Omens

Chapter Eight

“I thought I heard voices.” James kissed my cheek. Then he looked at his mother. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t realize you were home,” Maura said.

“Well, I am. Go up to bed. I have this.”

Maura hesitated, but James repeated it, firmly, and she left. When she was gone he pulled me into a hug, and I let myself collapse into his arms and stay there, just stay there, fighting not to break down in tears.

“Something—” I said against his shoulder.

“I know. I’ve been trying to call you for the past half hour. I was just coming down to drive over to your place.”

I pulled back so I could see his face. “So you … got my message?”

“Yes. And several others. I know everything, Liv.”

Everything.

His expression didn’t change. No hint of disgust or distaste. I wanted to take that. Just take it. Don’t question. Don’t probe. Accept.

Only I couldn’t.

“About my … biological parents,” I said carefully, my gaze fixed on his. “You heard—”

“The Larsens. Yes. That’s what they’re saying.”

“It’s not just a rumor. There’s DNA.”

He nodded. “All right.”

I looked at him. He looked at me. Patient. Concerned. Just what I needed. What I’d expected. And yet, seeing it, I realized I had doubted, deep down. I still doubted.

“You know who they are, right? My parents?”

A faint smile. “Yes, I’ve met them many times, Liv.”

“You know what I—”

“Arthur Jones and Lena Taylor are your parents. They’re the ones who raised you. If you mean the Larsens, yes, I know who they are. Convicted murderers. As for what they are to you? Genetic donors. They’re responsible for the color of your hair, the shape of your mouth, the length of your fingers. Nothing more.”

I kissed him. A quiet thank-you. Only he didn’t let it stay quiet. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me onto his lap in one of his usual oxygen-stealing kisses that left me gasping. Then he put his hands on either side of my face and held it up to his.

“I love you, Liv. You haven’t changed. So that hasn’t changed. Got it?”

I nodded and eased back, legs still stretched across him as I reclined against the corner of the sofa.

“It’s still on, then?” I said. “We’re getting married?”

He laughed. “Did you think you could get out of it that easily? You’re stuck with me. This is just a bump in the road. It’ll go away soon enough.”

“It better be very soon,” I said. “Only a month until the wedding.”

He dipped his chin in something that could be taken as a nod.

“We are getting married next month, right?” I said.

“We’ll…” He stretched his arm around me, gathering me in. “We can talk about that later. For now—”

I shrugged out from under his arm and swung my legs off him. “We are getting married next month, right?”

“We’re getting married. Absolutely. The timing may need to change, but that’s a conversation for tomorrow. Right now, we need to get you out of Chicago.”

“Out of Chicago?”

“Of course.” He straightened. “This is going to be an absolute media nightmare. Do you remember those reporters hanging out at the dinner tonight? And did you see the ones at the end of the driveway? You need to go someplace safe. Get away from these vultures.”

“For my sake? Or yours?”

“For you, of course. To protect you.”

“But I can handle it. You know I can handle it. The question is: can you?”

He looked away, shaking his head, saying something about how I shouldn’t need to handle it. But all I noticed was how fast he’d looked away.

“You’re postponing the wedding,” I said.

“I’ve been advised—”

“You’ve been what?” I scrambled to my feet. “You’ve talked to someone about this before me?”

He stood, began to pace. “Neil called when I was trying to get in touch with you. He advised me to postpone the wedding and, honestly, I agree. Can you imagine what kind of circus it would be?”

“You mean what kind of senatorial-dream-killing circus it would be.”

His expression hardened. “No, Olivia,” he said, barely opening his jaw enough to get the words out. “I’m thinking of you. Of the kind of wedding you deserve—”

“Deserve? Hell, I don’t even want a wedding. I’ll settle for a justice of the peace. Or Vegas. Let’s fly to Vegas and get married.”

He hesitated. For a second, I thought he was going to say, Yes, let’s do it. Then his face went still, eyes clouding and he reached for me, ignoring my struggles as he pulled me into a hug.

“I love you, Olivia. And I wish we could get married right now. Tonight. But your mother—”

“Which mother?”

The flash of anger again. “Don’t pull that, Liv. You know what I mean. I’m not going to start our marriage by upsetting your mother and doing something you’ll eventually regret. We’re going to wait.”

“Until when?”

“I don’t know. I have to—”

“—talk to Neil?”

“Olivia.” His tone was curt now. Losing patience. Damn it, why didn’t I understand?

I did understand. I understood that he could pretend nothing had changed. He could kiss me as if nothing had changed. He could say all the right things to convince me nothing had changed.

But act as if nothing had changed? No.

I wanted him to say he didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought. Didn’t care if it put his political future in jeopardy. He loved me and he was marrying me now or a month from now, as we planned.

That’s what I would do if the situation were reversed. To hell with the road of caution. I’d go my own way.

But he just stood there, frustrated and impatient. Wanting me to meekly accept his reasoning, tell him I understood. I’d go away and hide until this was over. Then I’d wait until he was ready to marry me.

Like hell.

“You want to save your political future? Here, let me help you.” I wrenched off the engagement ring and whipped it at him. “You’re free. Go find a sweet little wife and get yourself elected.”

“Olivia…”

I stalked to the door.

“Olivia!”

The cool night air slapped me so hard my eyes stung. I jogged until I reached the end of the garden walk.

The front door creaked open behind me.

“Olivia?”

I raced across the lawn. James’s sigh wafted across the quiet yard. Then he padded back into the house, leaving the door open. Getting his shoes. Because the grass might be wet and running after me in stocking feet was foolish.

I wouldn’t have stopped for shoes.

I circled back into the shadows beside the house and waited there, hidden. He came out, looked around, then jogged in the direction I’d been heading.

When he disappeared through the hedge, I exhaled and glanced toward the road. My cab was long gone. If I went out there, I’d have to face the reporters.

I really wasn’t in the mood to face more reporters.

But I wasn’t sticking around here, either.

As I shifted my purse, my keys jangled inside. Keys to my house. Keys to my gym locker. And keys to…

I glanced toward James’s bedroom window and remembered lying in his bed a month ago, as he handed me a garage key and a car fob. “Yes, I know you love mixing it up with your dad’s old cars, but I’d really like to see you in something with air bags, Liv. Take my car out a few times. If you like it, I’ll know what to get you for a wedding present.”

I’d never actually driven his car. It was a Volvo. Very nice but really not my style. Now, though…

I pulled out the keys and sneaked around the house to the garage.