“No?”
He shakes his head.
“My parents took out a second mortgage when I was starting out.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, then goes on before I can say anything. “I’d put everything I had into the first workshop and still came up short when the manufacturing costs started climbing. Mum and Dad remortgaged the house to cover the gap.”
I stare at him.
“That’s... a hell of a vote of confidence.”
“Or temporary insanity.”
I smile faintly.
“They believed in you.”
“Hm.”
There’s something in his face when he says it.
Something quieter than pride.
Almost reverent.
I think of his parents signing papers against their home because their son said trust me.
That kind of faith doesn’t come from nowhere.
“And you paid them back,” I say.
It isn’t really a question.
Mark snorts softly.
“With interest. Mum still reminds me she should have charged more.”
That gets a laugh out of me.
But the warmth in my chest remains.
Because if anything, this makes it better.
Not a man born cushioned.
Not a man handed an empire.
A man who was given a chance and then carried the rest himself.
I take a sip of coffee.
Study him over the rim.
“That,” I say, “is what’s impressive.”
His eyes hold mine.
Not joking now.
