Page 13 of Relentless

The hostess was a familiar face who greeted her warmly.

“Right this way,” she informed, ushering Harper along. “Mrs. Hollister is on the private deck.”

Harper stopped in her tracks. “Mrs. Davenport.”

The hostess paused, looking perplexed.

“Right this way,” Harper repeated. “Mrs. Davenport.”

The swift correction finally struck the young woman. “Um, right,” she said, clearing her throat. “If you’ll follow me,Mrs. Davenport,“ she echoed. “Mrs. Hollister is waiting for you on the private deck.”

Delia sat beneath a large sunhat, looking as fabulous as ever. She hadn’t spared a dime in her own war against middle age, and she seemed to be winning at every turn.

“Harper, darling,” Delia gushed. She raised from her seat, giving Harper a friendly kiss on the cheek. It was a gesture she had noticeably picked up when she had married into the higher class.

“Delia, dear,” Harper practically sang the words, matching her friend’s dripping tone. “It’s so nice to get together finally.”

“It’s been such a long time,” Delia’s voice went high. Easing away, she settled back into her seat. “—and I really don’t know why?”

Nail appointments.

Mishaps with household staff.

Last-minute jaunts to Europe.

Harper knew the real reason.

She also knew better than to speak out, knowing that guilting Delia would never revive the spark of their friendship — or the Hollister’s generous donations to Davenport Ministries.

“I ordered you something called — oh, what was it?” Delia announced, tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the hard table. “A Screamin’ Peach? Yes, that’s what it was,” Delia said,taking a sip from her glass of white wine. “It looks delightfully sweet.”

Harper studied the syrupy, frilly cocktail. It took everything within her to force her lip from curling in disgust.

Delia skipped along to the next trivial topic without so much as a blink, as though she were simply crossing off a list. “Mia so wanted to be here,” she said with a frown, drooping her shoulders theatrically.

“Young people these days,” Harper shrugged. “They don’t want to hang out with usoldladies.”

Delia gasped. “Bite your tongue!” She took a long sip from her wine glass before tipping her sunglasses, studying Harper over the frames. “I do have a fantastic new surgeon, dear. It’s amazing what they’re doing these days, just phenomenal,” she said, punctuating her enthusiasm with a wave of her hand. “Remind me to give you his card.”

The underhanded jab did not go unnoticed.

“Now what were we talking about?” Delia chimed.

“Mia,” Harper said as she twisted the glass stem of her cocktail between her fingers.

“Oh yes, Miahadto dash back to New York,“ Delia hesitated, seeming to savor the next tasty morsel. “— and I think she might be bopping in to seeOakleigh.”

Harper was mid-sip when her eldest daughter’s name hit her ears. She choked and sputtered, swallowing hard. Feeling Delia delightfully scrutinizing her reaction, she quicklycomposed herself, patting her chest. “This cocktail is terribly sweet, dear.”

Delia glanced down at her nails, clearly restraining her amusement.

Harper felt her teeth clench. Masking her contempt, she forced the bright white smile she had perfected with years of practice. “I hope Mia has the most wonderful trip,” she recited, sounding noticeably stiff. “Let her know we missed her today.”

“You know she hasn’t been quite the same since that silly little episode in Montana,” Delia continued, despite Harper’s evident discomfort. “She’s even mentioned getting a job? Can you imagine my Mia?Working?”she laughed. “It’s positively absurd.”

“Completely,” Harper agreed, feeding into the narrative that Delia tended to rewrite depending on her audience. Neither of them had been born into the upper class, let alone had the privilege of a trust fund. Delia had stumbled into the good fortune of marrying an eligible billionaire, while Harper had clawed her way to success, breaking every manicured nail along the way.

“I’m sure you feel the same — seeing Oakleigh work in that coffee shop,” Delia rattled on, seemingly unable to help herself from doing everything she could to trigger her best friend. “You must be so embarrassed.”

---