The Runaway Bride. Patricia Johns
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family to raise him with love, not to treat him like a problem to be solved, a political liability. The kid needed a childhood—sprinklers in summer, sleds in winter, maybe even a dog—not to be known as a politician’s illegitimate child.
“Sorry...” She sighed. “I get this is difficult.”
“You have no idea,” Liam muttered.
“Well, we all seem to want the same thing,” she said. “A bit of quiet so that we can think.” Ike tugged at Bernie’s dress, and she picked him up and cuddled him close. “I just ran out on the wedding of the century, and my family is furious. You’ve got this little guy to consider. So maybe we can agree to discretion all round.”
“Deal,” Liam said.
Could he trust her? He didn’t have a whole lot of choice, but of one thing he was certain: Ike needed to come first. If that meant he ended up with his relatives, or if he stayed with Liam, the priority had to be what was best for this little boy.
He’s not yours, Liam reminded himself. But without Leanne, this boy needed someone tough enough to look out for his interests, and Liam would be that person. There was no way he was tossing this kid into the foster system or into a family of political jackals. Even if Bernie seemed sweet right now, he wasn’t fooled. She came from a different world than he did, where the Morgans were near the top of the food chain, and ordinary Joes like him were nothing more than scenery.
Ike put the last of his cracker into his mouth, followed by his thumb. And for the first time since he’d arrived, the little guy looked comforted as he rested his head on Bernie’s shoulder.
* * *
THAT EVENING, BERNIE sat on Lucille’s couch in a borrowed bathrobe, since the clothes she’d packed were more fitting for a Caribbean honeymoon. At least she had a few outfits to wear, and she was mildly proud of herself for having had the forethought to dump Calvin’s suitcase in the parking lot when she made her escape. It was strange, the things that felt like victories now, like saving her tears for when she was alone on the highway.
If she hadn’t found Calvin halfway down Kimberly’s throat, she’d be Mrs. McMann... Instead of sitting on her aunt’s faded couch, she’d be strolling down a moonlit beach with a handsome husband. She hadn’t been head over heels in love with him, but she had loved him. She wasn’t some kind of heartless robot who married a man for nothing more than political ambitions. She’d been willing to build on the love they had, and hopefully as the years passed, their feelings for each other would have grown and deepened. Apparently, he hadn’t been able to wait.
How long had he been cheating? She’d known that Calvin had been quite serious about Kimberly before they were introduced, but he’d assured Bernie that it was over—completely. She knew that his decision to marry her had been largely political. He wanted to be president, and a wife was a big part of the campaign. Kimberly wasn’t First Lady material. She wasn’t senator’s wife material, either, in Bernie’s humble opinion. But it was possible to make the wise choice in mate and still feel affection. Had he kept up with Kimberly all along, or had this been a final goodbye of some sort? What did Kimberly have that Bernie didn’t that drew Calvin in like that?
It didn’t matter—cheating was cheating. Bernadette had expected fidelity in their marriage, and Calvin had wholeheartedly agreed. The less to hide the better, he’d said. And if she wasn’t sure how well she could trust his love for her, she could definitely trust his ambition. And they both knew that in order to get where they wanted to go, fidelity was imperative. She’d never be able to trust him again after what she’d witnessed. But she still wanted to know. Blast it, how could he be making out with Kimberly mere minutes before he was supposed to be saying his vows? What kind of man did that?
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