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interest.”
    â€œFine. Keep that to yourself.” Shelby took a deep breath. “This is about my mother, and that . . . that guy she was with. Chad Covington.”
    â€œOh my God, Shelby. I’ve been dying to talk to you about that! What the hell? Is he really your father?”
    â€œAbsolutely not,” Shelby said firmly, catching herself from raising her voice and waking Ryan. “At least I don’t think so. He can’t be.”
    â€œWhat’s his story?”
    â€œI have no idea. Any chance you could do some digging for me?”
    â€œYeah, of course.”
    â€œThere can’t be any truth to his story,” Shelby said. She glanced toward the bedroom, hearing the sounds of her husband rousing. “I want to nip it in the bud.”
    â€œI’m on it.”
    â€œAnd Jenna? You have to be discreet. The last thing Ryan and his family need right now is another distraction.”
    â€œThis could be that big news break I need—”
    â€œDon’t even think about it. This isn’t an opportunity. It’s personal.”

C HAPTER 7
    LUNE DE MIEL
    A fter a long day of travel from Wisconsin to Switzerland, Ryan and Shelby boarded the Matterhorn Gotthard Bahn train in the Swiss town of Visp. They were now seated together in a private compartment with the armrest between them folded up and Ryan had his arm wrapped snugly around her shoulders. They looked out of their window and marveled at the scenery while the burgundy-red train wound its way up and through the country’s deepest cleft valley toward the idyllic village of Zermatt.
    At some points along the narrow-gauge and cog railway, the train rounded harrowing curves and hugged the mountainside as it passed closely beneath craggy overhangs. The couple could look down the steep terrain and see the Vispa River running far below; and above them, they admired the steep peaks of the Täschhorn, Dom, and Weisshorn mountains.
    Shelby turned away from the window just long enough to kiss Ryan fully on the lips. “Incredible! I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
    Ryan enjoyed her childlike wonder as she continued to peer out on to the landscape. She held one hand pressed flat against the windowpane while the other reached back to hold his, squeezing it whenever they skirted another bend or the mountain face dropped off in a steep pitch toward the river.
    â€œWe’re almost there,” Ryan told her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze in return. He looked over Shelby’s shoulder and watched as beams of the setting sun shone through the valley and cast the mountain slopes in a brilliant array of rose-colored light and shadows.
    â€œI don’t know,” Shelby said, more to herself than to him. “I think we’ve already arrived.”
    Their honeymoon destination had been a well-kept secret. It was a place Ryan had visited once during college, and he had immediately fallen for its charm. He knew it would be the perfect honeymoon. Or, as the Swiss woman who had helped him make the arrangements had called it, a romantic lune de miel . Tucked away in the protective valley of a colossal mountain peak, the private town was absent of automobiles, city lights, and crowds. Over the past several months, he had been anxiously anticipating Shelby’s reaction to walking along Zermatt’s cobblestone streets, where the only sounds came from pedestrian chatter, church bells, and the occasional passing of an electric taxi or horse-drawn carriage. He knew she would love breathing in the fresh mountain air as they strolled past boutiques, chocolatiers, and enticing bakeries that were nestled all along the Bahnhofstrasse, the narrow street that ran through the center of town.
    Ryan shifted in his seat so he could share her view of the river running through the gorge below and the few chalet-style homes that were set off from the railway, each with colorful flower boxes that adorned