Honesty was the only way forward.
I sucked in a deep breath and faced my father, too determined to flinch when confronted with his small frown.
“I need to talk to you,” I said firmly. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you about my life. Important things that I’ve been too worried to share with you because I’ve been scared of how you’ll react. But I can’t keep secrets anymore.”
His lips thinned beneath his thick moustache, and his eyes crinkled at the corners with a shadow of strain. “You can talk to me about anything.”
I shook my head and dashed a tear from my cheek, hating the burn in my cheeks. I wasn’t at all ashamed of my love for Joseph and Marco. So why did I feel so small in my father’s shadow, squirming at the prospect of his disapproval?
I lifted my chin and met him squarely in the eye. “I know I can, but that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable talking to you about everything in my life. All I’ve ever wanted was to make you proud, and…” My throat constricted, but I forced out the words, reminding myself that his pride didn’t matter; my men were proud of everything that I was, and that was all I needed. “You can be judgmental, Dad,” I finished.
The stark truth hung between us for a moment, his jaw slightly slack at the shock of my words. I’d never confronted him about anything, least of all our strained relationship.
“I’m not saying this to be accusatory or anything,” I rushed to continue. “But I need to be honest with you, and I know you’re not going to understand. But I hope you can find it in your heart to accept me as I am.”
He blinked as though I’d slapped him. “Of course I accept you, Ashlyn. I love you.”
“I know,” I said thickly, his declaration forming a lump in my throat. “I love you too. And I hope… I hope you can understand.”
“Talk to me,” he urged, more gently than he’d spoken to me in years. His warm hand rested on my shoulder, comforting.
I drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m with Marco,” I began my confession, “and I’m also with Joseph. I love them both. We’re a family. We’re getting married. All three of us.” I fingered the three diamond rings that adorned my left hand. “I want…” I choked on the plea, terrified of his answer. “I want you to be there. At the wedding. I want you to be part of my life. I want you to accept me as I am.”
My dad’s brow furrowed, and his mouth disappeared beneath his moustache as it twisted in distaste. “You can’t be serious.”
A chasm opened in the center of my chest, something crumbling inside me. His obvious disdain cut at me, but I filled my heart with all of my love for Marco and Joseph, drawing on that endless well of approval and unconditional affection to bolster my resolve in this awful moment.
I couldn’t live for my father’s judgmental standards anymore. Those days had been behind me for a while now. I’d just been too much of a coward to fully come clean with him. I loved my dad, but I loved my men more. They accepted all of me, just as I accepted all of them.
I had to live for my own happiness now—mine and theirs. I wanted my father in my life, but not at the cost of our happiness. Not at the cost of Marco’s pain.
“I love them,” I declared, straightening my shoulders. “Both of them. I hope you can accept that because nothing will change it. We’re in love, and we’re getting married. The three of us.”
He stared at me for a long, terribly silent moment, his blue eyes going hard. “You can’t do that. It’s not even legal.”
“I don’t care,” I shot back. “And I would say I don’t care what you think, but that would be a lie.” A hot tear scoured my cheek. “I’ve always cared what you think. I’ve cared too much. But I love you, and I want you to accept me. I’m asking you to accept my choices.”
I wasn’t just asking; I was begging. I was laying my soul bare, right out in public. Any passersby could see me crying, could hear my voice hitching as I pleaded for my dad’s approval. It was one of the most vulnerable moments of my life, and he could crush me with a word.
I wished Marco were with me. He’d come to support me, and I’d hurt him deeply.
As the silence stretched between my father and me, desperation to get back to my men—back to Marco—clawed at my insides. They were all that mattered. I needed to be with them, surrounded by their strength and love.
Not here, crying on the sidewalk as my father’s disapproval tore at my heart.
“I don’t understand this,” he finally said in a low, tight rumble. “I don’t understand you, Ashlyn.”
All the air left my lungs as though he’d punched me in the chest.
No, he’d never understood me. I’d never been the daughter he wanted me to be, and I couldn’t be that person.
“I know,” I whispered, bleeding inside.
I spun on my heel and raced away from him, toward my home. Toward my men, my family.
My father didn’t call after me. He didn’t approve of me. I’d been a fool to think he’d come to the wedding, that he might even walk me down the aisle. I’d put myself on the line with my stark honesty, and he had crushed me.