Page 9 of Sharing Shane

Veronica mumbled her agreement around a mouthful of her well-earned lunch.

“And anyway, I was craving meat. Judith,” she said with a sneer for her mother-in-law, “has decided to go gluten-free and vegan.”

Veronica paused with the taco halfway to her mouth. “Why?”

“She says she’s trying to be healthier.” Delia bit into her own taco and chewed. “Which would be fine if that were true, and she wasn’t doing it just to fuck with me.”

“Hand me a salsa packet, would you?”

From her cross-legged perch on the other side of the coffee table, Delia dug through the pile of food cartons, napkins, and condiment packets. “Green salsa or regular?”

“Regular. Thanks.” Veronica caught the tossed packet one-handed, tore it open with her teeth, and squeezed the contents onto her taco. “Why do you think she’s fucking with you?”

“Because she was eating a BLT on sourdough in the butler’s pantry at two o’clock this morning, that’s why.”

“What were you doing up at two o’clock in the morning?”

“I wasn’t. Julian put cameras in the kitchen. Caught her red-handed.”

Veronica blinked. “You have video cameras in your kitchen?”

“Judith demanded Julian put them there, so she could make sure the housekeeper wasn’t slipping anything non-vegan or gluteney into her food. I didn’t know anything about it until Cora spotted them and asked me.” Delia shook her head. “She thought we were spying on her, that we thought she was stealing or something. Julian came clean when she threatened to quit.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Veronica made the effort to shove herself into a seated position, holding the taco aloft so none of the salsa would spill. “She asked Julian to spy on your housekeeper?”

“Yep.”

“Because she thought she’d try to sneak her some dairy or eggs or pasta or something?”

“Yep.”

“And those are the cameras that caught her eating bacon.”

“You see why I need weed?”

Veronica snorted and salsa dripped out of the taco and onto her hand. She licked it off. “What did she say when you called her out?”

“I didn’t.” Delia looked smug. “I told Julian he had to do it, or I’d tell her about his vasectomy. Then I told Cora to make prime rib for dinner. With French bread.”

“Nice.”

“I know. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

“You rich people have weird problems,” Veronica said and bit into her taco.

Delia thought for a moment, then shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”

Veronica’s phone, lying face down on the coffee table, began to ring.

“Is that him again?”

“Yes.” Veronica set her taco down and reached for the wine bottle. “He’s called eight times since this morning. Four while I was in my meeting. Thank God I’d turned my phone off.”

“Does he think you’re going to talk to him?”

“No, he thinks I’m going to take him back.”

“How could he possibly think that?”

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