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“Not your mother. I’m talking about your father’s family.”
Connor frowns, clearly perplexed. “Why do you think they wouldn’t have accepted you?”
“I don’t just think it, Connor. Iknow.”
His eyes narrow as he processes what I’ve said. I can see the wheels turning as he tries to put it all together. “Tell me exactly what was said to you.” His expression darkens. “Who said it and when?”
I stare down at our hands, joined together. It’s the first time we’ve touched in years, and yet it still feels so right. “Connor, please—”
“Tell me,” he insists, tightening his grip on my hand.
“It was your grandfather, at his birthday party.”
Connor scowls. “When did you talk to him? I don’t remember—”
“When you were called away to speak to your mother. One of your cousins—Arthur, I think it was—came to get me. He said your grandfather wanted to speak to me. I didn’t think anything of it, so I went with him.”
He suddenly goes very still. “Go on.”
“Arthur led me through a maze of shrubs into a rose garden at the center, where I found your grandfather seated on a marble bench beside a fountain. He asked me to sit with him, so I did. I was nervous, but I didn’t expect him to say what he said.”
“Which was?” When I hesitate, he says, “Kennedy, please. I deserve to know the truth.”
I stare down at our joined hands. “He said, ‘Do you honestly think I’d let my heir marry outside of his social class? I would disown him in a heartbeat if he attempted something so idiotic.’”
Connor pales and shakes his head. “He wouldn’t have said that to you.”
I don’t blame Connor for not believing me. No one wants to think of a beloved family member in that way. “He did, Connor. He said, ‘My grandson will never be permitted to marry a foreigner—an American—let alone someone of your ethnicity. He’ll marry an appropriate young lady from his own social class.’ What he meant was a blue-blooded British girl with a proper pedigree. Not me.”
Connor looks positively ill. “Kennedy.”
Unable to help myself, I reach out to cup his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to know.”
He brings my hand to his lips to kiss. “You know I don’t care about any of that.”
“But they did. At least your grandfather did. He threatened to disinherit you, Connor. I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t want—” I stop there, closing my eyes at the threat of fresh tears spilling over.
He holds my hand in both of his. “You didn’t want what?”
I pull my hand free and shoot to my feet to put some space between us. “I didn’t want to ruin your life.”
He stands, too. “That’s ironic, Kennedy, because youdidruin my life.” His voice drops an octave, raw with emotion. “You ruined it when you left me.”
We’re standing face to face, and I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. I ignore the tears pooling in my eyes and force the words past the lump in my throat. “Please don’t say that.”
He threads his fingers into my hair and cups the back of my neck. “Why not? It’s the truth.” His gaze lowers to my mouth, and I don’t think I’m imagining the hunger I see in his eyes.
“Because it hurts.” My throat tightens, and I’m about to start crying any second. “Go,” I beg, steering him toward the door. “Please.”
He does as I ask, but pauses at the threshold. “I was sent down here to tell you that dinner’s ready. We’re expected up at the house.”
I wipe my damp cheeks with shaky hands. “Go on without me. I need a few minutes.”
“All right.” He sounds resigned, defeated. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, Ken. I was just being honest.”
I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak. “I guess it’s past time for some honesty between us.”No matter how much it hurts.
Connor walks out of my room, closing the door behind him and leaving me to grieve alone.
