Page 9 of At His Wife's Behest

“Mr. Quaid says if there’s enough babies, we all get to name one.”

“Very cool,” he murmured, stepping off the last tread and turning toward the kitchen, ignoring his reaction to her comment. “Have you picked a name yet?”

“CeceliaBedelia,” Abigail whispered. She grinned, obviously pleased with herself.

Kellan snorted with laughter. “A very fine name indeed.”

He sat Abigail at the table seconds before Mrs. Jacobs, the housekeeper, settled a plate in front of her. “Your favorite this morning, Miss Abby.”

Abby gasped with delight. “Chocolate Chip Pancakes!”

“And you would’ve missed them had you not woke up,” Kellan said before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “What do you say, Abby?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jacobs.”

“You’re very welcome, young lady.” Mrs. Jacobs turned to him. “Can I get you a plate, Mr. Rhodes? Chocolate is optional.”

“No, thank you,” he marched across the kitchen and grabbed a mug. “Just some coffee for me this morning.”

“You’re supposed to eat breakfast, Daddy! Mr. Quaid says it the most important meal of the day.”

Kellan stiffened again. Already late, he eyed Mrs. Jacobs, who wore a victorious smirk, and sighed. He poured his coffee andsat down. Their housekeeper slid a plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs in front of him. As he ate part of his breakfast, he listened to Abigail recount the book her nanny, Ms. Price, had read to her at bedtime the night before. He hated not tucking her in himself, both he and Emma had been working late to catch up from time lost.

“I know it’s not on your normal task list, but do you mind getting Abby ready for school?” he asked Mrs. Jacobs. “I need to finish getting dressed.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Rhodes.”

“Thank you,” he said. He eyed Abigail. “No mischief.”

Abigail grinned wickedly, taking Mrs. Jacob’s hand.

They all headed upstairs. When Kellan entered his bedroom, he noted Emma looking through his closet.

“I thought you’d already left,” he said, curious what she was doing. “Don’t you have an early meeting?”

“I rescheduled it. I’m exhausted.” Emma turned and flashed him a smile. “I had a call last night and need some help. My parents’ vacation house on Lake Como needs to go on the market. Someone needs to be there to discuss all the particulars with the agent. I was wondering if you might go for me?”

“Why can’t you?”

“I’m dealing with estate matters and probate… all while trying to run my father’s company.”

“Yourcompany,” Kellan corrected, noting her smile. “I have work. I can’t fly off to Italy at a moment’s notice.”

“You don’t have to gotoday.But it needs to be as soon as possible. A couple of weeks won’t hurt anything.”

Kellan shook his head, reaching past her and pulling down a pair of navy slacks from a hanger.

“You know, for a gay man, you havenosense of style,” Emma said, scanning his closet.

Kellan couldn’t dresstoofashionably or else he’d risk questions. He’d once worn a purple tie and his father had gone on a diatribe about gender roles and the destruction of the country because, quote, men weren’t manly enough anymore. “It’s a business suit. It doesn’t need to be flashy.” He urged her out of the closet and closed the door three-quarters before slipping off his shorts. “I don’t know if I can go, Em.”

“You’re always working or taking care of Abby or me… you deserve a little time foryourself.Fly to Italy, stay at the house for a while. See the sights. I can arrange for the agent to meet you there at some point.”

Kellan drew on his button down.“For a while?I’d only need a couple of days, at most.”

“You’d seriously fly all the way to Italy only to turn around and fly home?”

“I’m still behind due to the funeral.”

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