’t want obedience from mywife.” The idea of it is revolting.

At her wary expression, I say, “Our promises to each other, Clarissa. Chase your dreams, but don’t be reckless.”

A dent forms between her brows.

“Even I have a certain amount of security. It would be foolish not to. You’re one of the wealthiest women in the world. If you’re unprotected, you will be a target. That’s a fact.”

She presses her lips together, her expression troubled. “I want to know what it’s like to be normal.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give that to you,” I say. And I mean it. “If you’re more comfortable having your bodyguards masquerade as friends or fellow college students, you go right ahead and do that, but you’re not going there without security.”

“I’ll be in the middle of nowhere. Who’s even going to know or care who I am?”

“Don’t be naive. It just means you’d be an easier mark.”

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