21. A Table for Four #2
“How’s my girl doing?” she asked, her voice unnervingly bright.
My girl?
When had I become her girl?
Sure, I’d always thought of her like a second mother, but she’d never called me that before. And what was with the pep in her voice? Like she’d swallowed a motivational speaker on the way in.
Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
I had to force myself not to look at Julian for a read on her. Maybe he could tell if she smelled different. If she’d been replaced. If she was a victim of some supernatural body snatcher situation. At this point, since I learned that vampires existed, I wasn’t ruling anything out.
Instead, I played along. “I’m doing well. How are you?”
“Just fine.” She shimmied around the table to take her seat. “Thank you, Wallace.” She beamed up at him once she sat down.
That was when I noticed how dolled up she was.
Her sandy-brown hair swept up, pink lipstick, a floral dress that hugged her figure.
What had happened to her? Delia wore black.
Delia wore a lot of makeup, but it was usually muted.
Delia wore sarcasm like skin. And while she’d always been a nice-looking woman, now she was .
. . stunning. As if she’d peeled off the top layer of herself and revealed something polished and airbrushed underneath.
It was unnerving.
Almost as unnerving as the way my father gazed at her.
He liked this version of her.
He was attracted to her.
I could see it plain as day.
Julian’s fingers tightened on my thigh under the table, a silent confirmation that he saw it too.
I took his hand under the table, needing it now more than ever.
Delia looked between Julian and me, and just like my father, I saw her fight to keep the smile on her face, but there it stayed. It made me feel as if the night had been scripted.
“How’s married life?” she chirped.
Julian lifted my hand and kissed it, his adoring gaze in full force. “Better than I ever imagined.”
“Agreed,” I said truthfully.
Well . . . mostly truthfully.
If you didn’t count the psycho out to get me.
And the avalanche of secrets my mother left behind.
And now this Dad-and-Delia situation, which was rapidly climbing my list of Things That Make No Sense .
But other than that?
I actually liked living with Julian.
We had fascinating conversations about history and science. He encouraged me to be my best. He made me feel capable and seen. And when he kissed me . . . well . . . What could I say? My toes curled just thinking about it.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” she replied, overly enthusiastically.
“You are?” I couldn’t help but say.
Delia laughed. “Of course. I just want you to be happy.”
What alternate universe had I fallen into?
Whichever one it was, I wanted out of it.
Living in a world of vampires was one thing.
But living in a world where Delia was smiling like a lunatic and rooting for my marriage to succeed?
That was laughably supernatural. This wasn’t the same woman who just last month had helped me into my wedding dress while lamenting the evils of matrimony.
Delia turned her attention toward my dad. “How was your day, Wallace? Did you enjoy the toffee I made for you?”
I wasn’t one to swear much, but what in the actual hell?
Delia had made toffee for my father? I didn’t even know she knew how to. She’d once told me she barely kept food in her house. Who has the time to cook? she’d said.
This felt like more than friendship. Not that friends couldn’t give each other candy, but this was bizarre, and the timing was too convenient.
Why did all these strange things start happening after I got married?
As far as I knew, Delia hadn’t reached out to my dad once after my mother had died. Even at my wedding, she’d ignored him.
Dad threw back his shot in one gulp, avoiding eye contact with me. Guilt flickered across his face before his forced smile was back.
“It was great,” he stuttered. “It’s my favorite candy.”
“I remember Grace mentioning that.” Delia spoke my mother’s name in reverent tones. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.” She gave me a meaningful look. “I’m sure you miss her more than any of us.”
All I could do was nod. My brain was too busy trying to process everything at once.
“You know, if there is anything of hers you want us to save for you,” Dad added, “just let us know.”
Where was all this us talk coming from? I thought he said they weren’t dating. And while I understood Delia was my mother’s best friend, I was her daughter, and I didn’t want her rifling through my mom’s stuff given the circumstances.
I was about to tell them I wanted to go through all her things, but then this came out of Delia’s mouth:
“Especially any of her files. I know how much her research means to you. You are both so brilliant.”
Then she gave my dad an almost imperceptible little nod.
“Speaking of her research, I can’t seem to find her laptop. Do you know where it is?” Dad asked.
And suddenly, this bizarre night all made sense. Yet, it also deepened the mystery. Why did they want my mother’s laptop? And why did my father just now realize it was missing? More importantly, why didn’t my mother want me to tell him about it? Did she know something about my father that I didn’t?
I squeezed Julian’s hand under the table and tried to sound casual.
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.
She probably had it with her when she . .
. died.” My voice pitched. Those words were still hard to say.
Harder now that I was pretty sure she’d been murdered.
“Sadly, it’s probably at the bottom of the river. ”
I hoped that sounded convincing enough and that my face didn’t register how I was feeling. Annoyed. Betrayed. Confused. Just to name a few.
Julian put his arm around me, playing the devoted husband. Or maybe not playing. Why was his touch becoming so real to me? Why was he the only person I felt I could trust at the table?
“Hmm,” Dad contemplated my words. “Perhaps. But I swore I saw it at the house that night. I just hate to see any of her work get lost.”
“I would hate that too,” I assured him, meaning it now more than ever.
Thankfully, our server arrived with our drinks and it allowed for a change of subject.
Or at least for me to take a breath. But the unease curling in my stomach only intensified.
I thought my father had brought me here to celebrate my accomplishments.
Instead, this was a setup. But who set it up? My father or Delia?
Julian seemed to be wondering the same thing. As soon as the server placed his goblet of water in front of him, he held it up to me.
“Let us turn our attention to the woman of the hour. My bride. Tonight is a celebration for her. There will be no more talk of anything other than how brilliant she is.”
It was a warning shot—polite, elegant, but unmistakable.
A line drawn in candlelight.
And judging by the way my father and Delia stared between us, this wasn’t the outcome they’d hoped for tonight.
But what had they hoped to accomplish?
It was one more question I didn’t have the answer to.