3. Delilah
Chapter 3
Delilah
A long, agonising week has passed since my brunch date with Eloise Prescott, which stretched into a late lunch. I’d spent the entire time opening up and spilling my guts to a somewhat stranger, and when she signalled the server to order a third round of mimosas and some more food, I ended up telling her about my limited funds.
This made her laugh. “I’m loaded, sweetheart,” she had said. “Today is my treat.”
We’d hugged on the sidewalk when it was time to leave, and she made me promise we would meet up soon. Although I had nodded in agreement, I had no plans to see her again. We are still Facebook friends for now and I left my relationship status up—which Eloise has loved-hearted since our meeting—but once my sister returns from my honeymoon tomorrow, I plan on removing it and deleting my account.
It was time to let go of the hate and the anger and move forward. As Eloise had noted, Abigail was Kayne’s problem now. If they could do this to me, chances are they’d do the same thing to each other .
The hurt and betrayal were still incredibly raw, but I was going to do my best not to let it hold me back.
If only I could afford to move out and start fresh. I’m not sure how I’m going to cope with living under the same roof as my sister and having that dirtbag constantly coming over to visit. Kayne’s mother is the daughter of a minister, so their strong Christian values are firmly against cohabitation before marriage. The two of them moving in together is not an option for now—just the same as it was for Kayne and me.
So here I am, heartbroken, jobless, broke, and living in a situation less than ideal. At least Abigail and I don’t share a bedroom, so I won’t have to lie awake at night contemplating all the ways I can murder her in her sleep.
A month ago, I was the smiling face of my father-in-law’s dental clinic. My image is plastered across the shopfront window, the website, and all the pamphlets and business cards. I also worked as a receptionist there, but when this shit show that is now my life unfolded, I took some compassionate leave and was consequently fired.
In truth, I wouldn’t have been able to work there under the circumstances, but it was still a shitty thing for them to do.
I’ve been looking for work ever since, but my position at the dental clinic is the only job I’ve ever had. I’ve been forced to put them down as a reference, but I’m wondering if that’s the reason I’m yet to get a callback. Who knows what those fuckers are saying about me?
I’m pulled from my thoughts when there is a knock on my bedroom door. “Come in,” I say.
My mum pops her head through the gap and smiles. “Your father is about to leave for the airport to pick up Abigail and Kayne. Do you want to go with him?”
Why the hell would she ask me that ?
I’m forced to turn my face away and whisper, “No.”
That answer brings her further into the room to sit down beside me on the bed. “Lilah,” she says, placing her hand on my leg. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’s been a month. You need to accept this.”
My head snaps in her direction. “Really, Mum?”
“I’m sorry this happened to you. Truly, I am, but he makes your sister happy, Delilah.”
“He made me happy once too,” I grumble. The fact that they don’t seem to have an issue with how this is affecting me hurts. Abigail has always been the smart one, the pretty one, the popular one, the one most likely to succeed. Am I the only person who can see her for who she truly is? Fake, shallow, and selfish. “How would you feel if Aunt Becca ran off with Dad?”
Ignoring my question, she blows out a puff of air and stands. “I’m cooking a welcome-home dinner for them tonight; I hope you will join us.”
The moment she leaves the room, I’m not sure if I want to cry, scream, or punch someone. I feel so alone in this mess, so I pick up my phone and click on the Messenger app. I need to vent. I no longer have friends I can trust, since the majority of mine are two-faced, backstabbing arseholes. I saw some of their comments on my sister’s posts from Hawaii. Granted, they were mine and Kayne’s joint friends, but it’s obvious which side they’d now chosen. Just another loss to add to the growing list.
Me: My mum just asked me if I wanted to go with my dad to the airport to pick up Abigail and Kayne … can you believe it?
I’m not expecting Eloise to reply, but when I see three dots appear a few seconds later, my heart rate kicks up a notch.
Eloise: Oh, sweetheart, that’s very unfortunate. I’m so sorry, Delilah.
Me: *Sigh, I know. My mum is cooking a special welcome home dinner for them and hopes I will join them.
Eloise: I know she is your mother, and I shouldn’t speak out of place, but that’s very insensitive of her.
Me: Tell me about it. I don’t want to dine with them.
Eloise: You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, darling. Don’t let them take anything more from you than they already have.
Me: I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get through dinner without stabbing someone with my fork and ending up in prison. I can’t just sit there while they all play happy families and pretend that this isn’t tearing me apart.
Eloise: Do you want me to send my driver over to get you? We can dine somewhere together.
Me: That’s very sweet of you, but you’re right. I need to get used to this situation because it’s not going away anytime soon.
Eloise: What time is dinner?
Me: We usually eat around six. Why?
Eloise: Tell your mother you’re bringing some company and to set an extra plate.
Me: That’s sweet of you, Eloise, but I couldn’t ask you to do that.
Eloise: You’re not asking me to do anything I’m offering.
Me: Are you sure you want to do this?
Eloise: I wouldn’t have brought it up if it was something I didn’t want to do. Scorn women need to stick together. Besides, it sounds like you could use an ally in your corner.
A knot forms in the back of my throat. I can’t believe she would offer to do something like that for me. We barely even know each other. On the plus side, having her here will go a long way in helping make my fake relationship with her son plausible.
When I hear my father’s car pull into the driveway, I quickly slide on my earphones and lie down on the bed. The last thing I need to hear is all their loved-up holiday stories.
Puke.
I hope they got so sunburnt in paradise on my dime, that their skin is shedding like the snakes they are.
My mum has now been informed about my dinner guest, and when she asked who, I shrugged. I don’t want to say much just in case she doesn’t show.
I’m deep in the zone listening to my uplifting playlist—I have a few depending on my mood—when I feel a tap on my foot. My eyes spring open to see a smug-looking Abigail standing at the foot of my bed. I pause the song I’m listening to and sit up.
“What do you want, Abby … if you came here to gloat, I’m not interested. ”
“I came in here to give you this,” she says, throwing her framed picture of Spencer on the mattress beside my leg. “You know, since you’re in a relationship with him now.” She lets out a small, spiteful laugh before turning and heading towards the door. She pauses before exiting, adding, “You’re so pathetic, as if someone as good-looking and successful as Spencer Prescott would be interested in a dumb loser like you.”
Her words hit hard, but despite the tears that sting the back of my eyes, I manage to will them away. She’s been calling me Dumb-Dumb-Delilah for the majority of my life, and I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry again.
Leaning forward, I pick up the picture frame and glance down at it. It’s the first time I’ve gotten a good look at him. She’s right about one thing—despite the huge age gap between us—I’ll admit he’s one fine-looking man. Thick brown hair that’s short on the sides and longer on top, perfectly tousled like he used his fingers to comb it, but on him, it looks sexy. And those smouldering bedroom eyes, surrounded by long inky lashes, are the colour of milk chocolate.
“Ugh,” I groan, dropping the frame back onto the bed. She’s right; he’s way too handsome for a loser like me.
When six o’clock finally rolls around, I begrudgingly leave my room. I find my sister and Kayne sitting at the kitchen table with my father, while my mother stirs something on the stovetop.
I can feel their eyes on me, but I ignore them, heading straight for the fridge to pour myself a glass of wine. I need it. If I wouldn’t receive judgement from them, I’d consume it straight from the bottle.
“I was wondering when you were going to join us,” my mum says, glancing at me over her shoulder. “What time is your guest arriving?”
“What guest?” Abigail asks.
“They should be here soon,” I reply, looking over at my mother.
“Who is it?” Abigail repeats. Again, I choose to ignore her. “I doubt it’s Spencer Prescott,” she adds, cackling like a hyena.
“Who?” Kayne asks.
My eyes briefly dart to him, and I’m forced to suck in a sharp breath as I’m reminded of how handsome he is. His skin is sun-kissed from his tropical holiday, and his dark-blond hair looks a few shades lighter on the tips. I hope that piece of shit enjoyed his free holiday with my skank of a sister.
His piercing green eyes are boring into me. Eyes that I used to get lost in. There is a slight frown marring his forehead as he studies me.
Why?
Who knows.
More importantly, who cares.
“Don’t worry, babe,” Abigail says, placing her hand on top of his and entwining their fingers together. I turn away and reach for a wine glass before filling it to the brim. “It’s her fake boyfriend. Someone she’s pretending to be with to get me jealous.”
She’s such a bitch!
“Abby,” my mother scolds.
“Well, it’s true,” I hear her mumble under her breath.
Thankfully, my back is to them, as I feel my cheeks heat. I take a large gulp from my glass before topping it back up. I’m going to need this entire bottle to get through tonight.
I swallow back my humiliation just as the doorbell rings. Shit. Eloise is here. I know she said she was coming, but I half expected her not to show.
“That must be your friend,” my mum says sweetly, abandoning her stirring to place her hand on my shoulder. She gives it a light squeeze, which I presume is in sympathy. It’s a little late for that. If my parents cared about me at all, they wouldn’t be subjecting me to this bullshit.
Tilting my head back, I empty the contents of my glass like a beer-guzzling Neanderthal before slamming it back down on the counter.
My clenched fist covers my mouth to smother my unladylike burp before leaving the kitchen to walk down the corridor towards the front door.
I clear my throat and smooth my hands over my hair before reaching for the doorknob, but I’m in no way prepared for who I find standing on the other side when the door opens.
It’s not Eloise.