Page 19

His brows furrowed. Had he done something?

Because his new wife didn’t seem okay.

* * *

To Bekah,this felt very different than attending church with the family. This felt... official.

She and Josiah were seconds away from exiting the car at this event she didn’t know much of anything about. Childcare for women escaping domestic violence situations.

Getting behind it wasn’t the issue. Being unable to carry on an intelligent conversation about this particular project was.

She’d read the briefing papers but hadn’t truly absorbed all of it. How could she in a couple of hours where she also had to spend time with the stylist who worked for Gen and the one who worked with the younger girls, Angie and Gabi.

Apparently, since the younger two weren’t old enough to do many official engagements yet, they shared a stylist and were prepared to share the woman’s services with Bekah as well.

It was so weird.

Before she could think about it further, Bekah pasted a smile on her face and exited the vehicle taking his offered hand.

A small contingent of photographers and reporters stood off to the side behind a waist-high barrier. She and Josiah both waved as they walked in. The reporters hollered questions, but as instructed, she didn’t answer any of them.

“You did great,” Josiah said softly as they walked through the door.

“One of these days we’ll have to answer questions, won’t we?”

“Probably.”

The director of the facility walked up and introduced herself as Brooklyn. “Your Royal Highnesses, thank you so much for coming.” She dipped into a small curtsy.

Bekah didn’t think she’d ever get used to that and hoped it wasn’t going to be part of her daily life.

“Please allow me to show you around.” As they walked around the facility, she explained the security measures in place.

To Bekah, it looked much like any other daycare she’d ever seen but with more security at the entrance.

It was well-hidden, for the most part, but Bekah noticed. The doors weren’t overtly security doors, except for the keypad with a thumbprint scanner, but the windows in them were thick and the view distorted just enough to make her think they were bulletproof rather than normal glass.

She also suspected at least a couple of the teachers were trained in more than just early education. Every one of the staffers took several minutes to answer any questions they had.

The room that intrigued Bekah the most wasn’t one of the classrooms, though. A large room, furnished cozily, held informational pamphlets about things that didn’t fit with the rest of the room - physical abuse, emotional abuse, gaslighting, and similar topics.

As Josiah talked with several of the staff members, Bekah picked up one of the brightly-colored pamphlets then another until she had a whole stack of them.

She stuck them in the outer pocket of her purse and turned to answer a question from one of the teachers she suspected of being far more.

The assistant director told her the story of one of the mothers whose husband never laid a hand on her, but emotionally abused and gaslighted her from day one. It took several years for her to truly understand what was happening and then another year or two to gain the courage to leave.

A little girl, aged three or four, ran up and hugged the teacher.

“This is Lisette,” the teacher said. “She’s one of my special little nuggets.” She used her hand as a claw and the little girl giggled. “Lisette, can you help me show the princess our classroom?”

Lisette’s eyes grew wide. “You’re a p’incess?” Her voice had filled with awe and dropped to nearly a whisper.

“I suppose I am.” She held out a hand. “I am Bekah, Lisette.”

Lisette squirmed until the teacher set her down then curtsied. “That’s whatcha do when ya see a p’incess.”

“That’s what I hear, but I haven’t been a princess very long. I’m still not sure what the rules are.” Bekah crouched in front of Lisette. “What other rules do I need to know?”