Page 74

I smiled. Didn't argue.

Isabella had real talent. After graduating from FIT, she could've walked straight into IS·MA Group's executive training program. Instead she chose to pull all-nighters under those vampire editors in Manhattan. That stubbornness—pure me.

"By the way." She looked up suddenly, mischief flashing in her eyes. "Guess what I found out recently?"

"What?" I swallowed my bite of lamb.

"My best friend's in love."

My hand paused, barely. Then resumed. "Yeah? Good for her."

"Not just any love." Isabella shrugged. "The guy she fell for? Super complicated situation."

"How complicated?" I asked casually, not particularly interested. Isabella had a wide social circle. Her "best friends" I'd never met, never asked about. That was her private life. I respected her boundaries.

"Huge age gap. Plus the guy has a kid." Isabella stabbed at her plate. "Not a small kid either."

My hand froze on the wine glass.

But I crushed the thought. New York was huge. Plenty of men had kids. Couldn't be that much of a coincidence.

"Her mom thinks she's lost her mind." Isabella snorted. "Says the old bastard's just looking for fresh meat, says a poor girl like her doesn't belong with someone like him, says she'll get tossed out like garbage eventually."

"What did you tell her?" I asked, my voice heavier than expected.

"I told her age doesn't matter." Isabella didn't hesitate. "If they really love each other, nothing else counts. And if that man's kid really loves their father, she'll want him to be happy."

I stared at my wine glass, at that dark red liquid, something complicated churning inside.

My daughter was measuring someone else's relationship by these standards. And she had no idea—these words she was saying might be exactly what Ruby needed to hear from her.

"Mature perspective." I raised my glass slightly. "You've grown up, Isa."

"I've always been mature." She lifted her chin proudly. "You're the one who thinks I'm still a kid."

I smiled. Didn't argue.

In my eyes, no matter how old she got, she'd always be my little girl. But I knew—she'd already become an adult with her own thoughts, her own principles.

"Speaking of which." Isabella suddenly switched gears, her eyes sharpening. "What's really going on with you tonight? Since you walked in, that little smile hasn't left your face once. Come on, spill—something good happen?"

I set down my wine glass carefully beside the napkin. Said nothing.

Isabella's eyes widened slowly.

"Wait." She leaned forward on her elbows, expression shifting from teasing to disbelief. "You're not—you can't be serious. Am I getting a new mom?"

"Maybe." I leaned back, watching her. "Not sure yet."

"Not sure?" Her voice shot up. "Daddy, you just basically—oh my God, this is insane! Who is she? Do I know her? What does she do? How old is she?"

"Not the time to tell you yet." I cut off her rapid-fire questions. "I need to make sure she's ready first."

"Ready for what?"

"Ready to accept all this." I gazed at the liquid in my glass. "Accept me. Accept my past. Accept... you."

Isabella froze.