When they reached Astrid’s door, Delilah hung back, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She’d agreed to help, but distance was good here. A there’s you and then there’s me sort of message to Iris and Claire.
But then Claire sidled up next to her, shoulder brushing hers, smelling like clean laundry and that meadowy scent Delilah remembered from that night at Stella’s.
“Do you think this will work?” Claire whispered as Iris knocked on Astrid’s door.
Her breath smelled like mint, and Delilah found herself wishing she’d thought to brush her own damn teeth.
“I have no idea,” Delilah said, and then thought of adding something salty like, Maybe Astrid and Spencer are actually MFEO, but then she turned enough to meet Claire’s eyes, saw hope and something else in all that deep brown, that same flicker of interest as when Delilah had helped Ruby with her dress, and nerves fluttered low in her belly.
Actual nerves. She hadn’t felt nervous around a woman since . . .
You actually thought we were going to get married? Are you fucking insane?
Jax’s voice echoed between her ears—mean, incredulous, shaming—while a naked woman Delilah had only ever seen in Jax’s old photographs lounged in Delilah’s own bed, staring wide-eyed like she was watching a soap opera.
Delilah turned away and cracked her knuckles. She didn’t think about that horrible last day with Jax five years ago very often, but when she did, she knew how to deal with it.
“I need a drink,” she said.
“You and me both,” Iris said as Astrid flung open her door and swept into the hallway with her own robe tied snugly around her thin frame, her blond hair in a stylishly messy bun.
As the four of them headed toward the massage rooms, Delilah could still feel Claire’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look at her again.
* * *
DELILAH SPENT THE rest of the afternoon in silent, massaged-and-mudded bliss. By her observation, so did the rest of her party, which made getting Astrid to talk about Spencer’s misogynistic ways difficult. They all did everything together, rotating through seaweed wraps and saunas as a pack, but it was hard to bring up a life-altering decision when a person named Stormy was busy spreading pore-cleansing charcoal all over your thighs. Delilah could barely take any photographs, doing her best to capture a few in between treatments, particularly when Astrid’s face was covered in complexion-brightening mud.
Still, throughout the afternoon, Delilah kept catching Iris’s and Claire’s eyes. She didn’t mean to look at them, she swore, but whenever they’d all move to a new room or Astrid made a comment about something even remotely wedding-esque, like fittings or the chance of rain that day or how she was worried the salmon puffs she ordered wouldn’t be fresh, the three of them would find one another, widen their eyes as though daring the others to say something first. Delilah, for her part, knew it would be easier to bring up Spencer if Astrid brought him up first, but she never did. Not once in four hours of pampering did she mention her dashing fiancé.
But that certainly didn’t stop all the looks from passing between Delilah, Iris, and Claire. And every time it happened, something bloomed in Delilah’s chest. She couldn’t put a finger on it—nerves, irritation, pure adrenaline. Whatever it was, she didn’t think she’d ever felt it before and wasn’t quite sure she liked it.
By the time the four of them had showered and gathered again for dinner on the veranda overlooking the vineyard, Delilah was exhausted. Being around other people all day long, even if they hadn’t talked all that much, was completely draining. She felt constantly on, and right now, all she wanted was a glass of wine the size of her head and a quiet room of her own.
Plus, there was that feeling again, right under her rib cage every time Iris and Claire so much as glanced at her or tapped her foot under the table, like something about to spill over.
“This is nice,” Astrid said, propping her elbows on the wooden table and resting her entwined hands under her chin. “Isn’t this nice?”
She was looking at Delilah when she asked it, so Delilah complied. “Nice. Wonderful.”
And it was. This was the first meal at a wedding event she’d actually get to eat. Her camera was under the table, but she was so tired, she wasn’t about to get it out of her own volition. She just wanted to sit here, in all the niceness. The patio only had a few other diners, and it was dimly lit with gas-powered lamps, flames flickering shadows over faces and arms. The sun was just dipping into the valley, turning the evening lavender and silver, and the air smelled like earth and rain, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Everything felt verdant, alive.
And then there was Claire sitting next to her, dressed in a kelly-green linen romper, shorts falling mid-thigh and blouse-like top unbuttoned just enough to show a little cleavage.
Jesus, did this woman look bad in anything?
Delilah rubbed her forehead and took a gulp of 2014 Blue Lily Signature Pinot Noir. Despite the way she’d played with Claire earlier in the day, shouting through the bathroom door about the status of her underwear, she wasn’t in the mood for any games tonight. She felt raw, like she’d been in the sun all day and needed to be wrapped in aloe, and Claire’s meadowy scent wasn’t helping.
“It’s lovely,” Iris said, looking at Claire and then Delilah.
“Gorgeous,” Claire said, looking at Iris and then Delilah.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Delilah said.
The three women froze—Astrid with her brows dipped in confusion and these other two yahoos with their eyes popped wide. Delilah felt a laugh bubble into her chest.
“What is it now?” Astrid asked, immediately irritated.
Under the table, Claire hooked her ankle around Delilah’s, bare leg against bare leg. Claire’s skin was smooth, cool, and made Delilah’s stomach flutter more than she’d like to admit. It did the trick though. She took a deep breath and smiled, lifting her glass to her mouth and looking around as if for the server.
“I’m starving, is all,” she said. “Don’t they bring bread or something?”
Astrid visibly relaxed. “Oh, yeah, I think so.” She flagged down the server who’d been taking care of them and asked for a basket of carbs, which was promptly delivered, along with a homemade honey butter that Delilah wanted to lick right out of the little stainless steel container.
She was on her second piece of warm brown bread when she realized Claire’s ankle was still lightly twined around hers.
The knowledge was like an electrical shock. Delilah’s spine went straight, and she couldn’t keep her own gaze from finding Claire, who seemed to realize at the same time that she was still wrapped around Delilah like a koala. Claire jerked her leg back so quickly, her knee bashed into the table, rattling the plates and glasses and pulling a swear out of her pretty mouth.