“What are you doing?” Astrid all but screeched as Delilah pulled her bralette over her head and tossed it back on the floor.
“This shirt doesn’t work with a bra.” Delilah slipped on her favorite black silk tank she’d planned to wear today, specifically for its modest neckline and bordering-on-inappropriate low armholes that revealed half her rib cage. She turned to grab her high-waisted linen pants out of her suitcase and nearly smiled as Astrid’s horror grew. She must’ve seen the side boob.
“We’re going to Vivian’s,” she said.
“I know.” Delilah pulled on the cream-colored pants, tucking in the tank and smoothing down the pleats before slipping on a pair of black heeled sandals and draping a few thin gold chains around her neck. The final look was sleek as hell. And by Astrid’s resigned sigh, she agreed.
“Just don’t turn to the side when Mom’s around, okay?” she said.
“I wouldn’t dare.” Oh, she would though. She would totally dare.
“And do something with your hair.”
Delilah smiled with all her teeth. “You’re a delight.”
Astrid winced. “I’m a little on edge, okay?”
Delilah decided to ignore this, heading into the bathroom and brushing her teeth for the full dentist-prescribed two minutes. Then she added a touch of mascara and some cherry-red lipstick—god, Isabel would love that—before checking out her hair in the mirror.
It was huge, curls and corkscrews frizzing out all over the place. Usually, she slept with it all piled on top of her head or wrapped in a silk scarf to avoid waking up in such a way, but last night, well, she’d been jet-lagged and half drunk, not to mention a little amped-up from Claire-freaking-Sutherland.
“So who’s going to be there today?” she asked Astrid as she took out a bottle of her favorite blueberry hair gel, squeezed out a penny-size blob, and mixed it with some water before smoothing it over each section of her hair.
“Well, Mom, of course,” Astrid called. “And Spencer’s mother, grandmother, and sister. The girls.”
The girls.
“Ah, the coven.”
“Don’t call them that,” Astrid said, appearing in the doorway. She was wearing an ivory bandage dress, simple pearls around her neck, a single diamond solitaire sparkling on her finger.
“What? Covens are powerful, feminist, badass groups of women.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you meant it like that.”
Delilah grinned at her in the mirror. “So . . . Claire’s looking well.”
Astrid’s posture went rigid, her eyes narrowing on Delilah’s reflection.
God, she made it too easy. Delilah tilted her head innocently, widening her eyes like an ingenue. “Very well.”
“Don’t,” Astrid said.
“Don’t what?”
“Claire is not your type.”
Delilah turned around and folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, I think she is.”
“Well, you’re not hers.”
Delilah’s eyebrows popped up. “You don’t think so?”
“No way.”
“That’s not what it felt like last night.”
Astrid straightened even more, if that was possible. She was like a dry twig in the winter, ready to snap. “What about last night?”
Delilah shrugged and turned back to the mirror. “Just, you know.”
“No, I don’t. Claire would never go for you.”
Now, that stung a bit, but Delilah tried not to let it show. She fiddled with her hair a bit more, twirling an errant curl by her ear into the right pattern. “And why not?”
Astrid laughed, a bitter sound. “Um, because she actually likes people?”
Delilah’s mouth dropped open, a clever retort right on the tip of her tongue, but nothing came out. It took her a second to get her composure back, to remind herself that she needed the money from this job, that she wasn’t the same girl she’d been in high school, that she didn’t need Astrid’s fucking approval, and that Claire Sutherland had very clearly been into her last night.
A fact she had no doubt would drive Astrid absolutely crazy, not to mention Isabel, who adored Claire and Iris like they were her own. And here came the big, bad dyke Delilah Green to corrupt her sweet little girls. God, that woman must’ve really loved her father to have wanted Delilah at the wedding.
“I think I’m exactly Claire Sutherland’s type,” she said.
“I just meant she’s not into casual, Del. And . . . well, you are.”