Page 11 of The Hottest Daddy
Carmen nodded. “He would never tell anyone what happened, but it must have been pretty bad. He had bruises, but he wouldn’t tell his father.”
“How old was he when this happened?”
“Sixteen. It’s been twenty years and he still won’t talk about it.”
So ‘old’ was thirty-six? Sunday blinked, adjusting her image of her enigmatic employer. “That’s just awful. Is she still around?”
“Unfortunately, but thankfully, she lives in New York. She’d better not show her face here anytime soon.”
Sunday nodded, and soon she went back to her office to start work. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Carmel had told her and wondered if Ludovico’d had any idea his son was being abused by his wife. Sunday shook her head, angry for River. She had no time for men or women who abused kids. She gave into temptation and typed Ludo’s name into a search engine. She found pictures of a handsome, silver-haired man with a much younger woman—a woman Sunday recognized immediately. “No fucking way,” she hissed under her breath.
AngelinafreakingMarshall. The Wicked Witch of the Upper East Side. Sunday smiled grimly. Suddenly, the abuse didn’t seem so surprising. Angelina was both feared and reviled, but her money, her position as the daughter of one of New York’s most powerful families, meant people fawned around her, regardless. Sunday or rather, Marley, had interviewed the woman once for a segment on the early show and had disliked her immensely. She’d nicknamed Angelina ‘Our Lady of Perpetual Victimhood’ after the woman had claimed to have suffered from several serious illnesses without any evidence of such poor health. When Marley had called her out on air, she’d made an enemy of the other woman. Angelina had called Marley’s boss, demanding Marley be fired. Jack, the station owner, had refused point blank. They didn’t pander to people like Angelina Marshall.
Now, Sunday wondered if Ludo had written about his ex-wife. She flicked through the diaries but found they stopped before River’s mother had died. Sunday chewed her lip. On a hunch, she went to find Carmen and asked her if there were more diaries.
“Oh yes, honey, there’ll be a few more volumes. River told me to give you a couple at a time so you didn’t feel overwhelmed.”
“Gotcha.”
“Any reason you asked?”
Yes. I know Angelina Marshall.“No, just wondered, as the two you gave me seem to only got to a certain date.”
Carmen wiped her hands. “Come with me.” She led her through the house and into a large study. “Now, don’t judge, but this is Ludo’s study. Not hisactualstudy, you understand, but River had it copied exactly when he had the house built. Over here.”
She pointed to a bookcase that reached from floor to ceiling. Sunday almost moaned with happiness when she saw it. It looked a little like the library fromBeauty and the Beast. She ran a flat hand over the spines of the books. “Heaven.”
Carmen chuckled. “I knew you were hiding your inner geek. River’s the same about libraries. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you want to borrow anything. And if you want more of Ludo’s diaries, have at them.”
Carmen left her to enjoy the library at her leisure. Sunday hoisted a few of Ludo’s diaries out and bore them back to her office. Her interest was piqued now, and she searched through them until she found the first mention of Angelina. Settling on the couch, she read for a few hours. The day soon went and although she had read nearly a whole journal, she had found nothing out of the ordinary. She marveled at Ludo’s attention to detail, though—the man documented everything except his bathroom habits, she found, and yet it was never boring. She decided she would have liked to know Ludovico Giotto very much. He was warm and humorous and obviously adored his first wife and his son.
Carmen had told her that today was her half-day off and so, at suppertime, Sunday packed her bag and walked through the silent house. There was something both comforting yet charged about the silence of the house. Outside, she stood for a moment, listening to the faint sound of snow falling and breathed in a lungful of the freezing air. Yes, she could get used to this peace.
Once again, the feeling of being watched came over her. She looked toward the far end of the house and smiled. “Why don’t you come talk to me?” she said out loud, out into the silence, but there was no answer.Who are you?“Whatever she did to you, I’d like to make her pay for it.” Sunday said that softly, to herself.
Even after everything had happened to her, she still went out, made new friends, had experiences. She could not imagine being so scarred by something that she would disappear into exile.
Isn’t that just what you’ve done though?
Not by choice.
Sunday got into her truck and drove back into town. She saw the coffeehouse was still open and stopped to say hi to Daisy.
Her friend seemed delighted to see her. “Hiya. Americano?”
“I’m in the mood for hot chocolate, actually. I need the sugar.”
Daisy grinned and nodded to a chair. “Grab a pew. I’ll bring it over.”
Sunday sat, dumping her purse on the floor next to her. She nodded at Aria, who smiled blandly but didn’t come over. She was talking to a handsome young man with dark blond hair and blue eyes, who looked at Sunday with interest. Aria murmured something to him and they both laughed, and Sunday felt her face flush. What was this, ninth grade?
Daisy brought over two cups of hot chocolate and sat down, flashing an annoyed glance at her stepsister. “Ignore her,” she told Sunday, “she never grew up. So, how’s things? Settling in? Met River yet?”
Sunday smiled at her new friend. “Good. Yes and no. The mysterious Mr. Giotto remains a stranger. I did meet Cleo at the diner last night.” For some reason, she didn’t want to mention the delectable stranger whom she had taken home. That was for her alone, her dirty little secret.
Daisy was grinning. “I love Cleo. She’s so effortlessly cool. I’m a dork and yet she still decided I was to be her best friend. She’s from New York, you know?”
“I didn’t.” A small curl of unease started in Sunday’s stomach—would Cleo recognize her? Daisy didn’t notice her disquiet.
