Anywhere You Are (24 page)

“Because I can't film
him,
” she said, pointing behind Grace to the doorway.

She turned to find Marc, silently standing there in a suit, dragging a rolling suitcase behind him.

He must have come straight from the airport to her place.

He looked so handsome, his hair a little tousled from his journey, his tie long gone and his shirt open at the collar. And tired. So damned tired.

Marc blinked, clearly utterly confused as he glanced around. Finally, his eyes lit on her.

“Marc!” she said brightly as she crossed the room. “I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow.”

“I came back a day early,” he said with a frown. “What's going on here?”

This wasn't the way she thought this was going to go, but confronted with the reality of Marc stumbling across the filming, she didn't have a choice.

Grace took a deep breath. “I'm thinking about making a few appearances on
The Evergood Life.
They're here to do some test shots.”

“Test shots?” Marc looked around. “This looks like the real deal to me.”

“It's not. I swear,” she said quickly. “In fact, I was going to talk with you about it when you got back.” She smiled weakly. “And you're here early. Yay.”

“I wanted to surprise you because I…” Marc stopped. Looked around the filled kitchen and frowned again. “It seems that once again, I find myself airing my personal business in a very public forum,” he said sharply.

Grace shot Francine an imploring look. To her great relief, Francine gave her a nod.

“Take five, people,” Francine said with a sigh. Then, to Grace: “Wrap this up fast, honey. I got a schedule to keep.”

“Thank you,” she said as her family and the crew filed out the door.

When they were gone, she turned back to Marc, who was waiting, his arms now crossed over his broad chest.

Grace took a deep breath. “Okay, remember when I told you that there were stipulations to my accepting the publishing deal?”

“Yes?” he said. “So?”

“Well, this is one of them.”

Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry I'm not quite following. The publishing deal is contingent upon you doing reality TV again?”

“Not exactly,” Grace hedged. “It's contingent upon increased publicity, and this is what I know. It'd be easy to schedule, my parents would be happy, and I'd get the publicity I need. Win-win.”

“Win? For whom, exactly?”

“For me. And for my cause,” she hurried to explain. “I'll be able to reach so many more people, really shed some light on the issues. And the filming would be on my terms this time.”

“Your terms?” Brusquely, he ran a hand through his hair. “I thought you hated reality TV and now you're telling me that you're cool with it?”

“I'm cool with it…up to a point.”

“But did you ever stop to think that
I
might not be cool with it?”

“Of course. I'm carving you out of the deal,” she informed him. “You're completely off limits. No filming allowed.”

Marc let out a terse laugh. “Like that'll stop the paparazzi from hounding me once your shows are aired. Everyone knows we're together now and you, more than anyone, should know how the game is played.”

“I get that you don't want to play.”

“Not now. Not ever,” he said, his tone vehement. “I don't want cameras in my face or people asking me about my sex life and God knows what else.”

Grace took a deep breath and switched tacks. “Forget the privacy for a minute and just think about how I'll be raising awareness of endangered species—a cause I'm passionate about. A cause I've spent the last two years of my life working to promote.”

“This is really what you want?” he asked, incredulous. “A life where people lie about you and take pictures of you when you're at your worst?”

“But there's so much upside…the opportunity to truly make a difference.”

“There are other ways to get your message across that don't involve parading around in front of the media.”

“It's effective,” she said. “And it's what I know.”

“But it's not what
I
know,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Most people aren't like you, Grace. They don't want to live feeling like they're being watched.”

“Most people, meaning you.”

“I've never pretended otherwise. I'm an ordinary man with ordinary needs. I work. I play squash at my club. I eat dinner with my friends. And I spent the rest of my time with you. I might have fortune, but I sure as hell don't want fame and all the shit that goes along with it. I don't want anyone knowing my business, professional or personal. At the end of the day, all I really want is to be left alone. Having my girlfriend on a reality show, whether I'm on it or not, is not part of my master plan.”

“Going back on
The Evergood Life
isn't my master plan either, but when I really started to think about it, it isn't that different from everything I'm already doing.”

“What are you talking about? It's totally different.”

“No,” she said sadly. “I thought I was hiding out in Eastbridge, but it was all an illusion. People still watched me on the streets, took pictures when they thought I wasn't looking. I was outed all the time. So I started living like a hermit. That wasn't healthy either.” Grace paused, trying to get her bearings. “I guess what I'm saying is that I'm trying to find balance between who I am and who I want to be—just like we all are. I'm never going to be that oblivious reality show babe again, but I can't pretend that my parents aren't Jer and Sophs, either. I'm a work in progress. And I'm okay with that.”

“I'm not,” he said, his voice blunt.

“What are you saying?”

“I want to live my life in peace. You clearly don't. I think that's all there is to it.” Marc shook his head. “We're too different. We always were. Except I think I was able to see past it because you were living the same kind of life I was. Or at least, I thought you were.”

“I am. We are.”

“We're not,” he said. “No matter how much I want us to be.”

It took a moment for her to realize he was breaking up with her.

“Marc, no,” she whispered. She'd never sounded more desperate in her life, but she couldn't help it. “I thought we were talking about this. I haven't made my final decision as to the show. I don't have to do it. We can still be together.”

“And what happens when you wake up one day and realize that I'd made you give up an opportunity that could help you? That I'd closed doors you wished were open? You'd resent me. You'd resent
us.
”

Grace opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. He was right. It was his ideology or hers, and one of them would have to give now or later. The position was an impossible one, and Marc, ever the gentleman, was bowing out.

For a moment, Marc looked like he was in actual physical pain, and then he shook his head. “I'll miss you. You'll never have any idea how much. But you're you and I'm…” He paused. Looked down at his sleek suit and shiny shoes. Gave a sad little laugh. “Well, I'm me.”

“I—I thought you loved me.”

“I do,” he said, his voice vehement. “And it's exactly for that reason that I need to let you go. I can't change who I am or where I come from any more than you can. We'd always be fighting about this, and hurting you is the last thing I want to do. You say you're still thinking about it, but it's pretty clear that this is the path you want to take, so take it. I won't stop you. I can't.”

She started to cry then. She couldn't help it.

Marc crossed the room and cupped her face in his hands. Anguish and pain were etched on his handsome face. He gazed at her for one long moment, then gently, so gently, he bent down and kissed her on the lips. She thought she tasted the salt from her own tears, but when he pulled away, she realized they were from his.

And as she stood there, mute, heart hurting so much she couldn't even speak, Marc turned and walked back to the door. Then he grabbed Big Blue's leash from the hook.

Blue padded over, clearly thinking they were going for a walk.

It didn't quite dawn on Grace what he was doing until he clipped the leash on Blue's collar and Blue looked back at her, expectantly.

Except she wasn't going to join them and oh, God, he was taking the dog, too, which made her heart crack all over again. She was losing both of them and it was too much to bear.

“Please, Marc.” Her voice sounded broken. Wrecked.

“Goodbye, Grace,” he said. “And good luck. I hope you get what you want.”

I want you!
she wanted to scream, but that would only make things worse, make her seem even more wretched and pathetic than she already felt. So she clenched her fists and stood there silently, tears streaming down her face, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to leave marks.

In another instant, he and Blue were gone.

And Grace was left alone in her empty kitchen.

“I need the construction costs revised,” Marc said into the speakerphone he'd installed in Aunt Sarah's library. He was attached at the hip to his cellphone, but service was sometimes spotty on the property, and he didn't want to leave anything to chance.

“By how much? A million?” Greg's tenor voice came loud and clear through the box.

Quickly, Marc did the calculation in his head. “Try five. You know they'll just balloon up to the tune of 20 percent once we break ground. And that's on the conservative side.”

“I'm not sure I can…”

“Make it happen,” Marc said. “If we don't do it now, it'll come back to bite us in the ass later.”

“Okay, boss,” Greg said. “I'll have the revised numbers to you later today.”

“Good, thanks.”

Marc clicked off the receiver and immediately turned back to his computer screen. The construction estimates were as good as done once Greg worked his magic on the numbers, but he still had twenty other things to handle today. It was busy, just the way he liked it. Work kept his mind clear, his brain thrumming.

He skimmed the Excel spreadsheet in front of him, an elegant model he'd built himself, and tried not to think about the fact that after he was done for the evening, there'd be nothing for him in his empty house except a walk with Big Blue and takeout he'd eat by himself in front of his computer screen.

And then a loud noise sounded. Damned gate buzzer. It had been ringing intermittently throughout the day, as reporters tried—and failed—to gain entry to the property. He'd locked the front gates that opened onto the long driveway as a precaution, and usually once he ignored the buzzer, they'd give up and go away.

At this point, he wished he could go back to Manhattan, but he had no place there to keep Big Blue. Then there was the not-so-insignificant fact that he'd grown used to having him around. The dog was good-natured and Marc liked the company.

Don't forget the reason why he's so good-natured.

Grace's influence was everywhere, from the newfound affection he had for Blue to the fact that he enjoyed being in Eastbridge to his new homebody ways. He found he didn't want to travel as much, preferring to be in one of his homes than on the road.

The buzzer sounded again, jerking him from his thoughts. With a deep sigh, he turned to the other computer monitor he had set up to wirelessly stream the feed and clicked it on.

He expected an annoying reporter or photographer. Maybe a delivery person. But to his surprise, it was his dad.

Norton was sitting in his Maserati, window down, eyeing the video camera suspiciously, as if the thing were foreign to him. And no wonder. In all the years of Aunt Sarah living here, he couldn't remember her once locking the gates.

Marc pressed the talk button. “Hi, Dad. Hang on a second,” he said into the microphone, then buzzed him in.

Norton rolled up the window of the car, then eased through the gates. Marc quickly shut them, then went to the front door to greet his dad.

Norton parked the car and the moment he got out, Marc noted how much older he looked. How much smaller. And how dejected his expression seemed. Yes, that was it. As if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Why aren't you at work?” Marc asked, forgoing the niceties. “Is everything okay? Are you sick?”

“Everleigh dumped me.”

His dad clenched his jaw, just like Marc did. It was strange, seeing so much of himself reflected in that one simple gesture.

Marc opened the front door wider. “You'd better come in.”

He turned and his dad followed him inside.

“Coffee?” Marc asked over his shoulder. “I have plenty.” He'd taken to brewing himself a huge pot, as if he were at his office, and nursing multiple cups throughout the day.

“I was hoping for something stronger,” Norton told him.

“You're welcome to check Aunt Sarah's liquor cabinet,” Marc said. “It's in the parlor, but I can't vouch for its contents.”

His dad shuffled off to the parlor while Marc went to the kitchen and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. In a few moments, he heard the clinking of decanters and ancient liquor bottles. Eventually Norton returned with a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid in his hand.

“Only thing worth drinking was the sherry,” Norton said, taking a sip and grimacing. “But it's better than nothing.”

Marc leaned against the kitchen counter and eyed his father. “You're clearly not sick if you're drinking sherry that's probably half a century old. Want to tell me what's really going on?”

Norton put his sherry down and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You were right, okay?”

Marc frowned. “About what?”

“Everything.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Everleigh was using me,” Norton said. “And I can tell you're not surprised.”

“I don't think anyone is,” Marc returned.

Norton drank more sherry. “She dumped me and started dating a member of the hospital board. He's a billionaire. And a decade younger than me.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that,” Marc said, truly meaning it.

“Don't bullshit me. You're thrilled that I got dumped.”

“Hardly. I'm just a bit surprised that your desire to talk to me was prompted by your ex-girlfriend.” Marc gave him an even look.

“Fine. You're right again.” Norton let out a breath. “Carrick had an aneurism last night. He didn't make it.”

Dr. Rand Carrick was one of his dad's colleagues, a prominent surgeon who'd come up the ranks with Norton. They'd even done their residencies together. He was a solid man, and Marc had always liked him.

“It was shocking, to say the least, and to happen so soon on the heels of Sarah's death?” Norton shook his head. “That's two people I cared about.
Really
cared about, and you know I don't care for that many people.”

Marc knew.

“I know it's screwed up,” Norton continued, “but ever since Sarah died, I've been thinking more about my own mortality. About how I want to be remembered when I die. Life is so short, so ridiculously short, and what the hell am I doing with it except screwing around?” He shook his head. “Listen to me talking like this. I'm old and pathetic. Come on. Lay it on me. I deserve it.”

“I don't kick people when they're down,” Marc said. “Besides, why would I want to hurt my own father?”

“Because you hate me. Because I hurt your mother. Because I hurt you.”

Marc sighed. “I don't hate you, Dad.”

“You should. I've acted like an asshole. Truth is, I was envious of you.”

“Of me? What are you talking about?”

“You have everything, Marc.”

“So do you!” Marc retorted. “A great career, money, hot women throwing themselves at you…what more do you want?”

“Sure. I have a gift,” Norton said bitterly. “I save people. So what?”

“Saving people is important,” Marc said.

Norton shrugged. “I look at you, with your confidence and your purpose. You don't give a shit what people say or think about you. You do what you want and you live your life on your terms. I'm not going to live forever. When you die, you'll have monuments in your name—massive buildings that you made. But when I die, what are people going to remember me for? What's my legacy?”

“Life. Life is your legacy.”

“I don't know that it's enough.”

“Is that why you slept with my girlfriend? It was some kind of weird competition for you?”

Norton nodded miserably. “I figured if a woman like that—a woman who wanted you—could want me, then we'd be equals.”

Jesus.
His own dad was seriously screwed up. Had been for years, and only now was he confessing why.

“Look, I was furious when you slept with Kiera,” Marc said frankly. “But that was as much on her as it was on you. We're not in competition for anything. We never were. And I sure as hell don't hate you. You're my
father.
”

“I haven't been much of one,” Norton said sadly. “I never have been—not to you, not to your sisters. I've been so focused on my own insecurities that I didn't realize what an idiot I've been.”

“I'll be the first to admit that you've fallen a little short in the dad department, especially with me,” Marc said. “And I hate the way you ran around on mom. But the thing about family is that no matter what happens, you're still family. It's unconditional. I don't care about your power or prestige or what people think about you. You're my dad. That's never going to change.”

As he said the words, he realized their truth. No matter how many times Norton had messed things up, no matter how annoyed Marc got with him, blood was still blood.

“So…I haven't screwed things up for good?”

“No,” he found himself saying. Because he'd always give him another chance. Always. “I love you, Dad. Although at this point in my life, I find myself needing less of a father…” Norton's face fell. “…and more of a friend. Do you think we could try?”

Norton smiled then. A grateful smile, filled with humility. It was the first time Marc could ever recall seeing that expression on his father's face. Slowly, cautiously, Norton put his sherry down.

Marc stood there for a moment, watching. He'd waited too damned long for his dad to acknowledge him as a son, as a man. But now that his father was here, so broken, so afraid of being rejected, Marc knew he had to be the one to make the first move.

It wasn't until Marc crossed the room to give him a hug and squeezed his dad's solid form tightly that he realized how badly he'd wanted this. He held his father for a long time in the stillness of the kitchen.

When he finally pulled back, he saw that his dad's eyes were red.

“So how does this work?” Norton asked.

“I don't know,” Marc admitted. “But I'm guessing it means we build our relationship from the ground up. You tell me what's going on in your life and I tell you what's going on in mine. We don't try to pretend that we're competing with each other because we're not. We never have been.”

“I can try to do that.”

“And you stop being a total dick.”

Norton flinched, but he nodded all the same. “I can try that, too.”

“And do me a favor?”

“What's that?”

“Go see Mom.”

At this, his dad's lips went tight. “I can't.”

“You can. I'm not saying you two should be back together, but I think you owe her an apology. Alexa and Whitney, too, but Mom most of all.”

Norton nodded. “Okay.” His dad looked down, then back up at him. “So, what do we do now?”

It was strange, his father asking him what he wanted, looking to him for advice, for guidance. He didn't mind.

“We begin again. We talk; we have lunch occasionally. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes,” Norton said. “Yes, I think I can.”

Big Blue padded up, his leash in his mouth, and dropped the leather strap at Marc's feet.

Marc smiled. “Good. Let's start now.”

“Now? You mean like right now?” Norton looked faintly alarmed.

“Yes.” Marc clipped the leash onto Blue's collar and handed it to his dad. “Forget the sherry. Taking Blue for a walk is just what you need.”

Gingerly, Norton took the leash.

“Tightly, now,” Marc said. “Else he's liable to run away with you.”

“What are you— Whoa!” Blue made a beeline for the door, jerking Norton along with him.

Marc laughed. “I'll be right behind you,” he called out after his dad.

Things were going to be different this time. He just knew they were.