by Robyn Grady
“Last week, before you called in,” her mother said, returning with Sam’s photo in hand, “I put this away. Your father didn’t think you needed reminding. Of course, I put it back out after you left.” She smiled down at the picture and sighed. “He always looked so handsome in his uniform.”
When she held the frame out to her, Grace automatically stepped away. Yes, Sam was kind and brave and handsome. He was a natural with kids, including April. But her father was right. She didn’t need reminding. She lived with enough memories.
But she couldn’t go back—change what had already played out. She could only move forward, and now seemed the time to let her mother know precisely that, and as plainly as she could.
“I’m going to Australia,” Grace announced. “Leaving next week.”
Her mother’s brow pinched. “Why? With whom?”
“With Wynn Hunter.”
While Grace’s heart hammered against her ribs, her mother blinked several times before a smile appeared, small and wry.
“Your father mentioned that he’d run into Wynn. But now, you’re...what? Seeing each other?”
“His brother Cole’s getting married in Sydney. Wynn asked if I’d like to go. It’ll be nice to catch up with Teagan.”
“I saw Wynn at his mother’s funeral a few years back. At his father’s subsequent wedding, too. He seemed to have grown into a fine young man.” Her focus dipped to the photo again, and then she arched a brow. “Is it serious?”
Grace could truthfully admit, “Not serious at all.”
“So, you’re not having a...well,” her voice dropped, “a relationship?”
Grace thought about it. “That would depend on your definition.”
“I see. More a fling.” Her mother’s look was dry—wounded—as she crossed to slot the frame back on the mantle. “It’s none of my business....” Then she took a breath and swung back around. “But, I’m sorry, Grace. I can’t say I approve. Those types of affairs might seem like a harmless distraction. Except someone always gets hurt.”
A movement near the stairs drew Grace’s eye. Rochelle was wandering over. Her face was almost as pale as the white linen shirt she wore. With a fluid gait, her mother joined her.
“My God, Rochelle,” Grace murmured, “what’s wrong?”
When their mother asked, “Is April with Nan?” Rochelle found energy enough to nod and settle on the sofa. Sitting, too, Grace held her older sister’s arm and examined her blotched complexion.
“Shell, you’ve been crying.”
Rochelle shuddered out a defeated breath. “Trey’s had an affair. He’s gone.”
The room seemed to tilt. Grace remembered April’s comment about her daddy needing to stay away. So, he’d left the family home? Or had Rochelle kicked him out? But none of it made sense. Those two had the perfect marriage, the kind of union their parents held up as a shining example. The kind of relationship their mother wanted for all her girls. The kind of bond Grace had once tried to convince herself she’d had with Sam.
In the past, Rochelle’s stories revolving around her sparkling life had grated. Still, Grace loved her sister. She adored her niece. Now, as tears filled Rochelle’s desolate green eyes, Grace wanted to help if she could.
“Do you know the other woman?”
“A nurse. A friend.” Rochelle set her vacant stare on the far wall. “I had no idea. She held April’s hand while we all watched fireworks on Independence Day.”
When a tear slid down Rochelle’s cheek, Grace folded her sister in her arms; she couldn’t imagine how dazed and sick to her stomach she must feel. And if Trey had confessed... Was the affair still on?
“Is Trey still seeing this woman?”
“Doesn’t matter whether he is or not.” Their mother’s elegant fingers clutched her throat as she sniffed. “The damage is done.”
Grace considered her mother’s indignant look and made the leap: this was an example of a fling’s dire consequences.
Another, younger voice boomed out across the room. “Yay! Gracie’s here!”
With a hip-hop gait, Tilly entered the room. Given those shocks of black and burgundy hair, she might have stuck her finger in a power socket. Grace noted that Rochelle was swiping at her cheeks, putting on a brave face—the stoic Munroe way.
So, Tilly didn’t know?
Tilly was blinking from one to the other. “What’s up?”
Her mother busied herself tidying the jewels. “Everything’s fine.”
Tilly crossed her arms. “Doesn’t look fine.”
“Grace is staying for dinner.” Taking control of the situation, as usual, their mother moved to slip an arm around her youngest daughter’s waist. “Jenn can prepare a big roast with sweet potato rounds for appetizers. Oh, and how about a strawberry torte to finish?”
While Rochelle looked flattened, Tilly seemed confused and Grace couldn’t help but recall: torte had been Sam’s favorite.
* * *
When Brock Munroe arrived home that evening, Suzanne took him aside, presumably to relay the news regarding Trey’s infidelity. During dinner, their father remained stony-faced, poor Nan and Rochelle barely spoke and Tilly quietly observed the whole scene. Their mother overcompensated with a slew of chatter—except when it came to the subject of Grace’s visit to Sydney.
While her father patted her hand and said the trip sounded nice—he obviously didn’t see a problem with regard to Guthrie Hunter’s recent difficulties or her accompanying Wynn over there—the tension at the other end of the long table built.
After plates were cleared, Nan excused herself, April was put to bed and Grace decided some fresh air and alone time were in order.
She’d bought a notebook the day before. Now with that book and a rug tucked under one arm, she ventured out onto the back partly enclosed terrace, which overlooked the pool. She rested an elbow on the wicker chair’s arm, tapped the pen against her chin and let her mind wind back. In these surroundings with her family—here and now seemed the best place to start.
Grace was a world away, adding to how events had unraveled the night of Sam’s accident, when she was interrupted.
“What are you writing?”
Snapping back to the present, Grace focused on Rochelle, who had appeared beside a row of potted sculptured shrubs. She half fibbed. “Working on an exercise.”
“For speech therapy?”
“It’s definitely about getting a message clear.”
Once she’d begun to jot down her thoughts, she’d experienced a kind of catharsis. Now she wondered why she hadn’t thought to do this before.
“How’re you feeling?” Grace asked, closing the notebook.
“Less shaken than I was earlier,” Rochelle admitted. “April’s eyes were itching before she nodded off.”
“Allergies?”
“Maybe just tired. She’s had a big day.” She gestured toward a chair. “Can I join you?”
“I’d like that.”
“I came from Tilly’s room.” Rochelle lowered into a chair. “She wanted to know what was wrong.”
“You told her?”
“She might be seventeen but she’s not a child. She said she’d come stay over the holidays if April and I needed company.”
“Tilly’s always been a good kid.”
“And the only one in this family who Mom can’t corral. That girl has the stubbornness of a mule.”
“Of ten mules.”
They both grinned before a distant look clouded Rochelle’s eyes. Bowing her head, she studied her left hand. The enormous diamond on her third finger caught the artificial light, casting shifting prisms over her face.
“It’s hard to believe it was all an illusion,” Rochelle murmured. “That he doesn’t really love me.”
&nbs
p; “Did Trey say that?”
“A person doesn’t eat off another plate if he’s happy with the dish he has at home. This year, I wanted to try for another baby. Trey said to wait.” Biting her lip, she let her head rock back. “I’m such an idiot.”
“None of this is your fault. No one deserves that kind of betrayal.”
“Mom didn’t want Trey and I to get married. She thought he was a flirt. Women respond when he walks into a room.” Rochelle’s watery eyes blinked slowly as her mouth formed a bittersweet smile. “I felt lucky.”
They sat in silence for a while, studying the shadows beyond the terrace, before Rochelle spoke again.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t much of a help when Sam passed away. I liked him.”
Yeah. “Everyone liked Sam.”
“But you didn’t love him, did you, Grace? Not deeply and with all your heart.”
Grace froze as a surreal sensation swept through her body. She stared at her sister. “You knew?”
“He looked at you the same way I look at Trey—with adoration, and hope.”
When Rochelle hugged herself, Grace threw one side of the rug over for her to share.
“If he hadn’t died,” Rochelle said, snuggling in, “do you think you’d have got married?”
“No.” Grace shook her head. “Even if everyone else thought we should.”
“I always wondered why Trey asked me.”
“Maybe because you’re smart and beautiful—”
“And filled with insecurities? You can’t imagine how tiring it is, pretending everything’s amazingly wonderful when you wonder if your husband thinks your hips are monstrous, or you’re not witty enough, and it’s a matter of time before someone finds out you’re a big fat fraud.”
Queen Rochelle had never thought she was good enough? The stories about her fabulous life were all a front? Guess they weren’t so different, after all.
“We all have insecurities,” Grace admitted. “At some stage, we all pretend.”
“All those late, long hours...” Rochelle’s nostrils flared. “He’s probably had other flings.”
There was that word again. That jolt. But her situation with Wynn was a thousand times different from Rochelle’s. No cheating was involved—although in some ways they were each still attached to other people: her to Sam’s memory, and Wynn to his beautiful ex.
Wynn had said that woman was in his past and yet she’d seen the emotion in his eyes. His ex had broken it off. Had she cheated on him the way Trey had cheated on Rochelle? Sam would never have done such a thing. Wynn, either.
Surely not.
“When are you leaving for Australia?” Rochelle asked.
Grace was still shivering from that last thought. “Monday. Mom’s not pleased about it.”
“Daddy thinks it’s a good idea. I do, too. It’s been years but I liked Wynn Hunter, even if he seemed a little intense.”
“He’s still intense, but in a different, steady-simmer kind of way. There’s something about him, Shell. Something...hypnotic.” Grace’s smile wavered. “Almost dangerous.”
“Different from Sam, then?” Rochelle joked.
“In pretty much every way.”
When Grace shifted, the notebook slipped. Rochelle caught it and handed it back. Thinking about the secret contained within those pages, Grace ran a fingertip over the cover. What would her family say if they knew the whole story? Given Wynn’s past, what would he say?
“I’m still not one hundred percent sure about going to Sydney,” she admitted. “Cole’s getting married. Apparently Dex is besotted with his fiancée. Cupid’s shooting arrows all over the place where the Hunters are concerned.”
She thought of her friend Amy and her bubbling enthusiasm over Wynn’s kiss the previous weekend.
“I know the kind of atmosphere weddings create,” Grace said. “Everyone’s in love with the idea of being in love, and I’m over fending off other people’s expectations.”
“I’m not the one to give advice here but, Gracie, don’t worry about what anyone thinks. You’re a different person from the girl who started dating Sam. Hell, I’m different from the person who fell head over heels seven years ago for Trey. Back then, I felt giddy—so happy. Now I feel as if I’ve fallen in some deep, dark pit.”
Grace’s heart squeezed for her sister. It had been hard losing Sam, but he wasn’t the father of her child. Regardless of this bombshell, Rochelle had loved her husband. Still, Rochelle could find comfort in the knowledge that people cared about her, and would look after both her and April, no matter what.
Grace held her sister’s gaze. “You’ll be okay. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. I know.” Finding a brave smile, Rochelle leaned her head on her little sister’s shoulder. “We both will.”
Seven
The following week, the Qantas airbus Grace and Wynn had boarded in New York landed safely at Sydney Airport. With luggage collected, the pair jumped into a luxury rental vehicle and headed for the Hunter mansion. Travelling over connecting roads with the convertible’s soft top down, Grace sighed at the picture-perfect views.
Sydney’s heart was its harbor, an enormous, mirror-blue expanse that linked town and suburbs via fleets of green-and-yellow ferries. Built on the capital’s northeastern tip, the giant shells of the world-famous Sydney Opera House reflected the majesty of a city whose mix of skyscrapers and parkland said “smart and proud and new.” The mint-fresh air and southern-hemisphere sunshine left Grace feeling clean and alive, even after a twenty-odd hour flight.
She’d been a little anxious over whether Wynn’s wedding-focused family might cast rose petals in their path, or if that crazy stalker situation would prove to be less contained than Wynn hoped and believed; if some madman wanted to harm Wynn’s father, what better time to creep out from the shadows than when the entire family was together and off guard.
But with a warm breeze pulling through her hair and the promise of nothing but relaxation, mixed with some sight-seeing adventures, she was feeling good about her decision. Nevertheless, when the BMW swung into the Hunter mansion’s massive circular drive, Grace found herself drawing down a deep breath.
A member of the house staff answered the door and they were shown to a lounge room that was filled with people. An older silver-haired man, whom Grace recognized as Guthrie Hunter, stepped forward and put his arms around Wynn in a brief but affectionate man-hug before stepping back to assess his son’s face.
“You look well, Wynn.”
“You, too.”
Grace heard relief in Wynn’s voice; given those escalating threats on his father’s life, no doubt he expected the wear to show.
And then all eyes were on her. Grace tacked up her smile at the same time Wynn introduced her.
“Everyone, meet Grace Munroe.” Grinning, he cocked a brow. “Or, should I say, meet her again?”
An attractive woman around Grace’s age romped up to hug her, long and tight. With thick blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, she smelled of oatmeal shampoo. Her tanned arms were strong, her body superfit and lean in her hot pink exercise singlet. Grace let loose a laugh and pulled back.
“Teagan, you need to be on the cover of your own health and fitness magazine!”
“Blame the day job.” Teagan mock flexed a biceps. “I can’t wait to catch up on all your news.” She slid a knowing glance Wynn’s way. “That is, if my dear brother will let you out of his sight for a minute.”
Grace waited for Wynn to somehow brush the remark aside. Instead he looped an arm around her waist and gave everyone a lopsided smile—a kind of confirmation. Which felt nice, but also wrong. She hadn’t wanted to give anyone that impression. They weren’t dating. Or at least they didn’t have any long-term agendas, and she didn’t want to have to fend off an
y open speculation that they did.
But then Wynn gave her a squeeze and she read the message in his eyes. Relax. Guess she was looking uptight. Overreacting.
A man stepped up, acknowledging her with an easy smile and tip of his head. He had hair dark and glossy like Wynn’s, classically chiseled features and ocean-green eyes...
“You, I recognize,” Grace exclaimed. “Cole, right?”
“The pigtails are gone,” Cole joked, “but you haven’t lost that cheeky grin.” He beckoned someone over—a stunning woman with a waterfall of dark hair and eyes only for this man. She held out a hand—slender and manicured.
“I’m Taryn, Cole’s blushing bride-to-be.” Her Australian accent was pitch-perfect and welcoming. “We’re so glad you could both make it.”
“Wynn’s excited about being here for the wedding, seeing everyone,” Grace admitted. “I am, too.”
Another man sauntered up. This brother’s hair was sun-streaked, and his expression was open for all who cared to see. Those tawny eyes—like a lion’s—were unmistakable.
“I’m Dex,” he said, “Let me introduce you to the love of my life.”
Laughing, a statuesque redhead dressed in modest denim cut-offs stepped up and shook Grace’s hand heartily. “Shelby Scott. Pleased to meet you.”
Grace detected a hint of a twang. “Texas?”
“I was born in a real nice place in Oklahoma,” Shelby said with pride.
“Mountain Ridge,” Dex added. “Ranch country. You should see her in a pair of spurs.” With his strong arms linked around her, Shelby angled to give him a censoring look. Dex only snatched a kiss that lingered until a boy with Dex’s same tawny-colored eyes and wearing a bright red T-shirt, broke through the wall of adults.
“Are you going to marry Wynn?” The boy’s shoulders bobbed up and down. “All my brothers are getting hitched.”
Dex ruffled the boy’s hair. “Hey, buddy, rein it in a little. We don’t want to scare Grace off just yet.”
It seemed like a room full of curious eyes slid back toward Grace as the boy considered, and then asked again. “Well, are you?”
