At least, that’s what Delilah told herself as she tried to calm whatfelt like a million bees flying around in her stomach and grabbed her digital camera out of its bag. Her hands needed something to do as she approached the bed, something to focus on when she pulled the covers back.
A king mattress was like an ocean, but still. Claire wasright there, and Delilah suddenly forgot how to make her limbs get into a bed like a normal person. She slid her knee in first, but then realized she’d be sitting on her legs, so she kicked her foot out from underneath her, which made her very nearly topple over on one elbow since her camera was still in her other hand.
Graciously, Claire ignored the awkwardness and picked up her phone, staring at the screen, but Delilah swore one corner of her mouth lifted a little. Delilah finally got settled in the cool sheets and flicked her camera to life. She began scrolling through the images she’d taken so far from the other wedding events, cringing at some bad lighting and then grinning at how, sometimes, that bad lighting made Isabel look like a crypt keeper.
“Have you gotten some good photos?” Claire asked, dropping her phone into her lap.
Delilah kept her eyes on her camera. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Can I look at some? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a photograph of yours.”
Delilah glanced her way. Glasses, makeup-free face, hair in a pile on top of her head with her bangs brushing her eyelashes. One strap of her tank top had slid a little down her shoulder, and Delilah fought the urge to put it back in place.
Or slide it down even farther.
She cleared her throat and focused back on her screen.
“Sure,” she said, but then those damn bees were back, their wings filling her stomach to the edges. She flipped backward to the brunch images, looking for something special, something beautiful. Shewasn’t sure why she cared what Claire thought about her photography skills, only knew that she did.
Finally, she landed on the perfect one.
She handed over the camera, which Claire took carefully, like she was handling a precious jewel—which she sort of was for what Delilah had paid for the thing—and then watched Claire’s face as she reacted to the image.
First her mouth parted, eyes widening, but then everything softened.
“Delilah,” she said. That was all. One word, but it was part voice, part sigh, and it was enough to make Delilah’s arms break out in goose bumps, which she tried to hide by curling them around her knees.
“I thought you’d like that one,” she said.
Claire nodded, eyes still glued to the black-and-white image of her and Ruby, sitting side by side at their table in Vivian’s. Ruby was looking down, her long lashes on her cheek and the smallest smile lifting the corners of her mouth, while Claire had her arm wrapped around her daughter’s shoulder, her nose pressed against Ruby’s hair. Claire, too, wore a little smile. Delilah had managed to zoom in on their faces while preserving the light, cutting out most of the plates and glasses in front of them on the table.
The photo was just them.
Mother and daughter.
“I love it,” Claire said, eyes still roaming over the screen. Finally, she lifted her gaze to Delilah. “You’re good.”
Delilah laughed and took back the camera. “You sound surprised.”
Claire shook her head. “Not surprised. Just... impressed.”
“The Ghoul of Wisteria House has talent, as it turns out.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Claire immediately stiffened, theair between them growing tense, but Delilah wouldn’t take it back even if she could. The bees had stilled their wings, and she needed to get her control back. She hadn’t lost her shit over a woman in five years, and she didn’t plan on starting now.
But then Claire said, “Delilah,” and goddamn if that one word, her name on this woman’s tongue, didn’t stir up the whole hive again.
Delilah waved a hand and set her camera on the nightstand. “We should probably get some rest.”
She flicked off the lamp and burrowed down into the sheets, her back to Claire. Next to her, she could tell the other woman hadn’t moved.
“How... how did you get into it?” Claire asked. “Photography?”
Delilah didn’t answer at first. But as her eyes adjusted to the dark, moonlight drifting in through the sheer curtains and silvering up the room, she found herself turning over, tucking her hands under her cheek, and arching her neck upward to see Claire’s face.
Claire looked down at her, a safe distance away, but then she shifted. She slid down, fluffing her pillow once and then settling on her side too, her hands underneath her own cheek, a mirror image of Delilah. Her movements had pushed her a little closer to Delilah, only about a foot of space between them. The air changed again, thickened with something close and new.
“You really want to know?” Delilah asked, keeping her voice low and quiet. Too loud and this whole spell might break, and she hadn’t decided yet if she wanted it to or not.
