With North and Delilah out, the house is still and quiet. The distant crash of the sea against the shore is a constant hum. An hour rolls by, too still, too quiet. I get up and walk slowly from room to room, chasing the sun as it slants through the massive windows. I know every inch of this place. It is all mine.

Growing up, nothing was mine. Not even my bedroom. It could be invaded without warning. There was no safe space. I used to dream of my own place, design it in my mind’s eye—where it would be, how it would look. I grew up in a mansion, so I knew all about beautiful spaces. That didn’t interest me as much as thinking about light and space. A place to breathe freely, see everything around me with clear eyes.

The pool shimmers in the afternoon sun. I’m not yet allowed to go swimming, but damn if it isn’t tempting. To the best of my knowledge, Delilah hasn’t gone near the pool. Did she even swim? The last time I saw her in a bathing suit was when she was thirteen. She caught me looking a few times—much to my horror—and hadn’t been pleased. I can’t say I blamed her. I was pissed as well—both at being caught and over my lack of self-control. It was a relief when she stopped going to the lake with Sam and me to swim.

Only, it left me alone with Sam. The realization that without Delilah in the equation, that hanging out with Sam was an exercise in patience and boredom was an ugly shock. Shortly after, I made certain we always went out with a big group of friends.

With that regrettable memory prodding my back, I turn away from the view and head for the kitchen. Delilah has left me a lunch. There’s a note with instructions, as if it wouldn’t occur to me to take the cellophane wrap off the plate before I ate my food. Smirking, I set the note aside and am pulling the carefully wrapped plate out of the fridge when my phone dings.

It’s from North.

Someone’s gone viral. lol

I grow cold inside. Have more photos surfaced? I paid a lot of money to gather up the majority of the photos of me in the wreckage. But I might as well have tried to hold water in a sieve. North sends me a video link.

Hell, video?

Gritting my teeth, I click the link. And find my mouth falling open.

I’m so shocked I’m not sure I can trust what I’m seeing. But there Delilah is, standing on a chair in what looks to be Karen’s outer office and belting out Gloria Gaynor with such feeling it almost makes up for her terrible singing voice. Almost.