Page 27 of At His Wife's Behest

“Your father took a boy and filled him with shame. That’s abuse in my book.”

Kellan tensed, the shadows of the past always close. “Are you calling me a victim?”

“No.” Connor released his chin and caressed his cheek. “We all have people in our past who’ve crossed lines. Some more than others. Our parents and caregivers had their own prejudices and childhood trauma to contend with. Mistakes are made. I’m sure you’ve don’t things you regret with Abigail.”

Kellan nodded. He worked hard not to pass his bullshit down to her, but he’d had missteps. Being confronted with his own narrow-mindedness in that moment made him realize maybe he’d screwed up more than he realized.

“If we let those bad moments define who we are, we let people like your father win. Don’t let him define you.” He pressed a kiss to Kellan’s forehead and gazed down.

Kellan inhaled, wanting another kiss. To taste Connor on his lips and tongue.

To let the unlearning begin then and there.

He opened his mouth, hunger raging… but he remained silent.Kiss him.

There was hunger in Connor’s eyes, too.

Kiss me.

Connor smiled before moving past… and the moment was gone.He just saw how damaged I am. Why would he want to kiss me now?

Kellan stood rooted to the spot, Connor’s comments digging deep.Don’t let him define you.

When he spun toward the entrance, he saw Connor waiting. He approached hesitantly; not sure he was ready for more of the man’s insights—or where they’d lead him. He didn’t want to relive the pain of the past.

What am I saying? I relive it every fucking day of my life.

Letting my father win.

He paused inches away from Connor, who reached for his hand.

Kellan stared at the hand, instinct screaming. For once, he ignored his inner policing. Connor’s fingers entwined with his. He glanced down at their hands, instinct screaming to pull away. He fought the urge, tightening his grip and lifting his gaze to Connor.

Choose to be something more.

Connor grinned, a dimple Kellan had yet to notice appearing above his beard line. “Let’s go.”

They entered the museum, marveling over the pieces, with Kellan doing a piss-poor job of translating. It was enough for them to get the idea. Kellan wasn’t as interested in the art or the furniture or the architecture. He couldn’t take his eyes off Connor… or the sensation of their joined hands. His heart sped, the simple joy of having his hand held was almost too much for him to process.

After the museum, they explored the town of Varenna. They strolled along the Riva Grande before they stopped for a midday meal. Another ferry ride brought them to town of Bellagio where they ended up traveling to the Salita Mella —which they’d been told was one of the most Instagrammed locations in the world. The narrow alleyway was filled with bright, colorful shops and eateries that held a certain French style, in his opinion, with second and third story wrought iron balconies reminiscent of his trips to the French Quarter in New Orleans.

In one of the shops, Kellan found a necklace for Emma and a bracelet for Abigail and tucked them into the large pocket of his lightweight jacket. As the sun began its descent, they climbed aboard the ferry one last time, headed back to the villa. They were both exhausted from their travels—he more than Connor. He’d struggled to keep up with Connor’s level of energy. Hesupposed being a first-grade teacher, Connor needed that kind of stamina to corral fifteen six-year-olds day in and day out.

A chill filled the air once the sun set. Connor moved in close, wrapping an arm around his back. He smiled, realizing the voice in his head had gone silent after one day of being ignored. He leaned his head on Connor’s shoulder, reveling in the small intimacy of the moment.

Once home, Connor heated the dinner Ana Maria had left for them. Kellan excused himself for a phone call. Emma answered on the third ring.

“I was beginning to think you were too busy to call home,” she said, a hint of humor to her voice.

“We’ve been exploring today.”

“Exploring one another, I hope.”

Kellan scoffed. “Varenna and Bellagio.”

“What time is it there? Six?”

“Seven,” Kellan remarked.

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