Claire shook her head and stepped back. “Ruby, we need to get changed, okay?”
“Mom,” Ruby said, her voice a whine, and Claire felt even more blood rush to her cheeks. This was going to turn into a fight; she could feel it. A huge, tear-streaked fight, right here in Vivian’s, at Astrid’s first wedding event. She took a deep breath to calm her wobbling stomach, trying to think of what she could say to Ruby, the magic words to make this all fine, but her mind was blank.
Horrifyingly, her eyes started to sting, a swell just behind them. She was so tired. She was so, so tired of being the bad guy.
“Hey,” Delilah said. She took the dress fully out of the bag and draped it over her arm. “Let’s see what you and I can make of this. What do you say?”
She was looking right at Ruby again, Claire forgotten. Ruby’s arms dropped and her face brightened.
“Yeah?” Ruby asked. “Like what?”
“Well,” Delilah said, heading toward the bathroom, “I happen to have a lot of experience in remaking a piece of clothing I hate into something I sort of like, and I’m thinking you’ve got some ideas up your sleeves too.” Her eyes flicked down to Ruby’s nail polish—bright turquoise alternating with a deep plum—then up to her hair, which Claire hadn’t even noticed yet. Her daughter’s locks were long and loose on one side, but on the other, an expertly woven fishtail braid arched down to her shoulder. She didn’t even know Ruby could do a fishtail braid. And when she looked even closer, she spotted a silver-and-black-striped ribbon twisted through the plait.
“Maybe,” Ruby said, grinning, and then Delilah swept Ruby into the bathroom, the heavy oak door thunking shut behind them.
Claire stood there for a few long moments, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. She felt silly, slightly embarrassed, that she hadn’t thought of just asking Ruby what she would change about the dress. It was a dress. It was already made. Astrid bought it for her, and god knew, it probably cost more than all of Ruby’s other clothes combined, which were a blend of Target and Old Navy, cheap stuff that she’d just grow out of in a year. Claire loved clothes, loved finding unique pieces in thrift stores and vintage clothing shops that made her feel like herself, but she never really remade anything. She’d never even thought about it.
Still, underneath the need to do a massive face-palm, there was something else, something stronger.
Relief.
Delilah was actually going to get her daughter into the dress. There would be no public argument that ended with Ruby screaming that she hated her. Claire pressed her hands to her stomach, breathing into the new space she felt there.
“Claire?” Astrid came down the hall, her heels clicking on the marble floor. “Everything okay? We’re ready to start.”
Claire nodded and jutted her thumb toward the bathroom. “Ruby’s just getting changed.”
“Oh good. I really hope she likes the—”
But her voice was cut off when the bathroom door swung open. Ruby stepped out first, Delilah behind her. The dress had been completely transformed. Well, not completely. The bones were still there. Only the bones. The lace overlay was gone, leaving the satin slip underneath, sleeveless with a scooped neck and falling to just above Ruby’s knees. Instead of the matching lavender pumps that had been in the bag, Ruby wore her black combat boots, the ones Claire had gotten her for her birthday last April.
The effect was . . . perfect.
Ruby looked like herself, much more than Claire ever imagined she could in Vivian’s Tearoom. What’s more, she was smiling, and that was enough for Claire.
“What . . . How . . . When . . .” Astrid spluttered, her mouth hanging open. “What happened?”
“Delilah fixed my dress,” Ruby said proudly. She popped her hands on her hips and struck a pose. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“Yeah, sister, isn’t it amazing?” Delilah said, her mouth pursed like she was trying not to laugh.
“I . . . well . . .”
Claire saw Ruby’s smile start to dim.
“It is amazing,” she said, taking her daughter’s hands and holding out her arms out to get a better look at her. The smile brightened again. Claire twirled Ruby around once before leading her back into the main room, her daughter leaning against her happily.
She looked back over her shoulder, just once. Catching Delilah’s eye, she mouthed thank you at the exact moment Delilah lifted her camera and snapped a photo.
Chapter Seven
DELILAH LOWERED HER camera and inspected the photo on her screen. Claire had her arm around Ruby, her head turned over her shoulder. Her mouth was open a little, lips pursed slightly, her thank you just released into the air. With her hair up and those nerdy-sexy glasses, her gold heels and that lacy dress swelling over her hips before hitting her calves, she looked incredible.
Classic.
Iconic, even.
And the photo was damn good. The lighting was perfect, the soft glow of the hallway gathering around Claire and Ruby, like it was protecting them.
But what was even better was the expression in Claire’s eyes as she looked right at Delilah. She was grateful, sure. Delilah had clearly helped her avoid some sort of preteen catastrophe, but the gleam in Claire’s gaze was more than that. It was interest.
Delilah smiled down at her screen, enjoying whatever dance the two of them were engaged in. Astrid was dead wrong—Claire was intrigued, at the very least, and Delilah could definitely work with intrigued.
Still, she wasn’t exactly sure why she stepped in to help Ruby with her dress. She’d been covertly snapping photos of Astrid’s argument with Josh—whom Delilah vaguely remembered as a baseball guy from high school—figuring Astrid would love to memorialize how her mouth twisted up and her forehead filled with little wrinkles as she berated him.
But then it all came together: Claire crying, the girl—who couldn’t be more than ten or eleven—looking absolutely miserable as Claire pulled her toward the bathroom with that garment bag. Delilah knew Claire had a kid, that she’d gotten pregnant right after high school and decided to keep the baby. Delilah hadn’t felt anything about the news then—other than maybe a slight morbid glee that Claire’s decision meant she wouldn’t get to attend Berkeley with the rest of the coven.
Before she knew it, Delilah had drifted away from Astrid’s bickering and toward Claire, fascinated with someone her age having an almost-teenager. Or maybe she was more fascinated with how Claire’s dress perfectly clung to her ample chest. Either way, there she was, watching Ruby slowly melting down over a dress.
She had a flash right then, one of Isabel lingering in her doorway with clenched fists while a thirteen-year-old Delilah sat on her bed, ripping up the dress her stepmother had wanted her to wear to a charity event for which she was on the board.