Page 8 of Cinderella's Secret Baby

So why did she feel as though her own future had just dropped into the bottom of that lake out there?

Vienna carefully withdrew from Peyton’s grip and gave Peyton’s round cheek a last caress before she pushed to stand over them.

“I don’t know what they’ll decide. I do know that calling off a wedding isn’t as easy as it sounds.” She bit her lip pensively. “Especially when there’s so much at stake.”

Amelia suddenly recalled the conflict she had walked through on arrival. She had an urge to ask Vienna if she was all right, but Vienna was smiling at Peyton again, catching her foot to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Whatever happens, I’m happy to meet you, Peyton. Every cloud has a silver lining, and you are today’s.”

Did that make Amelia the ominous, unwanted thunderhead?

She mustered a weak smile, growing overwhelmed as she realized Peyton had more than a father now. She had an extended family and, if Hunter married Eden, there would be step-relations who were all strangers to Amelia, yet they would all imagine they had a right to tell Hunter how he ought to raiseAmelia’sdaughter.

Her pulse rate picked up, and adrenaline returned to her veins.

“Do you know where my dad is?” Amelia rose, trying not to let her voice reveal her panic, but she heard how shrill she sounded. Her shock was wearing off, and she was starting to fall apart. “I should make sure he’s okay. I can’t believe I left him out there with everyone.”

“He’s having a drink with my grandfather,” Vienna said, as if that was a totally normal thing after objecting to a wedding.

“Okay, well, Peyton needs the diaper bag,” she lied.

“Let me hold her while you get it.” Vienna started to extend her arms.

“You can’t ruin your dress. What if the wedding is back on? Dad and I should really go.” Really.

“But Hunter will want—”

Amelia didn’t care what Hunter wanted. She needed to get the hell away from here. She walked back to the tasting room, which had filled up with excited, babbling guests.

The walk of shame had never been so literal as when she approached her father at the bar. He was talking to a man his age in a pin-striped brown suit. They faced each other, elbows propped on the polished quartz, holding glasses of red wine. Amelia heard something about lake trout as she approached.

“Dad? Sorry,” she threw at the other man, aware she was being rude. “But if you’re coming home with me, the car is leaving.”

She ignored his admonishing, “Amelia,” and headed for the exit.

Outside, she walked through a handful of people who were smoking and laughing. One said, “Oh, hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She veered around the man, fighting to wait until she was in her car and driving away before she let the tears overflow. Her throat was on fire with suppressed anguish, though.

The damned car was too hot! She had forgotten to put up the reflecting screen, so the full sun had beamed through the back window onto the car seat, heating up all the plastic and metal parts. The car itself was an oven.

With a whimper, Amelia shifted to squeeze behind the wheel long enough to start the car and set the air-conditioning to high. She closed the door and left it slightly ajar so she didn’t lock herself out.

The man had followed her and tried to approach her as she stood in the shade of a nearby tree. Was he really recording her with his phone? Her heart tripped and she turned her back on him, sheltering Peyton with the angle of her body.

Thankfully, her father came out, but he only wanted to lecture her on her manners.

“What was that about? Ubert was being very decent about all of this. We thought you would need time to work something out with Hunter, so why are you leaving?”

“Dad,”she hissed. “Remember how you refused to talk about this until we got here? I’m not talking about it until we get home. Also, those people are listening,” she added, glaring past him at that hideous man who was edging closer like a feral dog hoping for a dropped sandwich.

Tobias glanced over his shoulder and grunted his disgust.

“How did you know he was here anyway?” she was compelled to ask, but she kept her voice pitched low. She deliberately didn’t stalk Hunter online, only occasionally reading headlines in the news related to Wave-Com.

“I gave Mo the details from your will. He used that tablet his son gave him, told me Hunter was here last year when you were working here. Then he saw the notice he was getting hitched today. It seemed my best chance to catch him in person and give him a piece of my mind. How have you not told him about Peyton? It’s not like you to lie to me. Is it?” His good eye fixed on her.

“It’s complicated.” And humiliating enough to turn her voice vehement. “I don’t need his money, Dad. Why would youdothis?”

---