Page 49 of Cinderella's Secret Baby

Amelia stared at him, mind blank. It was a broadcast thing, she recollected. A pretty big deal, actually. He was supposed to present awards.

“Did you mention that this morning? I completely forgot.” She looked at the clock, noting that she should have started getting ready an hour ago. “You can go without me.”

“You’ve had her all day. I’ll take her so you can have a break.”

“She doesn’t want anyone else to hold her,” Amelia said with exasperation.

“You need a break,” he said firmly. “Go run a bath.” He gently stole Peyton, who began to sob with fresh misery, but she flopped her head onto his shoulder in a bid for comfort.

Amelia didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. She would dwell on things like this, how her husband could make her feel so scorned, yet show her such consideration. It was maddening, but she couldn’t help loving him more for it.

As it turned out, she was so shortchanged on sleep, she fell asleep in the tub, waking with a start to tepid water and a still-full glass of wine.

For the first time in days, she spent more than five seconds on her appearance, pulling both thoughts and emotions back together as she dried her hair and touched up her eyebrows and worked moisturizer into her hands and feet.

Was she putting off a difficult conversation? Yes. She and Hunter were due to fly back to Vancouver tomorrow, and she didn’t know if she should go with him or if they ought to take a break.

She dressed in wine-colored pedal pushers and a sleeveless mock turtleneck, then went looking for them.

He was in the den off the main lounge that he used as his home office when they were here in the penthouse. Peyton was asleep in his arms, and he was talking on his phone.

“Try that and call me if—”

Some inner radar had him glancing at the door, almost as if he had been watching for her, concerned he might be overheard. Wary stillness came over him.

“I’m in Toronto,” he continued evenly, holding her gaze. “We’ll stay here until I hear from you. Call me anytime on this number.” He ended the call. “Feel better?”

That had sounded exactly like any of his business calls, but something had her skin prickling. “Was that Remy?”

“No.” The question seemed to surprise him. “He’s in France as far as I know.”

“Mmm.” She searched his expression, which seemed deliberately stoic. “I thought you had meetings in Vancouver this week?”

“Right. Thank you for the reminder.” Was he deliberately avoiding her eyes by glancing at his phone screen? “I have to make some calls to push those back. I’ll put Peyton down, then do that. The table is set on the terrace. Start without me.” He brushed past her.

She had worked up her courage to address the elephant that had been trampling all over their separate bedrooms for the last few days, and he disappeared before she could even acknowledge it.

Frustrated, she sat down to eat, but he didn’t join her. When he finally did, he seemed distracted. Then Peyton woke and Amelia’s chance to have an adult conversation with him was gone.

For the first time since their argument, Amelia went to bed in their bedroom as a sort of peace offering, but he wasn’t there, and she couldn’t get comfortable. Her mind spun for two hours with all the things they weren’t saying.

She could have gotten up to find him, she supposed, but she suspected he was sleeping in another room and that was such a painful death knell on their marriage, she didn’t want to face it.

He wasn’t there when she rose at three to feed Peyton and she flopped straight back to sleep after, still playing catch-up from her recent sleepless nights.

She was bordering on a coma when he gently squeezed her shoulder. “Amelia.”

For a moment she was disoriented and only felt the warm joy that always filled her when she opened her eyes to him.

Then she took in the daylight and the fact that he looked like ten miles of dirt road, eyes sunken and face lined.

“Have you been up all night? Is Peyton okay?” She hiked herself onto an elbow.

“She’s fine. I changed her and gave her a bottle. Matinder has her.”

“Okay. Um...” Her heart lurched. They were really close. His hand was still on her shoulder. It was all she could do not to press her cheek to his hand. Her throat began to burn with apprehension at what might come of this, but... “Should we ta—?”

“I got a call,” he said over her. His hand tightened on her shoulder as though he braced her for something. “Jasper is alive. He’s on his way here.”

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