Page 28 of I Do, You Don't
Each footfall is deliberate, measured. The hallway’s narrow walls press in, shadows pooling at my feet. Delilah’s door hangs ajar, cracked just enough to frame her silhouette. I don’t knock. I press my ear to the gap, determined to uncover the lies once and for all. And what better way than by eavesdropping.
“I toldyou,” she says, her laughter tinkling like shattered glass. “He never showed. You should’ve seen Lara’s face, like someone ripped her heart out and left it bleeding on the altar.”
My breath hitches.
“She floated down the aisle, all smiles, all hope. And then, bam. No groom. No Gideon. Just silence, pity, and that stupid string quartet trying to pretend nothing was wrong.”
I clench my jaw. My fingers curl into fists.
“She kept looking around like he might appear out of thin air. Like love alone could summon him. God, it was pathetic. Her face crumpled in slow motion. I swear, I’ve never seen anything so satisfying.”
I close my eyes. Lara’s face flashes behind them, soft, radiant, searching. I remember the way she looked at me the night before the wedding, devastated when I took Delilah’s side over the stupid dress and the bachelor party. I imagine the agony she must have felt when she realized I’d stood her up.
A pause. Then another laugh, cruel, bright.
“I showed him the photo and planted the seed of doubt. He was already spinning his wheels, desperate to escape that wedding. All I had to do was give him the final push.”
I press my back against the wall, the wallpaper’s floral pattern rough against my skin. It feels like it’s closing in, vines curling tighter. My chest constricts. I picture Lara in her white lace dress, or at least I assume it was lace. The cruelty is that I never got to see it: her hopeful smile, her eyes scanning the crowd. I’d let her down. Let Delilah twist me. All because of a photograph. A lie.
“I knew he didn’t want to marry her,” Delilah says, her voice slicing through my thoughts. “I saw it in his eyes. He felt trapped. I liberated him.”
Liberated. The word makes my stomach churn.
The truthis, I’d been blindsided by her trickery. My love for Lara unraveled in a single moment of doubt. I hadn’t felt trapped with Lara, I’d felt safe. Seen. Loved. But Delilah knew exactly where to cut.
“I mean, come on,” she continues. “Lara’s sweet, sure. But she’s not me. She doesn’t know how to handle him. She doesn’t know how to keep him. I do. I always have.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, welcoming the sting as blood floods my mouth.
“She looked like a lost little girl in that thrift-store dress,” Delilah says. “I almost felt bad, almost. Her dad looked like someone had died. Honestly, it was the most entertaining wedding I’ve ever attended.”
Heat surges up my throat.
“I got him. I won.”
I almost push the door open. But I wait. I need to hear it all. I need to know exactly what I’ve lost.
“She’s going to spend the rest of her life wondering what she did wrong,” Delilah says. “And I’m going to be the one he chooses. He always does. Lara was just a phase. I’m the one who’s been here, who knows him. She never stood a chance.”
I stare at the candlelight flickering across the floor. It sputters, choking. The wine glass glints red, like blood. The air feels heavy, perfumed and poisonous.
I draw one last breath. Then shove the door open.
The hinge creaks, loud, final, a grim announcement of my arrival.
Delilah whirls around, phone pressed to her ear. Her wide eyes flash with fear, like a cornered animal in a trap.
“What the hell is this?” I demand.
She stammers, “M-mom, can I call you back?” Her thumb swipes frantically across the screen, killing the call.
“Gideon,” she breathes, her voice laced with relief she tries to pass off as poise. “You scared me.”
Good. Scaring her is the least I can do.
The cloying weight of her perfume, jasmine, gardenia, hangs between us.
Not ready to tip my hand, I step into the room. “Who sent you the photo of Lara and Calvin?”
