Page 5 of At His Wife’s Behest

F eet pounding on the pavement, Kellan took the same route he did most mornings for his jog.

He wound his way through Emma’s mother’s elaborate gardens, down the long, winding paved lane, and then back up to the house, sweat coating his body.

The Shelbys had modeled their estate on an English manor.

In the middle East Texas. The water bill for the garden alone would likely bankrupt Emma in a few years’ time.

Add in the pool and Abigail’s love for the soaking tub, and that cut the time in half.

Once he hit the expansive front stairs, he switched off his exercise time on his Apple Watch and pulled the earplugs from his ears where Dua Lipa was Levitating.

Walking the run out, he panted in the late April heat.

Another glance at his watch had him cursing.

He was late. After a rushed shower, he tugged on a pair of shorts and a tee so he could wake Abigail for school.

“Time to get up, sleepyhead,” Kellan murmured while gently shaking her.

He snickered at her growl. His daughter wasn’t a morning person.

She always appeared to have done battle overnight, and from how she appeared most mornings, she was rarely the victor.

Abigail lay sideways in her bed, one arm sticking out of the neck hole of her pajamas with her shoulder-length hair standing in every direction.

Her little nose wrinkled as he continued wake her.

“You’ve got school. Let’s get a move on.” He rose and whipped open the curtains.

“Daddy.” She turned her face away from the sunlight pouring into her room. “You’re mean.”

“So mean,” he replied. He sat her up and pulled her arm back into the armhole. “You’re coming out of your pajamas.”

“It was hot,” she mumbled, her eyes still closed. She leaned against him, clinging to sleep.

He rose, lifting her. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, limp in his arms. “Do you really want to miss your friends today?”

Abigail sighed in his ear.

“What about Amelia Bedelia?”

That got her attention. Amelia Bedelia, one of the goldfish in the class aquarium, had laid a ton of eggs a few days before. It was all Abigail and her friends seemed capable of talking about when he dropped her off in the mornings of late.

She lifted her head, eyelids still droopy. “Oh, yeah.”

“What if the guppies come when you’re not there?”

Abigail gasped. “Noooo.”

Kellan took the stairs, headed for the kitchen where their housekeeper was preparing breakfast. “I guess you’d best wake up and get ready for school, hmm? You don’t want to be the last one to see them.”

“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?”

“Cecelia Bedelia,” 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 and sat 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.”

“Your company,” 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 go today. 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 have no sense of style,” Emma said, scanning his closet.

Kellan couldn’t dress too fashionably 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 for yourself. 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.”

“When’s the last time you took a vacation?”

He considered the question. “We went to the Hamptons last summer.”

“Summer before last. With four kids under six in tow. That was work, not a vacation.” She peeked through the crack. “A real vacation. Where you could relax and recharge. When was the last one?”

Before Abby was born. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Once all this craziness is over, I plan to take a vacation of my own. Greece sounds tempting. Maybe a private island where Mandy and I can disappear for a while.” She prodded his arm. “You need a little you time.”

“Think we can push it to summer? Then I could take Abby with me.”

“You time, Kel. Quiet, alone time. We’re about to go through a firestorm when we announce the divorce and again when I walk out hand-in-hand with Mandy. Take advantage of the calm before it.”

Alone? When was the last time he was completely alone?

A week in Italy, though. It was tempting.

Work had been non-stop for months only to have the bedlam of Emma’s father’s passing added to.

It was also a good reason to avoid his father, who was still harping about the campaign he refused to help with.

“I’ve never been away from Abby that long. ”

“She’ll survive a week with her mother. I promise.”

“I’ll have to see if I can wiggle time off at the last minute. I already had to take the time when Marshall passed.”

“Tell Cross that you need to handle something for your poor, stupid wife who doesn’t have a lick of sense.

That’ll get him going,” Emma said. She leaned on the doorframe, watching as he picked a tie.

“No, not that one, Mr. Colorblind.” She grabbed another.

“This one. It compliments your blue eyes.” She wrapped the tie around his neck and worked the knot.

“I don’t know why you don’t just quit your job. I know you hate it there.”

“And do what? Can I be the new CEO of Shelby and Sons?” He sniggered. “Kind of funny that there’s no more sons left.”

“One of my father’s few regrets. They’d worked so hard.

Years and years of fertility treatments.

Miscarriage after miscarriage. It’s a miracle Mom had me at forty-three.

” Emma brushed a hand down his tie to straighten it.

“And then I show up with no Y chromosome. Such a disappointment.” Emma chuckled.

“When I come out, he’s going to spin so hard in his grave that they should hook him up and use him as a generator.

Maybe I should suggest it to the board? Another revenue stream. ”

“You’re terrible,” Kellan murmured through a smirk.

She pressed his tie down again. “Back to my question.”

“Hmm?” he asked, glancing in the mirror and straightening the tie.

“Quit.”

“And work where?”

“Be a man of leisure. We can globe-trot together.”

“One, we have a six-year-old. Two, we’re getting divorced.” He brushed past her with a pair of socks and shoes in hand and sat on the bench at the end of his bed.

Emma followed him out. “We could home school Abby from a luxury yacht in the Maldives.” She sat down beside him. “And divorce or no, you’re still my best friend. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, leaning his shoulder into hers. After pressing a kiss to her forehead, he added a missing piece. “You forgot number three. You’re the new CEO and Chairman of the Board. You have responsibilities here. No globe-trotting for you.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Kellan drew on one sock and turned to eye her. “Welcome.”

She smiled. “So, it’s settled. You’re going to go to Italy and handle the house stuff while I stay here in estate purgatory.”

“I didn’t totally agree yet.”