Spencer’s eyes narrowed, just slightly, but then he smiled. “Astrid said you were . . . fiery.”
“And Astrid said next to nothing about you.” The words just came out, rude tone and all. She heard Claire’s quiet intake of breath and knew she should shut up—she was on thin ice with Isabel already—but something about this guy felt like sandpaper rubbed over a sunburn. No one could ever accuse Delilah of feeling affection for her stepsister, but she felt even less for assholes who so obviously wielded their dicks like swords.
His smile didn’t budge, his stance still space-taking. Finally, he swung his gaze to Claire, eyes flicking to her chest for a split second and then back to her eyes. “Good to see you, Claire.”
“You too, Spencer,” Claire said, her voice like stone.
And then he sauntered down the hall until he reached the back door, disappearing onto the porch, where a dozen human-shaped shadows undulated in the dusky light.
Next to her, Claire exhaled so heavily, Delilah was sure she’d crumple to the ground. She shook out her hands and shivered. Delilah watched her, waiting to see what else she’d do.
Claire caught her looking and shook her head. “Sorry. I just . . . well, now you’ve met Spencer.”
“Is he always such a dick?”
Claire stilled. “Is he a dick?”
“Um, hell yes,” Delilah said.
“God.” Claire clutched her stomach. “I’m so glad to hear someone other than Iris and me say that.”
“It’s not obvious to literally everyone?”
Claire deflated, her shoulders slumping south. “Well, Astrid’s one of the smartest people I know, and she’s marrying him.”
Delilah wrinkled her nose.
“Plus,” Claire went on, “Iris and I have really only hung out with the two of them a few times. If she’s not with us, they do their own thing. I was hoping he’d grow on me as time went on.”
“How’d she meet him?”
“She redesigned his office late last fall. He’d just moved here from Portland, took over Dr. Latimer’s practice after he retired.”
“Dr. Latimer only just retired last year?”
Claire laughed. “God, I know, he had to have been in his seventies when we were in high school.”
“At least.”
“Anyway, Spencer asked Astrid out after the job was done in January. Iris and I met him a couple weeks after their first date, and they were engaged two months later.”
“Two months? Jesus. So they’ve only been engaged since March?” Delilah now remembered when Astrid called her about photographing the wedding—it had been cool in New York, winter just loosening its hold over the city.
“I know, right?” Claire said. “It took her a year to pick out a couch for her living room.”
“What does Isabel say?” Delilah asked, even though she already knew. Rich, prestigious career, nice golden-boy hair. Isabel loved Spencer, and Claire confirmed as much.
“I can never put a finger on it,” Claire continued, “but he just . . . He’s . . .”
“Smarmy?”
“Yes!” Claire reached out and grabbed Delilah’s arm in solidarity but quickly dropped it. “But like . . . in a sneaky way. Like, right now, what just happened with him all”—here she fluttered her hands around her boobs—“what would I say about that to Astrid? ‘Hey, your future husband looked at me’？” She shook her head. “Even Iris, who will legit say anything to anyone, can’t figure out how to word it.”
Delilah ran her brain through what she would say—Your fiancé’s a douche, he looks like a Ken doll, he ogled your BFF’s tits, you turn into a sycophant when you’re around him—but each and every observation that popped into her mind would only piss Astrid off, which, now that she thought about it, might be a delightful way to spend an evening.
And a sure way to get fired.
Still, the idea of Astrid’s wedding falling apart and all of Isabel’s money and plans and dreams of the society event of the season crumbling before her face-lifted eyes? Well, let’s just say it made Delilah feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
“Spencer never does anything concrete,” Claire said. “It’s just a feeling, the way she acts around him.” She rubbed her forehead. “God, she’d kill me if she knew I was saying any of this to you.”
“Not exactly how a maid of honor wants to feel about the groom, I guess.”