8. Delilah
Chapter 8
Delilah
“ T hanks, Damien,” I say when we reach the front porch of my home. “I can take them from here.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping you get these bags inside.”
“Here’s perfect,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heat for the umpteenth time today.
Damien never mentioned my run-in with Abigail when I slid into the back seat of the limousine this morning, but he was standing outside the vehicle when I exited the house, so there’s no way he didn’t hear her screaming like a banshee. I’m pretty sure the entire street was privy to her meltdown. “Thank you for the offer, though.”
“You’re welcome, Miss St. James,” he replies with a nod as he sets down the abundance of bags he’s carrying. “I’ll see you in the morning … have a pleasant evening.”
“You too … and thank you.”
I have to do two loads to get everything inside, opting to take them straight to my room. I can imagine how Abigail will react if she sees my new designer wardrobe. Besides, my mother will probably insist I hide them from her anyway .
God forbid we upset her delicate feelings.
My one-hour lunch date with Eloise turned into a two-hour shopping spree … at her son’s request apparently.
Although deep down I appreciated him for doing it, I found myself equally mortified and annoyed when his mother told me the real reason behind her visit. I explicitly informed him that his offer of an advance this morning felt like charity, so I don’t know how he concluded that buying me an entirely new wardrobe was any better.
I’d planned on telling him exactly that when I returned to the office mid-afternoon, only to find that he’d left for the rest of the day to attend various meetings off-site.
It’s going to take me months to pay him for all these beautiful clothes. It also means I’m going to be stuck in this nightmare situation even longer. I’ll never be able to afford to move out at this rate.
It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for one’s mood. After I spent hours unpacking all my new things last night, I showered, washed my hair, and set it in soft rollers, which I slept in. I was up early this morning, applying my makeup and styling my hair into long, loose curls. I wanted the rest of me to match my new wardrobe.
By the time I slipped into the chosen outfit for the day, I stood in front of my mirror in disbelief. It was the first time in a long time that I’ve felt beautiful. I know I’m not what you’d call ugly, but when you’re constantly compared to your elder sister, who is prettier, smarter, and more charismatic … it’s easy to develop an inferiority co mplex. Losing my fiancé to her only cemented that fact.
After much thought, I’ve chosen to wear a white pantsuit today. The slacks are high-waisted and hug my body until my upper thigh, before dropping into a straight pant leg. I’ve paired them with a sky-blue silk blouse that I’ve tucked in. The short jacket sits just above my hips, which I’ve left undone.
The expensive material feels so soft and luxurious against my skin. I swear if Abigail even thinks of manhandling me in this outfit, I’ll uppercut her.
I reach down for the phone that’s sitting on my bed and snap a quick pic of myself through the full-length mirror. When I’m done, I open my Messenger app and attach the image.
Me: How do I look?
Eloise: Oh, darling, you look beautiful. Simply exquisite. I love that you paired your outfit with the camel-coloured pumps. Great choice.
Me: Thank you. And thank you again for all your expertise yesterday. I appreciate it … and you.
Eloise: It was my pleasure. You are like the daughter I always wanted, and I thoroughly enjoyed our little shopping expedition. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my son, but the moment he hit puberty, I could no longer choose his outfits. You know how fiercely independent my Spencer is. He gets that trait from his father.
I know little about her son, other than he’s stubborn and annoyingly persistent when he wants something.
Me: I enjoyed myself too.
Maybe not at first. In the beginning, I struggled to keep my anger at bay. But Spencer definitely gets his persistent side from his mother. She can be just as relentless as he can. Once I accepted my fate, it was kind of fun. I’ve never shopped in places so grand, with an endless amount of money at my disposal. Eloise didn’t even look at the price tags. Anything that caught her eye was plucked off the rack, handed to the sales assistant, and delivered to my dressing room. Her taste is impeccable.
Eloise: We’ll have to do it again soon. Mwah.
Instead of replying, I react to her message with a heart. She’ll be getting no encouragement from me. I’m going to need a few solid years of savings before I can afford to do anything like that again.
There’s a tiny pep in my step as I reach for the cute Michael Kors purse that matches my shoes and sling it over my shoulder. I don’t know what the actual psychology behind it is, but this outfit has boosted my disposition and my self-esteem. I feel reborn and ready to conquer the world.
That is, until I enter the kitchen.
“Oh, is that a new outfit?” my mother asks, placing a mug of coffee down in front of Abigail. “You look lovely, sweetie.”
“It is,” I answer as my eyes dart to my sister. If looks could kill, I’m pretty sure I’d keel over and die on the spot.
“Is that an MK bag?” Abigail spits.
Ignoring her, I move my attention back to my mother. “I needed some new clothes for work.”
“You should’ve said something. I could’ve come with you. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a girls’ day out together.”
Yes, the last time was when we went wedding dress shopping. I get a pang in my heart when I think back to that day. Abigail was with us since I’d stupidly asked her to be my bridesmaid, and I was happy … genuinely happy. I had no clue what lay ahead. It’s funny how things can change. I never would’ve guessed I’d be here now. Single, lonely, lost, and about to embark on a completely different life.
I should be married and trying for a family. That was what Kayne wanted … once. I wonder if he’ll get that with my sister. She always swore she’d never have kids. She’s so self-absorbed and body-conscious that I doubt her opinion on that has changed.
“I went with a friend.”
“A friend?” Abigail scoffs. “What friend?”
Bitch.
As much as her judgement stings, she’s right. I don’t have many friends … none actually. Kayne and I started dating when I was in my senior year, and between him and my job at the dental clinic when I graduated, I had little time to maintain any friendships from school. Still, she’ll jump at any chance to belittle me. It’s something she’s always done.
“Eloise … Spencer’s mother,” I snap back, wishing she didn’t get under my skin, but unfortunately, she does.
“Oh … well, that makes more sense.”
“How?”
“She’s protecting her son.”
“Again, how?”
“They’re embarrassed by you, Delilah,” she says with a smile so smug I have an overwhelming compulsion to slap it right off her bitchy face. “He sent his mother in to fix—” she gestures her hand towards me, moving it up and down, “—you. The outfit is cute, I’ll give her that, but it’s like putting lipstick on a pig. A Band-Aid solution. The sad truth is you’ll never be good enough for their world. I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you, little sis. It’s only a matter of time before they see that … if they haven’t already.”
My mother gasps. “Abigail Louise St. James.”
“What?” she whines, standing and raising her chin. “I’m just speaking the truth.”
“That was an awful thing to say to your sister.”
“Maybe, but Delilah needs to realise she’ll never fit into their world. She doesn’t even fit into ours.”
“Of course she does! She is part of this family.”
“Then why did Dad want to put her up for adoption when she was born?”
My mother bows her head instead of refuting my sister’s claim and I finally have the answer to a question that’s been eating away at me for years.
The confidence I exuded when I exited my bedroom this morning has now been smashed to smithereens. I’m sitting in the back seat of the limousine and struggling to keep my tears at bay.
Damien even complimented me by saying, “You look lovely today, Miss St. James,” which only seemed to give validity to my sister’s hateful words. No comment was made about my funeral outfit yesterday.
Are the Prescott’s embarrassed by me?
Was this all an attempt to save face?
Common sense tells me it’s a possibility. I’m working for a multimillion-dollar company, and the only suitable outfit I possessed before yesterday cost me under a hundred and fifty dollars. That included the shoes.
As if feeling like a charity case wasn’t bad enough. I now had the weight of Abigail’s cruel assumption swimming around in my head, as well as the confirmation of knowing what she’s been telling me for years is true … my father never wanted me.
I blow out a puff of air as my gaze moves to the window. The scenery blurs as my eyes cloud with tears. I feel stuck. I signed a contract yesterday that anchored me to Prescott Enterprises for at least the next month. When Spencer and I were hashing out the details of my employment, we agreed to a trial run. It was my idea … to protect us both. Four weeks didn’t seem that long at the time, but now it feels like an eternity.