The Runaway Bride

Bernie leaned her head back. Her life had been so carefully planned. She was going to marry Calvin, and they were going to make their bid for the White House. Bernadette would learn the family business for when she eventually took over from her father, and one day when Calvin’s presidency was behind them, they’d run the Morgan dynasty together. And perhaps she’d been naïve, but she’d honestly believed that she was beautiful and intelligent enough to capture her husband’s heart. The flames to their romance might have been fanned with money, but she’d expected monogamy. But now everything—absolutely everything—was going to be different. And that included her running the Morgan family business, because she’d just infuriated her father so badly that he might very well change his mind. She passed a hand over her face.

Liam had taken Ike back to his place across the street earlier in the evening. That mechanic had been kind to her. Heaven knew how crazy she’d looked when she’d driven up. After he and the toddler had left, she’d gone to the washroom and seen herself in the mirror for the first time; it wasn’t a pretty sight. She had makeup streaked down her face from crying, her hair was in tangles, and the dress was dusty and torn.

She’d wrestled her way out of the dress—popping a few buttons and managing to tear the skirt even further—and then sat on the closed toilet lid and had a good cry.

Vince’s wife, Tabby, was used to this. Vince had always had some girl on the side—that was just the way he was.

But Bernie wasn’t as tough as Tabby was. She couldn’t stand next to Calvin in a campaign, declaring him to be twice the man he really was. She wasn’t that good a liar, and she didn’t care to be.

“Hot chocolate?”

Bernie roused herself from her thoughts, and looked up to find her aunt standing in front of her, a cup of frothy cocoa in her hands.

“Thanks.” Bernie took the mug with a grateful smile. “I haven’t had unnecessary calories in five months in order to fit into that stupid dress.”

“Then time to make up for it,” Lucille replied with a low laugh, sinking onto the sofa beside her. “I’ve got pie in the kitchen, too.”

Bernie took a sip. “I couldn’t do what Tabby does.”

“Vince’s wife?” Lucille asked. “How do you think she’ll react if she finds out about Ike?”

Bernie shook her head, then glanced out the living room window again toward Liam’s house. “She probably already knows.”

Tabby was the genius behind Vince’s political campaigns. She acted meek, beaming up at her tall, meaty husband, but somehow she’d managed to disconnect her heart from the game. How did a woman do that? How did she support a man whom she knew was a cheater?

“You aren’t like her,” Lucille concluded.

“No,” Bernie replied. “I’m not. I couldn’t just stand there and pretend everything was perfectly fine when it wasn’t. I actually thought Calvin would be faithful.”

“I’m glad you came,” Lucille said with a sympathetic smile. “And I’m glad you aren’t that good an actress. It says something about you that you can’t fake it.”

“My parents wouldn’t agree with that,” she replied in a low voice.

“What did they tell you about me?” Lucille asked. There was tension in her voice, and she looked away.

“Oh, you don’t want to know that.” Bernie laughed uncomfortably. Her father had never had anything good to say about his sister.

“No, I do.” Lucille looked back. “I always hoped your dad would come around one day and make contact. He never did. Then I hoped that you’d get curious about your aunt...”

“Why didn’t you come around?” Bernie asked.

“I wasn’t welcome. I was also a little scared. I didn’t know what he’d told you.”

Bernie grimaced. “He said you were a social and political liability.”

That was the kind way of putting it. What her father had actually said was that Lucille was low-class, and even with money, she acted like a poor person with nothing to lose. He said she was grasping and selfish, and he suspected that she had some untreated mental illness.

“My father told me about your grandmother’s engagement ring,” Bernie said after a moment. “Is that really what started this whole feud—a ring?”

“It was more than a ring.” Lucille’s mouth turned downward, and she fell silent.

“What was it?” Bernie pressed.

Lucille heaved a sigh. “It was your father’s domineering ways. He didn’t ask me for the ring, he demanded it. He told me that unless I came with a sincere apology for my insulting behavior and the ring, then I was dead to him.”

“And you couldn’t do it.”

“I had my pride,” she replied. “I still do. He demanded that I genuflect like the household help, tug at my cap like a chauffeur. He’d inherited the whole shebang, and I was slotted in below him. He liked that role—ruling us all. And I didn’t.”

Bernadette could understand that, actually. Her father was a prideful man, and he took his position in society and in the family very seriously—perhaps more seriously than anyone else did. A lot of people would have complied with that demand, but they weren’t his sister.

“I get it,” Bernie said. “But you walked away from an awful lot of money.”

“I still get my lifelong allowance from my father’s inheritance,” Lucille replied. “It’s enough to live on now that Arnie’s gone. I didn’t walk away from that. I walked away from the duties, the social obligations. I walked away from the houses that would be paid for by my brother—and all the strings that came with them. I refused to be handled. And Milhouse wouldn’t bend. So—” She spread her hands. “It is what it is.”

She’d refused to be handled. Bernie had just done the same thing when she’d turned off her phone and driven west. Her parents had always “handled” her, and until today, she’d never minded. She’d done her duty, shown up at cocktail parties and dinners and made nice with various politicians. She was a general media favorite, and she liked the attention.

But now she wouldn’t do what they wanted. She wouldn’t smile for the press and say something sweet and submissive like, “Calvin and I are so sorry to disappoint everyone today, but we’ve done some soul-searching together, and we really feel...”

That would be a lie. They’d done zero soul-searching, least of all together, and she wasn’t going to stand there, making the cad look like a decent man to protect his ambitions.

“I think I want some of that pie,” Lucille said, rising to her feet. “I’ll bring you a piece.”

Looking around that living room, Bernadette saw the worn patches on the sofa, the slightly shabby furniture, her aunt’s wide hips and grubby slippers. Lucille had walked away from the obligations and social demands that came with wealth and a privileged family, and she’d landed here, in a town called Runt River. Here, in the midst of ordinary. There were no maids or housekeepers. Everything looked faded and worn instead of chic and elegant. Personal indulgence came in the form of a mug of hot chocolate made from a pouch of powder, instead of European truffles or a crystal dish of chocolate mousse. Gone were the luxuries and comforts Bernadette had been accustomed to, because with a similar sense of outrage and commitment to utter truthfulness, Bernadette had done the same thing her aunt had done—defied Milhouse Morgan.

What have I done?

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS THREE in the morning, and Liam stood in the middle of his living room in a pair of pajama bottoms and an undershirt, with Ike screaming in his arms. When Leanne died, he’d gone down to her apartment and gotten Ike’s things—toys, clothes, diapers. Her parents had died years ago, and she had a cousin who had some addiction issues, but no one else. Liam hadn’t put together a funeral. Leanne had been cremated, and he’d sprinkled her ashes in a field.

She hadn’t owned her home or anything like that, so besides paying off her credit cards, there hadn’t been too much to deal with. He’d left the last of her things in the apartment for the landlords to clear out. It might not have been their job, but he’d done as much as he could with the help of his foster brother, Tim. He couldn’t face any more.

A few local moms had dropped off some hand-me-down clothes for Ike over the past few weeks, but the boy was wearing pajamas with trains on them that Liam had brought from the apartment. They were a bit small, but he seemed to sense that they were part of his life with his mom, and he wouldn’t wear anything else. Liam didn’t push the matter. The poor boy had enough change to deal with.

Ike’s face was wet with tears, and his crying hadn’t slowed. They’d both been up for an hour already.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, raising his voice above Ike’s wails. “Let’s talk about this.”

Ike didn’t seem so inclined, and Liam heaved a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, looking for his own calm. He understood Ike’s anger—his mom was gone, and he was with a bunch of strangers who couldn’t possibly make up for her absence. But Liam was trying.

For the past month, Ike had responded to being held, liked some stories. Liam had let Ike stay awake in front of the TV until he dropped off in exhaustion and slept through until daybreak. But tonight was different—something had triggered a meltdown, and Liam couldn’t help but wonder if it had been Bernie’s arrival. Ike had been raised without a father, and maybe right now he needed a woman’s touch.

Ike’s sobs weren’t abating. His hands were bunched into rage-filled fists, and he stiffened like a board as he howled.

“Hey, buddy...” Liam looked across the street, and there was a light on in the kitchen at Lucille’s place. That meant she was up, and he wouldn’t be imposing. Not too much, at least. Lucille had been here for him for all the bumps this month, and while he always swore he wouldn’t impose again, he always did. He picked up the cordless phone and dialed his neighbor’s number. It rang twice before a female voice picked up.

“Hello?” She sounded cautious, and was barely audible above Ike’s crying, but Liam could tell it wasn’t Lucille.

“It’s Liam, across the street,” he said.

“Hi, it’s Bernadette. Is the little guy okay?”

“Not really. I can’t seem to calm him down. I was trying to reach Lucille to see if she’d give me a hand. Is she up?”

“No, just me. Don’t worry. I’ll be right over.”

Liam blinked at the phone when he realized she’d hung up, not giving him a chance to decline. Not that he wanted to, exactly. He needed help; Ike needed help. He’d just preferred that help from the neighbor he knew.

“Come on, Ike,” Liam pleaded. “I know you’re upset...”

He really had nothing to offer, though. He couldn’t bring Leanne back—and maybe Bernie had reminded him of her. But something suddenly occurred to him.

There was a knock on the front door, and Liam pulled it open to see Bernadette standing there in a white terry cloth housecoat. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and she looked like a different woman from the tattered bride of earlier. Ike blinked at the new arrival in surprise, his howls stopped for the moment.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said softly. “Hug?”

Ike reached for Bernie, and she took the toddler into her arms, snuggling him close. Seriously? How did she do that? He’d been hugging the kid all evening, and again ever since he’d woken up at two in the morning. How did she simply show up and make it all okay? He resented that. He was the one Ike had, and he was doing his best, but tonight it wasn’t enough.

“If you could just hold him for a couple minutes, I have an idea,” Liam said.

He didn’t wait for an answer, he just walked away, his nerves completely frazzled. A crying kid was difficult in a way he’d never imagined before. Somehow, he hadn’t thought parenthood would be like this.

Liam opened the door that led to the basement stairs and flicked on the light. He’d shoved all the pictures of Leanne into boxes after she’d left and dumped them down here. He’d added the few boxes of personal items he’d taken from Leanne’s apartment after she’d died. He’d meant to go through it all eventually, but there hadn’t been time. While pictures of his estranged wife didn’t do much to comfort him, they might help Ike.

He had to rummage through a few boxes before he found what he was looking for—a framed photo of Leanne smiling into the camera. He’d taken it the summer before she left him. She’d probably already started her affair with the senator at that point.

He headed back up the stairs, and when he came into the living room, he found Bernie seated on the couch, Ike leaning his tear-stained face against her shoulder, his breaths coming in shuddering gasps.

“I brought something for you, Ike,” Liam said. “It’s a picture of Mommy. Do you want it?”

He held it up for the boy to see, and Ike stretched out one pudgy hand and pulled the picture against his chest. Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn’t, but he had to try. Liam was most definitely out of his depth here.

“So that’s her.” Bernadette craned her neck to get a glimpse of the photo.

“Yup.”

He couldn’t explain the pain attached to that photo. He’d still thought he had a happy marriage at that point, totally oblivious to the fact that her new interest in politics had more to do with the senator himself than with his political platforms. And he’d held on to that photo because deep down, he’d always hoped that she’d come back. She’d married Liam. The senator hadn’t left his wife. So maybe she’d come back eventually.

Some days he imagined her coming back to him and settling back in again, happy to have a decent, hardworking man instead of some philandering politician. Other days, he imagined getting the chance to tell her exactly what she’d lost, and he’d do the rejecting. The fantasies depended on his mood, but he still hoped she’d come back.

Obviously, she never had.

He leaned back, rubbing his hands across his face. How did Bernie manage to look so fresh in the middle of the night?

“Why are you up?” he asked.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She smoothed a hand over Ike’s sweat-damp curls. “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday.”

Yeah, that also made sense. He felt a wave of sympathy. He’d been dealing with Leanne’s betrayal for three years; she’d only started with Calvin’s.

“Did you see it coming?” Liam asked. “The cheating, I mean.”

She shook her head. “No. That’s the thing. I didn’t notice at all...until the last minute, that is.”

“That was the same for me,” he admitted. “I thought she was just really into politics. I didn’t know there was a problem until she told me she was pregnant and she was leaving me.”

“So there’s a chance Ike is yours?” she asked.

He wished. If he’d been the father, maybe it would have changed things for Leanne. Maybe she’d have seen something worth staying for.

“No. I can’t have kids.” That was uncomfortable to talk about, but it was the truth. When Leanne had announced her pregnancy, it had been like a kick in the stomach. He knew what it meant, and she’d been holding a suitcase at the time. He’d begged her to stay. They could figure it out. But she didn’t want to, and she’d walked out to the waiting cab.

“Do you still miss her?” Bernie asked quietly.

“Sure.” He nodded. “I guess I miss what we had—what I thought we had. We’d both changed over the last three years, so I doubt we’d ever have been compatible again, even if she’d lived.”

“Hmm.”

Bernie looked like she wanted to cry, but she was holding it back. Her eyes got misty, and she pressed her lips together.

“You want to know how long this is going to hurt, don’t you?” Liam asked.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

She was just at the beginning, and he knew exactly what that felt like—like being gutted and left alive.

“It’ll hurt for a while. But it’ll get better and easier. Some days you’ll forget. And guaranteed, the days you actually forget him are the ones he’ll call you up and remind you of his existence.”

“Did Leanne do that a lot?”

Leanne had never fully gotten over Liam, either, it seemed. She’d call about twice a year just to see how he was doing and tell him she missed him... That was hardest. It brought him right back to the starting line again for a day or so. For the first year, she seemed to believe that Vince would leave his wife since he was financially supporting Leanne, but then the senator must have tired of her, because he told her straight that he wasn’t leaving his wife and kids. His career depended upon his honesty and his credibility. At that point, Liam and Leanne had discussed possibly reconciling, but that hadn’t been possible. He couldn’t do it. There was no going back to blissful ignorance.

“She’d call every once in a while,” he admitted. “I sent her money a couple of times. It hurts a lot when they call—it reminds you of better days. But you get over it. And while it’s hard to have that reminder, it also confirms how far you’ve come.”

Ike’s eyes had closed, and Bernie leaned her head back against the back of the couch. She was rubbing the toddler’s back with her palm in slow circles. She didn’t belong here—not in Liam’s living room, and not in Runt River. She was too pretty for this place, too polished.

“You mind if I ask you something?” he asked.

She turned her head to meet his gaze. “Sure.”

“Why aren’t you going home to New York?”

“Because my parents will side with Calvin.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said.

“You don’t know my family.” She sighed. “He’s going to be running for president in the next few years. He has all the party backing. He’s the Republican golden boy. My parents wouldn’t try to make me marry him, but they would insist that I protect his reputation. My dad has already invested too much money in him, and backing a successful candidate is good for business. Calvin would owe my dad big-time once he was in the Oval. We don’t back presidents out of patriotic fervor alone.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. Wow. This wasn’t just a wedding between two people who’d fallen in love; it was a political alliance. That was a world he was glad to avoid.

“What business is your dad in, exactly?”

“Real estate development, and he owns a line of hotels, and has some heavy investments in the oil industry. After the wedding, my dad was going to hand one of his hotel chains over to me to get some hands-on experience.”

“That sounds...fun.” It actually sounded stressful.

“Totally.” She didn’t seem to pick up on his tone. “But I’m not sure it’ll happen now. Dad doesn’t react well to being crossed.” She looked down at Ike and smiled. “I think he’s out.”

As quickly as that, the window into her strange political world was shut. She glanced from Ike toward the hallway. “Should I put him to bed?”

“Yeah.” Liam slowly stood. “Thanks. He really seems to like you.”

Bernie attempted to get up, then chuckled. “I’m going to need a hand here.”

Liam paused for a moment, then held a hand out to her. Her fingers felt cool and silky soft in his rough grasp, and he tugged her to her feet, Ike balanced in one arm. She came up to his chin, but when she looked at him, her lips parted in a gentle smile, he found himself thinking how easy it would be to bend down and kiss her... He cleared his throat and took a step back.

“I’ll show you the way,” Liam said.

He’d bought a twin-size mattress and put it on the floor in his bedroom. He thought Ike might be comforted by having someone close by...and Liam would sleep better knowing the toddler couldn’t wander off in the night.

“Sure,” she said. “Lead the way.”

Bernie put Ike down on the mattress on the floor, but Liam knew he wouldn’t stay there. It didn’t matter. He was in the right room for the night, at least.

When Leanne had left, she’d taken with her the soft scents, the tinkle of laughter and a reason to come back at a reasonable hour. This house, so full of memories, had become a purely male abode: Liam cooked with barbecue sauce; his soaps were deodorized, not scented; and he came and went as he pleased.

Having a woman walk down his hallway with a sleeping toddler in her arms, leaving a waft of sandalwood in her wake—it reminded him too keenly of what he’d been missing these past few years.

He’d told Bernie that it got better, and it did, but what he didn’t say was that trusting again was next to impossible. When you missed something that big, you stopped believing that you saw what was really going on. And he was pretty sure he couldn’t survive that again. Bernie would sort out her family issues and head back to her life in New York soon enough. He just had to hold out until then.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Bernie woke up late, having finally fallen into an exhausted coma somewhere around four. When she did wake, it was to the sound of a lawn mower outside the open window, the smell of fresh-cut grass wafting in. She lay there for a couple of minutes staring at the popcorn ceiling. The light fixture was an old-fashioned square plate of glass. She’d never seen such a thing before, and she stared at it for a long while, wondering if this was how the rest of the country lived. Could they? It seemed impossible, but here she was in a bed with a hand-made quilt on top of her and a light fixture that looked like nothing more than a bent piece of frosted glass covering a light bulb. It felt poor, and at the same time, strangely liberating. There wouldn’t be any cameras waiting for her outside, no pressure to appear happy and collected, to look perfect from every angle to avoid any tabloid speculation about why she looked tired or bloated.

Her cell phone vibrated on the plain white bedside table. She’d finally turned it on when she got back from Liam’s place. She picked it up and looked at the caller—her dad.

She could answer and have this conversation now, or she could put it off. She let the phone buzz twice more in her hand before she heaved a sigh and accepted the call.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Bunny! Thank God. We’ve been worried sick. Are you okay?”

He sounded like dear old dad, right now, gruff and stressed. If only she were a decade younger and her father could still fix most of her problems.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I mean, I’m heartbroken, but fine.”

“What happened, exactly?” her father pressed. “Because Calvin is a wreck, and he says he has no idea what you’re talking about.”

The liar. Anger started to seep into the sadness, and she pushed herself up onto her elbows.

“I don’t really care what Calvin says,” she retorted. “I know what I saw.”

“I believe you.” And by the tone of his voice, he did, which was comforting. “Still, we could have done this a little more gracefully.”

“No, I couldn’t have.”

Why did she owe any of them grace right now? She sat up and turned her gaze out the window where a middle-aged man pushed an old mower in straight lines across the grass.

“All right, all right...” Her father muttered. “We can discuss that later. What matters right now is getting you home and deciding on the family position.”

“How about Calvin McMann is a cheating louse?” she suggested.

“You aren’t helping.”

Of course not. The truth was seldom the option when it came to spinning a scandal.

“Where are you?” her father asked. “I’ll send the security team to bring you home.”

“I don’t need to be fetched,” Bernie retorted. “I need some space, time to think. I don’t want to come back just yet.”

“Are you in the Bahamas?” her father pressed. “You could stay for a week or so, but we need a consistent story we can all stand behind with reporters.”

“No, I’m not in the Bahamas. Look, Dad, I need you to promise to leave me alone for a bit. I promise not to breathe a word of anything to reporters.”

“Where are you, for crying out loud?” he demanded.

“I need your word.” For all of her father’s insistence on a public face, he’d honor a promise to his daughter. He always had.

There was a moment or two of silence, then he sighed. “Fine. Now where are you?”