Chapter Twenty

For a few weeks, Sunday could almost forget that her stalker had found her. Nothing seemed out of place or threatening and instead, her happiness increased every day as she, River, and Berry became closer as a family.

She and River were also excited that they had made the decision to have a child, but as yet, she hadn’t fallen pregnant. She wasn’t concerned; they had all the time in the world and their lovemaking got better every time as they learned about what the other liked to do and have done to them.

She was also becoming closer to Daisy and to Luke as they invited their friends to dine with them. Daisy’s relationship with Tony had turned to friendship, she told them, but that was okay. Sunday noticed Daisy’s red eyes on one occasion and asked her about it but Daisy told her that it wasn’t Tony who had upset her, but Aria.

“We’re drifting apart,” Daisy told her, “and I don’t know why. It isn’t anything to do with you and I being friends, I’m sure, but she won’t talk to me, not about anything that matters.”

“I’m so sorry, Daisy.” Sunday hugged her friend, wishing she could talk to Aria for her, but not wanting to interfere.

By chance, she got the opportunity later the same week. She and Carmen had driven to a grocery store in Telluride, and as Sunday approached the bakery aisle, she saw Aria staring sightlessly at the bread on sale. She touched her arm gently. “Aria?”

Aria turned, blinking and gave her a half-smile—which was unusual in itself. “Sunday. Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

Aria gazed at her for a long moment then shook her head. “No. I’m not. I’m not.”

And to Sunday’s astonishment, Aria started to cry. Sunday put her arms around the other woman and held her tightly, feeling Aria hug her back. She left Aria cry herself out before offering her a tissue.

“Thanks,” Aria wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just … Sunday, I can’t talk to Daisy about this. It would kill her.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” That was something Sunday had never thought she’d call Aria Fielding.

Aria shook her head. “I found out the other day … I’m sick. It’s so ridiculous, I felt fine until a couple of weeks ago and now …” She looked at Sunday. “Stage IV.” She said it simply, and Sunday felt a jolt.

“Oh no. Oh, Aria, I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry.”

“Thank you. I don’t deserve that from you; I haven’t been the friendliest to you.”

“It’s never too late.” Sunday cursed herself as soon as the words came out. “I mean …”

Aria smiled. “It’s okay, I know what you mean. And you’re right. It’s not too late.”

Sunday took her hand. “But I think you need to tell Daisy. The shock for her … it’s better to know. I know what it’s like to lose someone in a blink of an eye.”

Aria nodded. “I know, word travels fast around here. I Googled you. Marley Locke. Sunday suits you better.”

Sunday chuckled. “I feel more myself as Sunday, strangely. That life seems so distant to me. Look, I’ll be there for you and Daisy through this. Whatever you need, whenever you need.”

“Thank you, Sunday. I appreciate that. Very much.”

Sunday left her with a promise to call her later and arranged to go see Daisy together. Carmen was waiting for her, and she was smiling. “You and River are so alike sometimes. You both collect strays.”

“I was one of those strays,” Sunday said with a chuckle. “Thus proving families are made, not born.”

“Amen to that.”

As they were walking out of the store, Sunday glanced across the street. She saw Brian Scanlan seated outside a coffee shop. He must have sensed her scrutiny as he looked up and raised his cup to her. Sunday gave him a half-smile. She didn’t particularly like the man and hoped he would not come over.

“Let’s go, Carmen.” She looked away from Scanlan and got into the car.

Carmen got in, then froze. “Shoot, I forget the toothpaste. Give me five, Sunny.”

Damn it. As Sunday waited, she saw Scanlan get up and walk over. She rolled down the window, sighing, then plastered a smile on her face. “Hello again.”

“Always a pleasure to see you, Ms. Kemp.”

“Any progress on the ski resort?”

Scanlan smiled. “The papers were signed this morning.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He had his hands on the door and he leaned in closer. “You must come by sometime. I can give you the personal tour.”

The skin on the back of her neck prickled unpleasantly. She was absolutely sure River wasn’t included in that invitation. There was something skeevy about Scanlan, she realized, something that made her stomach clench with unease. “Skiing’s not really my thing, but thank you.”

“There are other pleasurable pastimes aside from skiing. I could introduce you to some of them.”

His meaning was absolutely clear now and Sunday, with relief, saw Carmen emerge from the store. She nodded to Scanlan, who backed away. “Another time, Ms. Locke.”

It wasn’t until she had driven halfway back to Rockford that Sunday realized what he had called her.

Sunday was quiet all through dinner and later, when Berry was asleep, River went to find his lover. She was sitting in her office, reading another one of his father’s diaries.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He sat down beside her and hooked his arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay? You seem a little out of it.”

Sunday leaned her head on his shoulder. “Just thinking about stuff. Life. I saw Aria today.”

“You did? Strange, I didn’t hear about any girl fights.”

“Ha ha.” She chuckled then sighed. “We actually talked. She has some stuff going on, and she needed a friend.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

He kissed her temple. “Making friends all over the state.”

Sunday nodded but she didn’t smile. “And I saw Brian Scanlan. I think our first impressions of him were right. He’s a creep.”

River’s eyes narrowed and he studied her. “Did he come onto you?”

Sunday nodded and River had to quell the pang of jealousy inside him. “I shut it down quick. Ugh. Why do men do that? He knows we’re together, so why on earth would he think I would respond to him in that way?”

River choked back a retort. It wasn’t Sunday’s fault. “Not all men, but you’re a beautiful woman. Douchebag likes to try his luck.”

“Douchebag is right. As if I’d go for anyone who had been with Ange—shit, baby, I didn’t mean …”

River had gotten up and was pacing the room. Sunday got up and reached for him, but he stepped away from her. Sunday’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t mean … you weren’t with her, River, she abused you. I misspoke. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you.”

River drew in a deep breath. “But I was with her. We had sex.”

“No. Rape is not sex, River. It’s violence, sexual violence. Did you ever seek out intercourse with her?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then.” She gave a shaky laugh. “What I meant was, Scanlan voluntarily fucked that spider. Please, River, don’t push me away; you must know that’s what I meant.”

For a moment, River felt like running away. He didn’t want to feel sullied or unworthy of Sunday’s love, but he had to admit—it was at the back of his mind, always. There was some damage he hadn’t yet come to terms with.

Eventually though, he could not bear to be estranged from Sunday. He opened his arms and she went into them, the relief clear on her face. “I love you,” she said, “I want you and only you, for all time. You are my reason to live, River.”

He pressed his lips to hers, her words a salve to his fractured mind, and he knew, to move forward, he would have to deal with how he felt about what Angelina had done to him.

The idea came to him during the night and he woke Sunday up, apologizing. “I need to ask you something before I chicken out.”

She rubbed her eyes sleepily and sat up. “What is it, baby?”

“What you told Angelina, about you going deep cover to get my story—what if that was the truth? What if you went back to the career you gave up? Journalism. Help me tell my story, Sunday. The statute of limitations on having her arrested is way past … but we can still expose her.”

Sunday stared at him for a long moment, then she smiled. “You got it, baby. Let’s bring Angelina Marshall down.”