55. 55
“W
hy are we coming back here?” I say, looking up at Delaney’s mother’s large L.A. home.
She pulls in a breath—it’s possible she wants to be here less than I do. “Eryn said Mom was ready to apologize.”
“You think she is?” I’m more than ready to go back home. L.A. isn’t exactly for me. But Delaney is. If she goes on tour, I’ll probably end up following her around just to make certain I spend every night for the rest of my life holding her like I did last night.
“Nope.” She swallows. Her hair is up on her head in a stringy bun, leaving her long, pale throat exposed.
I’m not sure I’ve kissed every inch of that throat yet—and it’s on my to-do list.
“But what if—” she says, her words trialing off. She breathes out a quiet sigh. “If the Baileys have taught me anything, it’s that family is important. It’s worth fighting for.” She blinks, her gaze falling from the house to me. “If I could have some semblance of a relationship with my mother, isn’t it worth the risk?”
I’m hesitant after the way Claire spoke to Delaney last night. There was no concern or love in her words. Not like a mother should have. While Delaney deserves to have a loving mother, I’m not sure that coming back here for repeated heartbreak is worth the slim possibility.
Maybe I’ll mention that another day, as we’re already here and Claire Jones is peering out the window at us.
I look at the house, at Claire watching us from the window. “Hey, babe—”
“Babe again, huh?” She flutters her lashes in question.
I turn back to her and shrug. “It keeps coming out. I don’t know.”
She sighs like I’m really putting her out. “Work on it, will you?” she says, but her mouth parts in a grin.
“I’ve been wondering,” I say, my brows cinching. “Why did you tell me not to eat anything your mother offered?”
“Blech,” she says, screwing up her face in disgust. “She puts brussels sprouts in everything. I was trying to spare you.”
My face smooths over and I sigh. “I thought her brownies tasted a little off—but then you told me not to eat anything and… I thought the woman might be poisoning me.”
Delaney snorts. “She is—with greens.”
Eryn meets us at the door. Her smile is large, her glasses round, and while her shoulder-length hair is a much darker blonde than her sister’s, there is no doubt that this is Delaney’s sibling.
I watch as Delaney and Eryn embrace, their arms tangled around one another. Behind them, Claire’s lips turn up—though she isn’t smiling. It’s more of a grimace. I’ve never seen anyone smile and pull off disgust all at once.
Judy sits on the couch in Claire’s sitting room, and I’ve learned that while she is the mother of Delaney’s father—Claire’s ex—she owns the place. She’s lived in the guest house for years and didn’t want to leave when Claire and Robert split up. Delaney said she wanted to be there for the girls. So, she rents the place to Claire for cheap, and in turn, she keeps her home out back. This is the home she raised Robert and his brother in. I’m curious as to how similar the space is now compared to then.
But that’s a conversation for another day. Today, I am keeping a low profile. I am hoping to chat with Eryn, hear a lovely apology from Claire to Delaney, and then fly home, Delaney by my side.
Claire brings us all a cup of tea. Now that I know her secret, I can’t get the scent of Brussels sprouts to leave whenever I sip the hot liquid.
“Delaney Sage,” Claire says when the chitchat between Eryn, Judy, and I simmers. “I’m sorry we argued.” Her lips are tight. “I’m sorry that I’m such a bother, always wanting to be a part of your life.”
Delaney glares at Eryn—it’s an “I’ll punch you later, little sister” kind of look. I know. Levi gives it all the time.
“Mom,” Eryn says. “You called Miles here without warrant, without telling Delaney, and then you accused them of fraud.” She clears her throat. “Remember? That’s the apology you’re making.”
Claire’s eyes search the floor—as if she’s literally trying to remember.
Standing, Delaney huffs. “We have a plane to catch. So—”
“No.” Claire breathes in and then out, the breast of her blue suit rising and falling with the action. “Fine. I am sorry I called Miles here.”
“Thank you.” Delaney nods.
“But I can’t apologize for calling this what it is—a sham.”
Delaney shakes her head—and while I never want to be in agreement with Claire Jones, and my feelings have changed dramatically since we first made the agreement, she isn’t completely wrong. Delaney and I did make a business deal. One that somehow her mother knows about.
“Believe what you want,” Delaney says. Her jaw is tight and her cheeks splotch with pink.
The thing is, everyone in the room knows the truth. Well, sort of—none of us knows exactly what or how Claire knows what she knows. None of us are willing to admit the whole truth to her. She’d construe it in the worst possible way.
“Here’s what I believe—you’re doing your best,” Claire says as if she’s offering Delaney an olive branch. “You needed some help, and you found some in this…” She peers at me, the right corner of her red lips curling. “Painter.”
“He’s an artist, Mother. An artist and a teacher. And he’s ridiculously good, if you’d take a minute to look at any of his work.”
“But Delaney. I can help you.” And for the first time in the twenty-four hours I’ve known Claire Jones, she looks utterly sincere.
Delaney must see it too because she doesn’t blow her off.
“Help how?” Eryn asks, and while Delaney looks hopeful, Eryn’s brow furrows in skepticism.
“I’ve been in touch with Enrique—”
Delaney groans, all the light squelched from her eyes.
“Mom,” Eryn gripes.
“Really, Claire.” Judy stands, shakes out her arms, and paces once in front of Claire’s picture window.
Claire holds up both hands. “Not to see if he’d take you back romantically. I’ve no hope of that after the scene you caused two summers ago.”
“Who?” I say, looking to Delaney for help. I’m not exactly the jealous type, but even his name sounds like a man ready to swoon my girl away from me.
“He’s willing to take you on as a model for his fall show.”
Delaney scoffs and stands to face her mother eye to eye. “Model?” She shakes her head.
“You’re trying to revamp your image. I spoke to Ash—”
“You called Ash? What the—”
“I simply asked her why the sham of a marriage, and she explained.”
Delaney’s fingers grip at her hips. “That manager of mine is so dead.”
“I had my suspicions; she confirmed them. But the point is, Delaney, you don’t have to do this. Marriage is fairly desperate, don’t you think? There are other ways to alter your image. I’m all for the change, by the way. But not like this. You don’t need him.” She waves a hand in my direction as if I were an animate object without any feelings.
Judy wraps one arm around Delaney’s shoulders, calming her erratic breathing.
“I don’t want to be a model. I never have. I never will. So, how would working with Enrique help me?”
“Using your beauty is simply using your assets—”
“I don’t want to model. I don’t want to be Miss California. I don’t want to!” Delaney’s face and neck blotch with an angry pink. “Besides, Mother, I like being married to Miles. He is funny and kind. He’s creative and loving. And he is the sexiest man I have ever met!”
Claire rolls her eyes with Delaney’s last declaration. And maybe she said it purely to annoy her mother, but I’ll take it.
“He thinks about me—me, Mother. And what I want.”
“But you don’t need him—”
“Maybe I don’t!” she bellows with a humorless laugh. “But maybe I want him.”
I slip my hand into hers. It’s a silent assurance that I want her in return.
But the room has already grown stuffy and warm with their words and emotion. Claire must feel it too because her face is every bit as red as the lipstick she wears. “This is ridiculous. And you’re going to end up right where you started—with your image in the gutter. Don’t expect Enrique to take you then—”
Delaney runs a hand down her face.
“Mom, please—” Eryn hisses.
But Delaney is very good at taking care of herself. She doesn’t need me or her sister to come to her defense. “I don’t want Enrique’s help or yours.”
Judy paces behind us and tears glisten on Eryn’s cheeks.
“You’ll only drive her away again, Claire,” Judy says.
Some of the blood drains from Delaney’s face, and she peers back at her grandmother. “She won’t. I won’t let that happen again. I promise.”
With a quick embrace to her sister and then grandmother, Delaney snatches my hand and starts for the door.
Claire yelps, stopping us in the entryway. “You’ll never make it!”
“Excuse me?” Delaney peers back at her, stopping when we’re so close to escaping.
I’d like to tug her out the door, but this isn’t my fight. I don’t get to make that choice.
“You and him,” Claire says, bobbing her head toward each of us. “Your father and I knew each other for five years before we got married. And it still didn’t work.”
“Claire—” Judy says. “She isn’t you.”
“Well, that’s certainly true. But experience… and life… and the odds all say they’ll never make it. They’ve known each other for five minutes. He’s small-time, and Delaney has always been meant for more—you and I both know that, Judy.” She takes three steps closer, her eyes piercing her daughter. “You know how cruel life can be, Delaney. You know it.” Her words are sharp and harsh, daggers that hit their mark. “Forget me, forget what I say. Life says you won’t make it.”
My fingers around Delaney’s tighten. I lift my head and find my voice. “But love says we will.”