CLAIRE WAS STILL holding Delilah’s arm. She didn’t know why. She told herself to let it go more than once, but she worried that if she did, Delilah might float away or crumple to the ground or just stand there looking as lost as she had in the foyer.
Or maybe she just liked the silky feel of Delilah’s skin under hers.
The thought was a lightning bolt, forcing Claire to finally yank her fingers away, sloshing a bit of her champagne onto the slatted porch floor as she did.
Delilah didn’t seem to notice. As she looked around and took a sip of her drink, she didn’t float or crumple, but her expression was still a bit wide-eyed. It was fascinating to see this bold, brash woman look like a deer wandering in the woods. Claire wasn’t sure what it was all about, but she really wanted to know, which was exactly why she swallowed her questions with a too-big gulp of alcohol.
“Hey!” Iris called from across the porch, pulling Grant by the arm toward Claire. “What took you so long?”
“It’s been like ten minutes, Ris.”
“Which is ten minutes too long to leave me alone with this crowd.” Iris waved her own champagne toward the posh group of people. “God, have you ever seen so much Louboutin in one place? Are we seriously the only normal people in Astrid’s life?”
Claire laughed. “You know we are.”
Isabel Parker-Green had money and a lot of it. Her first husband had family money, which passed to Isabel after he died, and her second husband, Delilah’s father, had been a pretty successful architect in Seattle before he moved to Bright Falls. He opened up a small boutique office here, which Isabel promptly sold (and possibly cursed) after he died. She was all about charities and philanthropy, but Claire always got the impression it was for the clout, rather than the actual do-gooding.
Isabel liked control, liked beauty and power, and she made sure Astrid knew it.
Back when Claire first met Astrid, the other girl had constantly clung to her mother, desperate for affection and attention. Claire supposed she understood it. Astrid’s stepfather had just died, and Isabel was locked in her own grief, and she could tell Astrid was terrified her mother would leave her too. But as the years went on and Isabel not only lavished Astrid with attention but nearly smothered her with it, Claire remembered countless nights in high school with Astrid crying into Iris’s lap while Claire rubbed her back, words like I hate her and Can’t she just leave me alone? stuttering through Astrid’s sobs.
Since coming back from college and getting her own place, Astrid and Isabel’s relationship had mellowed, but it wasn’t what Claire would call close. It was civil. Polite. Still, Claire caught that look in Astrid’s eye sometimes, the need to impress, to please.
“Just think,” Iris said, waving her glass at the crowd. “By this time tomorrow, it’ll just be the three of us with copious amounts of wine at a five-star-rated spa.”
Next to Claire, Delilah cleared her throat. “I should get some shots before dinner,” she said before trailing off to a darker corner, setting her drink on the nearby table, and kneeling down to get out her camera.
“Iris,” Claire said, smacking her friend on the arm.
“Ow. What?”
“You said the three of us. Delilah’s going too.”
Iris’s mouth parted, but then she shrugged. “I doubt she actually wants to. Astrid’s paying her. It’s a job.”
“Easy, Iris,” Grant said.
“Oh, come on,” Iris said. “The woman would rather chew on broken glass than be here. It’s obvious.”
Claire shook her head, her stomach clenching as she glanced at Delilah again. All she saw was her back, bare shoulders, and tattoos, but the other woman’s posture seemed tight.
“I knew it,” Iris said.
Claire turned to find both Iris and Grant staring at her. “What?”
“You’re into her,” Iris said.
“I am not.”
Iris waved her hand over Claire. “The dress, walking in with her. You like her.”
Claire tugged on one of the dress’s shoulder straps while Iris smiled triumphantly. She’d ordered the garment months ago from one of her favorite vintage clothing sites, drawn in by the way she knew it would make her hourglass figure look even curvier. The designer called it a wiggle dress, because you had to literally wiggle it on, and had named it “Vixen.” Claire wasn’t sure she’d ever have the occasion—or the courage—to wear it, but tonight seemed like a good chance. It was classy and sexy at the same time.
Not that she was going for sexy.
“I like this dress, Ris,” she said. “I wore it for me.”
Iris’s smile fell. “Honey, of course you did. I’m just saying—”
“And just because I’m being nice to someone and not acting like a total bitch doesn’t mean I’m into them.”
This time, Iris’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not—”
“Yeah, you sort of are,” Grant said.
“Hey,” Iris said, hitting him on the chest. He released an oof sound, capturing Iris’s hand and slipping his fingers between hers.
Iris let him, her expression growing pensive as she looked at Claire. “Okay, fine, I’m not a huge fan. Neither were you the last time I checked. She barely even spoke to Astrid growing up, or did you forget?”
“I didn’t forget,” Claire said, but she turned away, watching as Delilah wove through the crowd snapping pictures, drawing everyone’s gaze as she went.
DINNER WAS MOSTLY uneventful. Claire sat next to Iris near the end of the long table the caterers had set up in the backyard, tiki torches lighting the area, and ate her mushroom risotto and organic green bean salad while everyone in Isabel’s posh circle asked Astrid and Spencer about their honeymoon, where they were going to live, how many kids they were going to have.
Astrid answered it all with a smile, Spencer’s arm tight around her shoulder the entire time. He even ate his food like that, cutting into his lemon-pepper chicken with his fork one-handed. When Astrid deflected the kids question, however—“Oh, I don’t know, we’re not in any rush”—Spencer laughed long and loud, like Astrid was a stand-up comedian putting on a show, and said, “Three boys, as soon as we settle down in Seattle.”
Everyone oohed and aahed at this, as though the idea of Astrid popping out three white boys into this white-boy world was just the cutest. But Claire’s mind caught on the word Seattle way more than three boys.
She turned to Iris, her mouth open, but Iris looked just as confused, her eyes pinned on Astrid.
“What the fuck?” Iris whispered, but Astrid probably knew Iris well enough to know what she was mouthing in her direction. Their best friend’s face went crimson, a truly miserable expression settling on her features. She mouthed back, I’m sorry, which only meant it was all true.
“He’s taking her to Seattle?” Claire asked.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Iris said.
“Why wouldn’t she tell us?”
“Probably because she knew we’d freak the fuck out.”
“She hates Seattle,” Claire said. “The crowds, the grit mixing with all that rain. It’s her worst nightmare. She barely survived Berkeley during college.”
A chilled white wine had replaced the champagne once the meal started, and Claire slugged back the rest of her second glass. God, she was going to need a stronger liver to get through this wedding.
Seattle. It wasn’t that far away, about four hours by car, but still. Seattle wasn’t Bright Falls, and Bright Falls was where Astrid’s whole life was. Her business, her friends, her family.
“Completely odious,” Iris whispered next to her, and Claire didn’t have to ask what—or rather, who—she was talking about.
“Did we ever like him?” Claire asked. “Like, when Astrid first introduced us?”
“Hell no,” Iris said. “I mean, okay, he looks like a god with that hair and those biceps, so maybe we were a bit distracted by that at first. You know, beautiful people getting away with murder and all that.”
“God, I hope he’s not a murderer.”
Iris laughed. “I’m pretty sure all he’s actually guilty of is sitting on his ass with a Scotch and a cigar while Astrid vacuums the living room. In Seattle.”
Claire cracked a smile but continued to simmer. Ever since the engagement, she’d been wary about Spencer, but suddenly, it all seemed to be coming to a boil. Hearing Delilah, someone who didn’t even like Astrid, confirm that Spencer was a total jerk just made it all the more real. And Seattle? Taking her away to a city she hated? God only knew how long she’d been hiding that tidbit from her friends.
“We can’t let her marry him,” Claire said.
Iris froze with her mouth on her wineglass. “We . . . Say what now?”
Claire lowered her voice even more. “You know we can’t.”
Iris shook her head. “Hang on. I thought we were just going to talk to Astrid about Spencer. Let her know our concerns. Where’s this blow up the wedding plan coming from? You know Astrid is gonna Astrid.”
“Yeah, and that woman right there”—she waved her hand toward where their best friend was legit spooning some of her own risotto onto Spencer’s plate—“isn’t Astrid.”
Iris’s eyes narrowed on the scene then locked back onto Claire’s. A million versions of the same question passed between them silently—how, how, how—as the party broke up around them.
Iris stood and pulled Claire with her, sighing very dramatically as she pressed their temples together. They stood there for a second like that, watching all of Isabel’s friends drift off toward the far end of the patio while the caterers started cleaning up. Claire’s eyes found Delilah, camera pointed directly at Claire and Iris before the other woman lowered it and checked the screen. Delilah pressed some buttons on her camera before looking up at Claire, the smallest of smiles on her lips.
Claire felt a swoop in her belly, but she couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment at being photographed or . . . something else.
“Ris, Claire,” Astrid called near the stairs that led into the yard. “Come on, we’re going down to the dock.” Spencer and his buddies were already bounding in that direction in a sea of khaki and Top-Siders. “You too, Del.”
“Oh goody,” Claire heard Delilah say, and couldn’t help the smile that settled on her face.
“Indeed,” Iris answered back.
“I don’t have to hang out with them, do I?” Grant asked from next to Iris, his eyes trained on Spencer and Co. as they stood on the dock in the distance, the amber sun slipping underneath Bright River and turning everyone into backlit shadows.
“No, sweets, you can stick with me,” Iris said, patting his arm.
“Oh, thank god,” he said.
Claire laughed as Iris topped off their glasses and they headed toward the water. She was aware of Delilah behind her but didn’t turn around until they reached the dock. Delilah’s camera swung from her neck, a very full glass of wine in her own hand. She didn’t look at Claire though. Instead, she leaned against one of the tall pines that bordered the bank—god, this woman was always leaning on things—and watched Spencer laugh with his friends.
Astrid stood next to him, sipping her drink and smiling, but for the first time, Claire noticed something icy about her expression. Practiced. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe it was too dark out here to see anything clearly. The sun had gone completely to sleep, turning the gently rushing water into ink, and the few electric tiki torches that lined the bank were the only light.
“Can we leave for the vineyard now?” Iris asked next to her.
“I wish,” Claire said, but that just caused a whole other set of worries to bloom into her mind. It was only a two-day trip, but Ruby was staying with Josh overnight again, and Claire would be four hours away if anything went badly.
It wouldn’t, she told herself. She had already roped Iris into asking Grant to casually check in on Josh around eight o’clock the next night, stopping by Josh’s apartment for a random beer when really, she’d given him strict instructions to make sure the oven was turned off and there were no candles aflame.
“Shit, these goddamn horseflies,” Spencer said, pulling Claire out of her thoughts. He swatted at his cheek, then his ear.
“Good horsefly,” Iris muttered.
“Go get some bug spray, will you, babe?” Spencer said.
Then he tapped Astrid on the ass. Not a slap, necessarily, but hard enough to jolt her. One of his friends laughed but then covered it up quickly with a swig of wine.
“Sure,” Astrid said evenly. “It is pretty buggy out here.”
When she swept off the dock toward the house, Claire seized the moment, grabbing Astrid’s hand as she passed and pulling her close.
“What’s going on?” Claire asked softly.
“What do you mean?” Astrid asked.
“Seattle?” Iris said. “What the hell is that about?”
Astrid sighed. “We’re not going right away. It’s just something we’re talking about.”
“You love Bright Falls,” Claire said. She couldn’t help the hurt that rose up in her throat.
“Spencer doesn’t,” Astrid said. “He took over the practice here, but he wants to expand, and Bright Falls isn’t built for that.”
“So you’re just going to follow him?” Iris asked, voice raising. “What about your job?”
Us? Claire thought, but couldn’t get the small word off her tongue.
“I can do more in Seattle,” Astrid said. “It’s a bigger market, a bigger—”
“You hate bigger,” Iris said.
Astrid rubbed her forehead. “Look, it’s not definite, okay? We’re just talking about it. And we wouldn’t go for another year or so anyway.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Babe! Where’s that spray?” Spencer called out.
Astrid waved at him, then pressed a kiss to both Claire’s and Iris’s cheeks before hurrying off toward the house.
“Do you know a good lawyer?” Iris asked.
“What?” Claire said, watching Astrid’s form disappear up the porch steps.
“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.”
