As I scroll, I continue pacing back and forth, looking at the images and becoming increasingly nauseated. Crap. Photographers have been stalking us for a while. There's Rune and me sitting at our table at the fundraising party with his arm draped over the back of my chair; next, Rune, Lorelei, and I are walking through Pioneer Square hand in hand with her. We look like a happy little family. I can see how people would think she's, our daughter. She looks like the blend of the two of us. Why didn't I notice that before?

The following photos make me even more ill. It's Syd and Nils on their vacation. Oh my God, a photographer is following them on their vacation. Franklin is a monster, an absolute monster.

And then there's a much older photo. Syd and Rune at a fancy party, looking happy and fabulous. Oh no, oh no. I hadn't fully registered Mom saying that Franklin will tell gossip sites that Rune is Nils's real father.

I'm sobbing now. I stumble and run out of the storage room, through the barn, into the rain to throw up my lunch. My phone keeps beeping from my pocket as I heave. Again and again, I retch, bent over double by the side of the barn in the wet, tall grass.

Beside me, Butterscotch whimpers her concern.

After several minutes, I see a green garden hose coiled up near me and turn it on to rinse out my mouth a few times before I turn my hot, wet face to the rain to cool it off. Bad idea. The rest of my body is freezing, now all of me is.

I stagger back into the barn and the storage unit with the dog on my heels and sit on the dark orange vintage sofa. What a cluster fuck. Butterscotch jumps up next to me, whining and trying to lick my face. I scoop her soft, damp, warm little body up and hug it to me for a moment, listening to my phone continue to beep.

After several minutes, I realize I need to warn Rune, Gunnar, and Syd. I try calling Rune, but he doesn't pick up. Crap. My hands are shaking so badly it takes me forever to create a coherent message. I do the same to Gunnar and Syd and then slip my phone back into my pocket, exhausted.

I'm crying again. My family is being stalked by a monster, and Rune is my nephew's father. My phone keeps beeping. It's not anyone I want to talk to; it's my dad. He'll be much saner, but he almost always sides with my mom. I can't remember a time when he's stood up to one of her rages. I never fight back either; only Sydney does.

Well, not anymore. I'm done. Mom may never talk to me again, but if she does, watch out. I slink down on the couch until I'm curled around Butterscotch in a fetal-like position. Fuck her for wanting to appease Franklin the shithead. I can't ask Rune to stop the podcast. Franklin deserves to have his shameful, terrible behavior exposed. But the idea of losing my family over it because of my mother's worship of Franklin (who doesn't know how to love anyone, I'm sure) is equally bad.

How has Rune dealt with this kind of animosity and cruelty focused on him? My thoughts keep spinning as I sit there in the growing cold and damp. Syd and Rune and Nils. God. I pull out my phone one more time, open my photo gallery, and find an image of my dear, sweet, fabulous nephew. How had I not noticed Nils has Rune's mouth? No. He has his nose and his mouth. Worse and worse. Crap!

My brain can barely take in the awfulness. I understand why Syd and Rune didn't tell me they ever got together. I do. But oh, how it hurts. I have no energy to move away from Butterscotch's silky warmth. I'm so tired from grief and misery. All I want to do is close my eyes. So, I do. I can't bear my thoughts, so I focus on Butterscotch's small, soft heat and slow my breathing.

We've been huddled like this for twenty minutes or maybe twenty years when the dog's head lifts. She barks once before launching out of my arms and out of the storeroom door.

Distantly, I hear someone calling my name. Their voice is deeper than Marguerite's. Have Gunnar and Lorelei come back early? I should go and tell them where I am, but I really don't want to move.

"Shelby!" Rune's suddenly here, on his knees in front of the couch, as Butterscotch leaps back onto my lap, "What are you doing out here?"

"Franklin's trying to stop the podcast by blackmailing my mom," I stutter through clenched teeth to keep them from chattering, reaching toward my pocket for my phone, but I'm so cold I can't manage it.

"I got your phone message," he tells me grimly, taking my phone and slipping it into the front pocket of his wet puffer jacket. He's as handsome as ever but appears almost as ragged and tired as I feel, "Let's get you inside and warmed up before discussing this."

"No…no," I stutter miserably, "Why didn't you tell me you're Nils's father? Is he why you got a vasectomy?" I hiccup and start crying again.

"Seashell," he sits next to me and takes my very cold face in his very warm hands, wiping at my tears with his thumbs, "I'm not Nils's father," he says firmly.

"But he's got your mouth," I wail miserably.

"Shhh," he soothes, pulling me close, cradling my head against his shoulder, "Shells, I swear your sister and I never got together; Nils has to be Gunnar's child."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Oh," I sniff, and hiccup again, realizing this makes much better sense.

"How old is Nils?" he asks.

"Thirteen," I tell him, pulling up my hoodie to wipe my nose on.

"Then he was probably conceived around the time Gunnar and Syd filmed that perfume commercial together; this photo of Syd and I on the red carpet has cut Gunnar out of it," Rune sits up, "Let's go get you warmed up. Why are you even out here?"

"I was looking for picture frames, I finished the drawing for the rescue horses," I tell him as he gets up and looks around a little longingly at the Theo's assortment of vintage things.

"Can you stand up?" he asks, turning back to me.

"I think so," I tell him and wince as I unfold myself realizing one of my legs is almost entirely asleep, "Have I been sitting in here for hours?"

"No, I was already on my way here," he tells me, pulling my hood up, "The weather's getting worse. I didn't want to risk getting stuck in Victoria for my birthday," he says as he guides me slowly and patiently.

The rain is coming down much harder now. Out of the barn I can see wind whipping the trees and bushes into a frenzy. By the time we walk up the porch stairs and into the house, I'm moving better, but I'm soaked. We're all three soaked.

When I move to sit on the couch, Rune gently turns my shoulders towards the stairs, "Let's get you in the bathtub. You'll warm up quicker."

"Oof," I grimace, looking up the long flight. I'd rather curl up by the fire.

"I don't think I can carry you up the stairs," Rune says, "but I can put you over my shoulder…"

"No!" I protest, pulling myself together as much as possible, and insist, "I can do it."

I start up the staircase with Rune right behind me as if he's afraid I might tumble backward. When he's sure I'm steady enough, he slips around me up the landing into the master bedroom. I hear him turning on the taps for the tub.

When I join him, I creak down onto the toilet seat and attempt to untie my shoes, but my hands are still too clumsy with cold. I can't even toe them off I'm so uncoordinated right now.

"Here," Rune says, turning around and slipping each sneaker off easily. He doesn't look at me as he does this, instead turning quickly back to the filling tub.

Oh no. He's friending me. I'm being moved into the platonic zone again. I may be almost physically numb, but I can feel his emotional distance.

"Have you got it from here?" he asks kindly, which hurts even more.

I nod. Standing up, he runs a hand over my head gently like he does to Lorelei. He's definitely friending me. I bite my lip to keep the tears from falling again.

"I should go make some calls. I've got your phone. Do you mind if I forward the images your mom sent to some people?" he asks.

"Of course not," I say, looking at the floor instead of him, now biting the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. He dashes off, closing the door gently behind him.

More tears run down my still-cold face as I struggle awkwardly out of my clothes. I'm glad he's not here to witness it. That part of our relationship might all be over now, I think, hissing against the shock of the hot water as I sink down in the tub.

Don't jump to conclusions, Theo advises, he's feeling incredibly guilty right now.

"What does he have to feel guilty for?" I say softly, followed by a loud hiccup.

For involving you and your family in this mess with Franklin, Theo says.

It's not his fault Franklin's insane, I think angrily, turning up the hot water more.

I also add a generous amount of my favorite Italian honey-scented bubble bath under the running water. I use it sparingly because I receive it once a year for Christmas from a very sweet Italian cousin. And then, for good measure, because life really sucks right now, I also add a generous dollop of my favorite rose bubble bath as well.

Good. It's better to be angry than sad right now, Theo says, You both need to be strategic.

How can we do that? I ask, sinking into the deliciously fragrant water and resting my head on the back of the tub.

Figure out how to beat Franklin at his own game.

How in the world could we do that? I ask.

Theo doesn't answer. It's probably some rule of heaven, or whatever parallel universe he's in right now, that he can only nudge but not spell it out answers for me.

What can Rune and I do against Franklin, Pamela, and his well-funded and organized smear efforts? We can't be like them. We have to follow the law. Rune seems comfortably well off, but he doesn't have Franklin's level of wealth to buy photographers and stuff.

The heat works wonders on my body, but my mind is still fretting. My heart hurts every time I remember Rune not looking at me while he pulled off my shoes. I slip my body down so I can submerge my head in the water, feeling my ears burn.

But now I have Vivienne's calm, lovely, wise voice in my head telling me not to jump to conclusions: Rune is probably totally freaking out right now, but he's here. Excellent point.

I've just about got my courage screwed up to get out of the tub and talk to Rune when the lights overhead flicker. Oh no. They stay on for a moment, and I relax and start getting out of the tub again when they stutter again and go out.

I hold my breath for a moment, hoping, but they don't come back on. Crap. It's still light enough outside to see, but darkness is coming fast. Rune pounds up the stairs at a run, and Butterscotch barks after him, thinking it's a game.

"Where are all your flashlights and candles and stuff in case the power doesn't come back on?" he asks through the door.

"There's a flashlight under my bed," I tell him as I reach for a towel, "and several flashlights and candles in the pantry in the laundry room."

I hear him find the flashlight for me, set it by the door, and then drawers open. What's he doing? I wonder as I dry off. A few moments later, he's running back downstairs again.

You can do this, I tell myself, buying a little more time by reaching for my fancy rose-scented lotion my sister gave me. Usually, I put the less expensive stuff on my legs and body and keep this really nice stuff for my arms and neck, but I'll indulge today. Why not? Smelling great will give me courage.

My oldest, ugliest, bulkiest pair of gray sweats, a thick pair of socks, and my newest, prettiest panties greet me from the floor when I open the bathroom door. I've never even worn these panties before. They are a sexy light pink pair of almost sheer boy shorts with darker pink flowers in strategic places that I bought online as a special splurge when I thought Jack would be my date for the fundraiser.

This is a mixed message I have no idea how to read. It feels like these sweats would insult his fashion sense. But are the panties a sign of hope? At any rate, he was being thoughtful, so I go ahead and put them all on and brace myself for a tough conversation.