Page 63 of Delilah Green Doesn't Care

God, she was good.

Still, Delilah felt anything but pride as Astrid continued to stare at the image. She felt a sinking in her stomach. A sick, heavy thud. She tried to shake it off—after all, Astrid’s misery had always been her delight. And this clear horror Astrid was experiencing over seeing herself as a Stepford Wife in black and white would probably make Iris and Claire happy.

But even as Delilah thought it, wondered why the hell she even cared if Claire was happy or not, she also knew it wasn’t true. Claire wouldn’t be happy. She’d be heartbroken for her friend. Iris might gloat a little, revel in being right—god, Iris and Delilah really could’ve been friends in a different world—but she would’ve eventually settled down and supported Astrid no matter what, come up with a plan of action.

But Delilah wasn’t Iris, and she sure as hell wasn’t Claire.

“Astrid,” she said, just to shake the woman out of her stupor.

Her stepsister startled, clearing her throat before skipping to the next photo. “These are beautiful.”

Delilah blinked at the compliment. “Okay...” she said slowly.

“I really love the details. Like this one.” She pointed to the photo on the screen, a sharpened image of Isabel that brought out every wrinkle the Botox just couldn’t seem to reach.

Delilah snorted a laugh, and Astrid looked over her shoulder, agrin on her own face. They watched each other for a split second, something passing between them that made Delilah’s breath catch. Something that felt young and almost hopeful.

Astrid turned back around and clicked to the next photo.

One of Claire.

Just Claire, the night of the Wisteria dinner. Evergreens crowded behind her, and the sun obscured part of her body, her face shadowed, but there was no doubt it was a lovely photograph.

There was also no doubt that she was looking right at the viewer. Delilah remembered taking the picture, Claire turning her head a split second before Delilah hit the shutter, a smile on her face at catching the wedding photographer in the act.

A smile that most definitely reached her eyes.

“This one is...” Astrid started, but then cleared her throat again. Then she scooted her chair back so fast, she nearly ran over Delilah’s toes. She stood up and dug her phone out of her bag and checked the screen. “I should go.”

“Oh, did Spencer summon you?”

As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. Instead of rolling her eyes or volleying a sharp comment back at Delilah in their perpetual barb match like Delilah expected, Astrid looked down, like she was embarrassed, and said nothing. Her throat worked around a hard swallow as she motioned toward the photo of Claire still on the screen.

“You should put that one on your Instagram,” she said. “People would really love it.”

“My... wait, you know about my Instagram?”

Astrid’s mouth twitched, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, tentative. “How do you think I knew I would love your wedding photos?”

Surprise shot through Delilah’s veins. Of course Isabel andAstrid knew Delilah worked as a wedding photographer. They knew she did portraits and waited tables in one of the most expensive cities in the world. But they didn’t know about her art, her ambitions, her desire to be a name among American photographers. That’s what her Instagram was for. A showcase of what she could actually do when she wasn’t doing someone else’s bidding and snapping pictures of couples mooning—or in Astrid’s case, not mooning—over each other. Delilah had never told them about any of that. Not that a simple Google search wouldn’t pull up her social media, but to even do that, Astrid would have to give half a shit to type in her name.

“Hang on,” Delilah said. “You—”

“See you later,” Astrid said, then swept out the door, leaving Delilah with a tight feeling in her chest that wouldn’t go away no matter how many paper cups of wine she tossed down her throat.

Chapter Seventeen

THE NEXT EVENINGwas Thursday and kicked off a whole six days without some godforsaken wedding event. Claire and Ruby came home from the bookstore to find Iris and Delilah sitting in their kitchen sipping on lemon LaCroix.

Claire froze, her heart suddenly in her throat.

“Hey!” Ruby said, barreling farther inside to meet them.

“Hey, Rubes,” Iris said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Delilah smiled at the girl, but her eyes flicked to Claire, who felt her stomach lurch up to join her heart.

“Help yourself to that key under the planter anytime you want, Ris,” Claire said.

“I shall,” Iris said. “Got your mail too. Looks like your mom sent you another package.”