Page 9 of Cinderella's Secret Baby

“It wasn’t right that he wasn’t helping. You make children, you look after them.”

“Exactly. That’s what I’m doing!”

“With my help. But I won’t live forever,” he added in a grumble. “I need to know you’ll be all right after I’m gone.”

Her heart sank. “Dad.”

“Amelia.” Hunter pinned her with his silver-bullet gaze as he came through a bed of petunias, trampling the pink and white and indigo trumpets. His unbuttoned jacket flared open to reveal his gray vest and amethyst tie.

Her heart lurched in a painfully bittersweet relief. She had been fairly convinced he was patching things up with Eden and the wedding would continue.

Maybe it would. She searched his granite features, but couldn’t read what his pursuing her to the parking lot meant. As much asThe Runaway Groomsounded like an uplifting rom-com, it was actually a nightmare to be the cause of something like this. She felt sick and guilty and very much the target of his resentment.

The man with the phone turned to catch Hunter’s approach and Hunter seemed to ignore him, but as he got close enough, he grabbed the phone and spun it back the way he’d come, sending the phone into the sea of petunias.

Oh. Amelia covered her mouth.

“Hey!” The man swore and ran toward the flower patch.

The people at the door began to squeal and laugh. Some of them were holding up their own phones, recording every second of this interchange.

“I have to take Dad home.” This was worse than a nightmare. She moved to the door of her car. “My number hasn’t changed. Reach out when you’re ready to talk.”

“I’m ready right now.”

“I’ll go finish my drink,” her father said.

“Don’t you dare,”Amelia hissed.

Hunter intercepted Tobias and shot out his hand. “Hunter Waverly. I appreciate you coming today. This was important. Something I needed to hear.”

“Tobias Lindor.” He shook Hunter’s hand. “Yes. You did. You two take as long as you need.”

“We will, but not here.”

“Pfft.” Damned right she wasn’t staying here. Not one second longer.

But as she opened the back door, intending to strap Peyton into her seat, Hunter leaned into the front from the passenger side. He turned off the car and stole the keys, straightening to hand them to her father.

“Stay as long as you like. They’ll start serving food soon.”

“What are you doing?” She popped out again, still holding Peyton as she scowled across the roof. “Dad doesn’t drive.” Only on the streets he knew, because of his bad eye. Not at all if he’d been drinking.

“I’ll work something out,” her father insisted, pocketing the keys and walking back to the tasting room.

Men.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She had to lean in to talk to Hunter across the back seat where he had begun to fiddle with Peyton’s seat. “Leave that alone.”

“We can’t talk here.” He paused to remove his jacket, revealing perspiration stains on his shirt, perhaps not as impervious to all of this as he seemed.

“We don’t have to talknow,” she said with exasperation, switching Peyton’s weight to her other arm. “This isn’t a national emergency. We can both take a beat and process, can’t we? I’ll have my people call your people.” After she found people.

“I would love nothing else.” His tone was weary and patronizing. He yanked the seat out, slammed the door and came around to her side, forcing her to straighten and face him. “But look around.”

The one man was still feeling around in the petunias, searching for his phone, but everyone else had fanned out to record them. They were keeping their distance, but it was still disgusting.

“I don’t want strangers taking photos of my baby.” She cradled Peyton closer.

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