26. The Real Interrogation #2
She wore blue scrubs and looked at me with an expression that combined curiosity, assessment, and judgment.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. The exact same eyebrow raise Davina had when I said something stupid.
“Is my sister here?”
Sister. Right. Davina had mentioned a sister. My brain, which had apparently taken an unscheduled vacation to process the visual paradox in front of me, slowly began to reconnect to my mouth.
“I...” I blinked. Tried again. “You're...”
“Delilah Lawson.” She extended her hand. “Is she here?”
“Delilah?” Davina’s voice carried from behind me. I shifted in the doorway, flattening against the wall to get out of the way.
“So it is true?” Delilah scowled. “You got married and didn’t even tell your sister?”
Fuuuuccccckkkk….
“I was going to call you today,” Davina explained.
“Today,” Delilah screeched. “You got married when?” She looked up at me, then back to her sister. “Why not before you got married?”
“It’s complicated…” I started and stopped when she cut me the same look she’d been giving her sister.
“Complicated,” Delilah repeated, her voice climbing an octave.
“I'm your sister.” Delilah's gaze swept from the dog to Davina's outfit, my shirt, bare legs, the evidence of a morning that had involved very little clothing, and her expression sharpened.
“The sister you apparently forgot existed when you decided to elope with...” She gestured at me with a manicured hand. “Him.”
“His name is Dallas,” Davina said, a defensive edge creeping into her voice.
“I know his name. I've heard his name approximately seven thousand times over the last two years, usually preceded by phrases like cocky, arrogant, and my personal favorite, I'd rather eat glass.”
I grinned. “She said that?”
“Multiple times. With feeling.” Delilah crossed her arms over her chest in a move so identical to Davina's that I did a double-take.
“So imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to twenty-seven text messages, three missed calls, and an Instagram post announcing that my sister is married. To the glass-eating alternative.”
“Okay, in my defense…” Davina started.
“There is no defense. There is no universe in which there is a defense.” Delilah pushed past me into the house without waiting for an invitation. “You got married. In Vegas. To a man you have spent the last two years publicly eviscerating on your podcast.”
“I… It’s complicated.”
Delilah stopped in the middle of my living room, taking in the space. Her gaze landed on Karen, who had appeared on the back of my couch like a calico specter, watching the proceedings with an expression of supreme boredom.
Karen slow-blinked at Delilah, and she slow-blinked back. Some kind of understanding passed between them that I was pretty sure didn't bode well for me.
“So. Someone want to explain to me how we went from public evisceration to it’s complicated?”
I glanced at Davina. She glanced at me.
“Maybe we should sit down,” Davina suggested.
“Maybe you should start talking.”
“Coffee?” I offered, because I had no idea what else to do. “I make excellent coffee.”
Delilah stared at me for a long moment, her expression cycling through several emotions I couldn't quite identify, before she let out a long breath, and some of the steel in her spine softened.
“Fine. Coffee. But it better be exceptional, because you're going to need it to survive this conversation.” Her gaze flicked between Davina and me. “And maybe put some clothes on.”
Twenty minutes later, we were arranged around my kitchen island like a war council.
Delilah sat on one of the barstools, her posture perfect, her coffee untouched in front of her.
Davina had claimed the stool next to her, Ricky curled protectively in her lap.
I stood on the opposite side of the island, which felt safer somehow.
“I know it seems sudden,” Davina started, and I watched her slip into performance mode, her hand finding mine on the countertop. “But Dallas and I have been seeing each other secretly for a year. We just... didn't want to go public until we were sure.”
Delilah's eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. “A year?”
“Since Matt and Brooke's engagement party,” I added, squeezing Davina's hand. “That's when everything changed.”
“Changed.” Delilah's tone could have frozen the Gulf of Mexico. “At the party where, if I recall correctly, you called him a, what was it? Oh, that's right, a walking mid-life crisis with commitment issues.”
Davina's smile didn't waver, but I felt her fingers tighten around mine. “That was before I got to know him. Really know him.”
“Uh-huh.” Delilah picked up her coffee, took a long sip, and set it down. “And what, exactly, did you get to know that changed your mind?”
“His heart,” Davina said. “Under all the bravado and the showmanship, Dallas is... he's kind and thoughtful.”
I blinked.
“He's also standing right here,” I said, trying to recover, “and feeling very objectified by this conversation.”
“Good.” Delilah's gaze swung to me like a spotlight. “Your turn. Convince me.”
“Convince you of what?”
“That you're in love with my sister. That this isn't some elaborate PR stunt or drunken mistake you're both too stubborn to undo.” She leaned forward.
I took a breath. Thought about the story Sam had helped us craft. Then I thought about this morning, waking up with Davina in my arms.
Maybe the best lies were the ones threaded with truth.