Reid's Runaway Bride

“I understand. I’m sorry for this, sorry for...all of it.”

Lifting her chin, Daisy looked at her mother. Her pale blue eyes were puffy from crying. Her fiery red hair—so like Daisy’s own—had been nervously tucked behind her ears while she’d slowly, word by word, shredded the strands of Daisy’s identity.

On the morning of her wedding.

“Why today? Why not yesterday or six months ago or when I was ten?” Daisy pushed out the questions, still unable to fully comprehend the magnitude of her mother’s confession. “Why would you wait until what is supposed to be the happiest day of my life to tell me that...that—” she swallowed the sobs choking her throat “—I’m not the person I thought I was?”

“You are exactly the same person you have always been.” Sighing, Clara ran her hands over her face. “But I shouldn’t have waited for so long. I should have—”

“No, Mother. You shouldn’t have waited until my wedding day to tell me that I’m the product of an affair!” Selfish. Wrong to feel this way, perhaps, but this confession and the timing of it came off as selfish to Daisy. What did this do for her now, other than cause inexplicable amounts of pain and confusion? Not one damn thing. “How could you do this to me?”

“I waited too long,” her mother repeated. “I didn’t mean to, darling. I just couldn’t ever seem to find the right words or the right time or...I kept hoping your father would—”

“Which father?” Daisy’s anger rolled in, coating the rest of her spinning emotions. “The man who raised me or the man I didn’t even know existed until now?”

Clara reeled back, as if Daisy’s words held the physical force of a slap. “Charles Lennox. The man who raised you. The man who accepted you when I admitted my...mistake to him.”

“He has never accepted me,” Daisy whispered. “And now, I know why.”

“You’re wrong. He loves you.”

“Then why isn’t he sitting here with us?”

“Because your father...that is, we decided this should come from me.”

Not a surprise. If there was one aspect of her father’s personality that Daisy understood, it was his reluctance to become embroiled in emotional scenes. Even so, she wished her father had chosen to be here, to offer his support, to give his assurances that he loved her, that he considered her his daughter through and through, and that he always had.

More than a want. She needed to hear this.

In that moment, though, with the glorious May sun dappling across her bedroom floor, Daisy didn’t fool herself into believing she’d ever hear those assurances from Charles Lennox. If he hadn’t been able to do so before, he certainly wouldn’t today.

She’d always ached to have the close relationship with her father that her older brother, Parker, did. Over the years, she’d convinced herself that her father simply had more in common with his son than he did with his daughter, and that their relationship, while often distant and cool, had absolutely nothing to do with her. Some men, as her mother consistently said, related better with their male offspring. Some men just weren’t able to develop a close connection with their daughters. And this belief, as much as it hurt, had also offered relief.

But this new information, the obvious absence of her father, along with the history of their relationship, painted an altered picture. One that stung in deep and intrinsic ways. She was not Charles Lennox’s daughter; she was the product of an affair. What could she possibly mean to him, other than providing the visible proof that his wife had cheated?

In heartbreaking clarity, this understanding answered every question she’d ever had. It explained the distance, the awkward hugs and the lack of pride or enthusiasm whenever Daisy accomplished something. More than anything else, though, this knowledge brought an undeniable logic to her father’s unwillingness to...love her the way he loved Parker.

Hell, she wasn’t sure she could blame him.

“He isn’t even in the house right now, is he?” she asked.

“He...thought we should be alone for this conversation.” Clara let out a short breath. “But he said he’ll return in time for the wedding.”

There was more her mother wasn’t saying. The truth of that was written all over her expression, in the tight way she held her body, in the subdued manner in which she spoke. And with sudden, sickening insight, Daisy thought she understood what that something was.

“Oh, my God.” Nausea lurched in Daisy’s stomach. “After twenty-three years of being my father, he doesn’t want to walk me down the aisle, does he? That’s why he isn’t here. That’s why you had to tell me today. He insisted, didn’t he?”

“He’ll change his mind,” Clara said quickly, still not looking at Daisy. “I...hope he’ll change his mind once he sees that you won’t view him differently now that you know.”

“He won’t change his mind.” This knowledge sat inside Daisy with total certainty, and somehow, the realization was more defeating than the rest. “You know it as well as I do.”

Clara faced Daisy. “I know he loves you.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever believed that.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Daisy attempted to slow her breathing, to quiet the stirred-up emotions. “Who is my father?”

“Charles Lennox,” her mother said stubbornly.

“I wish that were the case.” Daisy crumpled the silky fabric of her wedding gown tighter and asked again, “Who is my father?”

Releasing a sigh, Clara said, “What do you want to know?”

“Does he know about me?”

“No. It... We didn’t have an actual relationship. Like I said, he was someone I dated in college. I...I knew him before I met Charles, and he was just passing through. Your fath—Charles was out of town so often, and your brother was so little. I was lonely, Daisy. And—” a small sob broke through “—I made a mistake.”

That last statement carved into Daisy’s heart with the force, the sharpness, of a samurai sword. All she heard was that she was the mistake. Not the poor choice her mother made in the heat of the moment, not the one-night stand itself, but that Daisy’s very existence was some horrible blunder that could never be corrected.

Unaware of her distress—or, perhaps, just too lost in the past—her mother kept talking, repeating much of what she’d already said. This time, though, Daisy listened to every word, every nuance, every hesitation, and as she did, her sense of self—the person she believed herself to be—slowly and painfully disintegrated. None of what her mother shared eased the agony or the chaos or filled the gaps within. She didn’t know who she was. Not really.

“Thank you,” she said, interrupting her mother in midsentence, having heard enough. “I need to be alone. I need to think. I need to... Just leave for now. Please.”

The second that Clara exited the room, Daisy curled up into a ball and allowed her tears free rein. They exploded from deep inside, ravaging through her body with a ferocious intensity. When they stopped, she lay motionless, trying to find meaning in that which held none. Despite how hard she searched, there was nothing to grasp on to for strength, for stability.

Desperate and alone, she thought of Reid and how his love had always given her that strength and stability, a sense of wholeness and security. How just being near him brought all the shady, uneven areas of her life into focus. He made her...real.

And God, she loved him. She did. But the rest of her world had ceased to exist—at least, the world she’d always known, had always believed in—and what remained seemed cloudy and off-balance and without oxygen. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see the rest of today, let alone tomorrow or the next day or the one after that.

The sudden, frantic need to get away, to find a place she could breathe, hit her hard. No, no, no. She couldn’t do that...couldn’t leave Reid and the future she’d craved for so long. How could she do that? He made her real. Who would she be without him?

From the moment they became a couple, she had done everything in her power to show him that she could be exactly the woman he thought she was...the woman he wanted her to be. And unlike with her father, she’d succeeded with Reid. She didn’t have to fight so hard to gain his acceptance, his affection or his approval.

Really, all she had done was follow the path he’d created, whatever that path was, whether that meant her—their—choice of colleges, the timing of their engagement, their wedding date, even the details of their wedding. Reid made everything, from the smallest hurdle to the largest, easy. He knew what he wanted, and Daisy loved him, so she wanted what he did.

Didn’t she? Of course she did. Of course.

Another series of breathless sobs broke free. She wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them closer to her chest. With Reid, she would always know who she was, where she belonged. She would never have to guess or struggle...or...

Oh, Lord. No. Just...no.

One by one, memories jabbed into her consciousness, forcing her to confront the impossible. Throughout her life, she had attempted to become the daughter she believed Charles Lennox wanted. She’d formed her decisions, her interests, around him. And she had done so for the specific purpose of creating a loving relationship with her father.

Now she understood why she had continually failed. But with Reid, she hadn’t failed. They were to be married that very afternoon. In front of family and friends, but without her father by her side. In a wedding ceremony that Reid had planned from beginning to end, without Daisy uttering one word of complaint or offering her opinion.

She would simply sit back, nod and smile. Happy to do whatever he wanted, however he wanted. Not his fault, she knew, but hers. He was, for all intents and purposes, a force of nature. She had grabbed on to his energy, his strength of will, and let the tide carry her.

By doing so, she had become the woman Reid Foster professed to love, and with that love came definition. An identity. She was his girlfriend, his fiancée, now...soon, his wife. Maybe in a year or two or three, the mother of his children.

Who would she be if she hadn’t muted herself for her father, for Reid? Would Reid even love her if she hadn’t morphed into the woman she believed he wanted?