“A lawyer. Preferably criminal law,” Iris said.
“Oh Jesus,” said Grant, who’d hovered off to the side as they’d talked to Astrid but now slung his arm around Iris’s shoulder.
Claire turned to her friend. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Iris gritted her teeth. “I’m talking about how I’m going to need a really damn good lawyer in about two point four seconds, because I’m going to murder that shit boot.” She waved her glass toward Spencer, who was chatting with his friends, teeth shining in the dark.
“Shit boot?” Claire cracked a smile.
“An Iris original,” Grant said.
The three of them laughed, but Claire still felt uneasy, helpless. It was true that Astrid hadn’t brought Spencer around them all that much since they’d been together. A dinner here and there. Mostly, though, she was either only with Iris and Claire or only with Spencer.
Now, Claire was starting to see the reason for Astrid’s little boxes, especially with Seattle in the mix. Astrid knew her friends would cause more than a fuss over some guy dragging her off like a caveman to a town she loathed.
“Take these.”
Claire startled to see Delilah suddenly right in front of her, holding out her phone and camera. “What?”
“Just hang on to them, okay?”
But before Claire could answer, Delilah closed Claire’s fingers around the phone and looped her camera around Claire’s neck before sauntering farther down the dock, wineglass held lazily in one hand, hips swaying. More than one of Spencer’s friends checked out her ass as she passed, which, for some reason, made Claire clench her teeth together.
“Well, if it isn’t the wicked stepsister,” Spencer said as she approached. He stood at the dock’s edge, dark water lapping underneath.
“Only I get to call myself that,” Delilah said, but Claire could tell she was smiling. “So tell me about yourself, Spence,” she went on, voice like maple sugar as she reached out to squeeze his arm.
But then she seemed to . . . wobble. Her heel caught on one of the rough wooden planks, and she stumbled into Spencer.
“Shit,” she said, latching on to his shoulders as he grabbed her arms to steady her.
“Whoa, easy,” he said, but her body just kept moving forward like a ball down a hill. She twisted, wineglass clanking unbroken to the ground as she tried to get her balance.
“Oh my god,” Iris said. “Are they going to—”
But she cut herself off, because yes, yes they were.
Spencer and Delilah tumbled into the river in a twist of limbs and profanity.
“Dude, you okay?” one of Spencer’s friends said, and they all crowded to the end of the dock. Claire rushed over too, Iris and Grant close behind. She elbowed her way through the frat boys to see Delilah and Spencer spluttering in the inky water, both of them completely drenched and looking like drowned rats.
“What the fuck?” Spencer said as he swiped his wet hair back and found his footing. The water wasn’t that deep, but even standing, it still came up to his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” Delilah said, her voice measured and calm. “I don’t know what happened.”
She treaded water as Spencer’s friends all leaned down to help him out of the river. His silky shirt was ruined, his leather shoes waterlogged, and his expression looked like a thundercloud.
“Oh my god, Spencer, what happened?” Astrid said, coming up behind them all with a green can of bug spray.
“Nothing,” he growled, shaking off his friends and moving past her. “I need to go change.” And then he stomped off down the dock and into the grass, heading up toward the house.
Everyone was silent for a few seconds, but then . . . a snort of laughter.
“Holy shit,” one of Spencer’s friends said—Peter or Patrick or something. “He loved that shirt.”
“And those shoes,” another one said.
“Need some help?” Peter/Patrick asked Delilah, who was still in the water.
“I’m fine, thank you so much,” she said, voice still dripping in sugar.
He shrugged, and the guys all moved off toward the lawn, leaving Claire, Iris, Astrid, and Grant alone on the dock.
And Delilah in the water.
“What happened?” Astrid asked, glaring down at her stepsister.
“I tripped,” Delilah said, making her eyes almost comically wide. “It was an accident.”
If Claire didn’t know better . . . Well, the fact was she actually didn’t know better. She didn’t know Delilah at all. But with the woman’s phone and camera strategically in her possession and Delilah swimming slowly toward the ladder at the end of the dock, she was pretty sure this whole thing was orchestrated.
“Are you okay?” Claire asked as Delilah climbed the ladder.
“Never been better.” Delilah wrung out her hair. “Water’s damn refreshing. I might need a change of clothes though.” She glanced at Astrid and grinned. “Got some sweats for your sis?”
Iris snort-laughed before leaning close to Claire and asking, “Is she for real?”
“I think she is.”
Astrid just gaped at her, then grabbed Claire’s relatively full glass of wine and knocked it back in three swallows. She shuddered, handed the empty glass back to Claire, then stomped off toward the house.
“I don’t know why the hell I thought this was a good idea,” she said as she went, Delilah following behind obediently after collecting her things from Claire. Delilah didn’t make any eye contact, but once she was off the dock, she turned her head and looked back, just for a second. It was dark, and Claire couldn’t be sure, but she thought the woman winked.
And not only winked, but winked at her.
Claire felt a laugh bubble up in her chest but managed to push it down.
“Damn,” Iris said as they started toward the house too. “Not that I want our precious BFF to be all pissed off, but that was—”
“Brilliant?” Claire said.
“Yes. Yes, it fucking was.”
Chapter Ten
“I’M SORRY, WHAT?”
Late Tuesday morning, Delilah watched as Astrid’s eyes bulged to insect-like size, her slender fingers gripping the sides of the front desk at Blue Lily Vineyard and Spa. The whole building was like an oasis, all smooth tawny wood inside with white upholstery and sea glass–blue accents, from the jar that held the pens on the concierge desk to the paintings on the walls, images of clear rivers and lilies swaying in the sun. Windows lined the entire main floor, and behind a very terrified receptionist named Hadley, Delilah could see the Willamette Valley stretching out in a swath of green in the distance, neat rows of plumping grapes directly below them.