Page 93 of I Almost Do

"Yes?"

I glance at Clarissa again, and she just smiles and nods at him.

"Art school," I repeat.

"Yes?"

"In London."

"Yes?"

I shake my head, and his shoulders slump.

But I say, "Don't say 'yes' like it's a question. Is this what you want to do?"

He straightens his shoulders, and in his firm, newly deep voice, he says, "Yes, and I'm sorry if you're disappointed that I don't want to go to business school. But it's just not what I want to do. I want to work in fashion design."

My brows knit in confusion. "Marc, I'm not disappointed. I want you to do something that makes you happy."

"But Harcourt is supposed to be this family legacy."

I remember something Clarissa once said to me and give Marc my wise and benevolent parent look. The one Clarissa says makes me look like a stuffy old man, but she always tries to rip my shirt off afterward, so….

"You don't need to live your life trying to fill someone else's shoes," I say. "Wear your own shoes, Marcus Mellinger. They're a lot more comfortable."

Marc lifts his foot out from beneath the table and gives it a shake. "These boots are gorgeous."

I grin at him. The kid does have style in spades. He'll be a hell of a fashion designer.

"Don't worry, Dad," Ellie says. "I'm going to business school."

Our daughter inherited more than my dark hair and blue eyes. She's only fifteen, but she's already very driven. And she spends an awful lot of time in my office. I swear sometimes she's sizing the place up. The look in her eyes when she walks in the building is pure Marcus Harcourt.

Marc snorts. "Shocked. I'm shocked."

I shoot her finger guns. "Got a summer job in the mailroom with your name on it, if you want it."

She grins. "Perfect."

Before bed, Clarissa stands in the bathroom doorway and watches me as I brush my teeth. She's leaning against the doorframe in panties and one of my T-shirts.

She's got blonde highlights in her hair now. She says it's to disguise the gray, but I love when the silver strands sparkle through. The same way I love the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. They're evidence of a life well lived, and she's living it with me.

Her arms are crossed. She wears a small grin on her face and a speculative gleam in her eye.

I rinse, put my toothbrush away, then make eye contact with her in the mirror. "What?"

She sidles up and wraps her arms around me from behind. I turn, lean against the counter, and pull her into the V of my thighs. She brushes a lock of steel-threaded hair off my forehead, then rests her hand on my cheek. "You handled that really well."

I give her a confused smile. "You know I don't care what the kids want to do with their careers as long as it makes them happy."

She laughs. "I know that. But you didn't even freak out over the fact that he wants to go to London."

"Mmmm, that part actually was hard for me," I say, rubbing my thumb across her bottom lip.

"I know."

"Parsons is righthere.He could even commute from home.”

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