“Three rooms?” Astrid said. “No, I distinctly remember booking four.”
“Oh shit,” Iris muttered under her breath.
Delilah, for her part, leaned against the counter and kept her face impassive. She was exhausted. Honestly, she could use a massage. The whole drive up here, that’s what she’d focused on—massages, a really good pinot noir, her very own chintz-free room overlooking the vineyard where she could just be, free of Astrid and Bright Falls and all the emotional sludge her visit to Wisteria House last night had left gunking up her veins.
Granted, she was technically here to get some photos of the three BFFs, probably to hang in their cave as they performed their spells for everlasting beauty and power, but she’d take the free massage regardless.
She’d never been so tired as she had been these past two days, and that included her first few months in New York at eighteen, when she first discovered other queer people and bars and didn’t sleep for a week. But so far, this trip to Bright Falls had left her feeling boneless and not in that blissed-out, postorgasmic way. More like she couldn’t find her footing, wobbling all over the place.
The only relief she’d really felt was when she pulled that tosser into the river last night.
God, that was fun.
Astrid didn’t think so, of course, which was an added bonus. As her stepsister had shoved a pair of spare sweats into Delilah’s arms last night, Astrid’s expression held none of the crestfallen hurt Delilah had glimpsed in Wisteria House’s foyer. No, it was all irritation, familiar and life-giving. The gods had gifted Delilah with a brand-new way to get under her stepsister’s skin, and she planned to milk it for all it was worth, which had to be done carefully, artfully, if she was going to keep her job. But thinking of creative ways to piss off Astrid’s beloved just made it all the more fun. Plus, Spencer was a walking golden-haired advertisement for the patriarchy, so it wasn’t like any cleverly disguised insults she could toss his way weren’t justified.
Her determination grew even more as she stood there in the resort’s lobby, fighting to keep her face neutral as it became more and more clear that Astrid hadn’t actually booked four rooms. She’d booked three for herself, Iris, and Claire, and Delilah hadn’t even been an afterthought. She tried not to notice how her heart tripped in her chest, her throat grew a little thicker, a horrible cocktail of anger, annoyance, and hurt.
Claire stepped a little closer to her, and Delilah tried not to notice that either. Her body, however, had other plans, and she felt herself straightening and then leaning toward the other woman, just enough that her shoulder barely brushed Claire’s.
“Delilah Green,” Astrid said to the unfortunate receptionist, enunciating every syllable. “Look again. I know it’s there.”
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Parker,” Hadley said, “but the reservation here clearly says that you called on April 4 and booked three rooms for one night, one for yourself, another for a Ms. Iris Kelly, and a third for a Ms. Claire Sutherland. I don’t see anything for a Ms. Del—”
“All right, I understand,” Astrid said, sighing heavily. “But surely there must be another room available.”
Hadley winced. Delilah almost felt bad for her. “I do apologize, Ms. Parker. Summer is our busiest season, and we’re all booked up tonight. But if anything becomes available, you’ll be the first to know.”
Astrid stared at the poor woman for a good five seconds, like the mere force of her gaze would make a vacant room appear out of thin air. Hadley, for her part, held her smile, but when Astrid’s shoulders slumped in defeat, the receptionist audibly released a breath.
“It’s okay. I’ll just sleep with the grapes,” Delilah said.
Astrid slowly turned but didn’t meet her stepsister’s cool gaze. Instead, she looked at the floor and inhaled several times in a row, like she was trying not to completely lose her shit.
Delilah folded her arms. She’d rather like to see Astrid lose her shit, right here in front of Hadley and the calming spa-blue color palette.
“It’s fine,” Claire said, laying a hand on Astrid’s arm. “It’ll be fine. The beds are king-size, right? Delilah can stay with me.”
Oh my god, this was too perfect. Astrid’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide.
“No, no, it’s my fault,” she said. “She can stay with me.”
“Astrid,” Claire said. “You deserve a room to yourself.”
“So do you,” Astrid said.
“Well, I sure as shit deserve a room to myself,” Iris said, and Delilah nearly laughed. Honestly, in another life, she probably would have liked Iris a whole hell of a lot.
“Astrid,” Claire said, closing her hands around Astrid’s upper arms. “I don’t mind. And I insist. It’ll be great.”
“Yeah, Ass, it’ll be great,” Delilah said. She met her stepsister’s gaze and lifted a single brow, something she knew Astrid couldn’t do and wished she could. They stared at each other, Delilah’s little bet about getting Claire into bed hovering between them. Granted, this wasn’t exactly what Delilah meant, but it was a start. It was a damn great start.
Astrid closed her eyes briefly, and in that tiny space of time, Delilah knew she had won.
There was something else there too though. Something other than the satisfaction Delilah felt knowing Astrid was inwardly seething, and she was pretty sure it was excitement. Claire was fun, sweet, and sexy as hell. She was interesting. And Delilah couldn’t stop thinking about last night in the foyer at Wisteria House, that split second where Claire could’ve walked away with Astrid, leaving Delilah to deal with her demons all by herself, just like Delilah was used to doing.
Only she hadn’t.
Claire had turned back, brown eyes wide open and honest, and she’d waited for Delilah. She’d walked her through what could’ve been the worst moment of her trip back to Bright Falls, and turned it into a simple stride down a hall.
And for the first time since her father died, Delilah hadn’t felt alone in Wisteria House.
Chapter Eleven
CLAIRE HAD NO clue what she’d been thinking.
Well, Help Astrid. That was the spirit behind her whole share a bed with Delilah Green idea—keep her best friend from completely melting down during the one pre-wedding activity Claire and Iris were actually looking forward to. She’d seen it brewing, the freak-out, Astrid breathing like a bull facing a matador, and she knew how terrible Astrid must be feeling for leaving Delilah out.
What’s more, Claire saw Delilah’s disappointment. Or, not disappointment so much as . . . she wasn’t sure. But something had been behind Delilah’s eyes when it was clear what had happened. Her face remained expressionless, bored even, but her eyes had flickered, like a strong wind nearly snuffing a candle out before the flame reared back to life.