5. Bliss

Chapter 5

Bliss

H arper angled into her bathroom mirror as she meticulously applied her makeup. She usually looked forward to meeting her fabulous friends for brunch. A long, relaxing afternoon of gossip and cocktails was typically the perfect distraction from her newly mundane existence. Lately, however, it had begun to feel like a burden.

More specifically — she felt like the burden.

It didn’t take long after the family’s public scandal to realize who had become the focal point of the brunch gossip. Harper’s thriving social circle quickly dwindled to one last loyal friend.

Good old Delia.

Though she would have never consented to being referred to as old.

They had supported each other through great successes and a few failures throughout their decades-long friendship. Although, Harper wasn’t blind to notice that even Delia seemed to be distancing herself, coming up with one excuse or another to avoid meeting in public.

Even as she got ready that morning, she steadied herself for yet another last-minute text about some pressing matter that had suddenly become a priority. There had been more times than she would admit when she had arrived at the restaurant only to receive a smarmy apologetic message from Delia that she just had to cancel.

Harper wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that it actually hurt her feelings. The thought of disclosing that she could be so fragile was uncomfortably transparent. She would never be able to tolerate a look of pity that would inevitably flash across her best friend’s face, not after all they’d been through together.

Her phone vibrated with a notification, sending her heart into her stomach.

Delia — typing…

See you soon, friend. I can’t wait to catch up!

The flippant use of the word friend made her cringe, but Harper was determined to snag every opportunity she could to crawl back into Delia Hollister’s good graces. Gone were the days when Delia would clamber to stay on Harper’s radar, feeding off every crumb of attention tossed her way. The pendulum had swung in Delia’s favor, forever tipping the scale with the old money she had married .

Harper brushed mascara on her lashes and gave her makeup one last glance in the mirror. Slipping her toes into her high heels, she ran her fingers down her toned calf muscle. Endless pilates, yoga, and a cocktail here and there kept her anxious mind at bay. Pulling her designer purse over her shoulder, she smoothed out any wayward wrinkles in her delicate flowing top. Even though Harper’s longtime trademark had been her finely tailored, brightly colored clothing, she was determined to lay low until the tide of public opinion turned in their favor. Lately, she had opted for a more muted appearance in various cool whites and tans. The moment the Davenports could schedule a positive press release, Harper had a flashy suit picked out in a shade of blue that her former stylist had called Arctic Aqua.

Cracking her bedroom door open, she peeked down the hall before chancing her hasty exit. She was relieved that the large estate seemed quiet that morning. Her high heels clacked across the marble as she went down the stairs. If Shep was still lingering around the house, she could only hope he wouldn’t be alerted to her presence. Harper was in no mood for another sparring match. Shep knew every chink in her armor, and it seemed like he could find just about any reason to pick a fight.

She climbed into her luxurious white Mercedes. Pressing the ignition, she relished the soft leather interior.

Lounging in the backseat of a chauffeured car while scrolling through her phone was a distant memory. The Davenport’s recent financial predicaments meant she had the hassle of driving, but at least she had been left with a few basic comforts.

Pressing the toe of her red-soled high heel on the gas pedal, she took Pacific Coast Highway a little faster than she should have. Her car sped alongside the cliffside overlooking the ocean, and she allowed her intrusive thoughts to edge in. With just the slightest tilt of the steering wheel, she could send her vehicle through the guardrail and over the scenic precipice.

It wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

The morbid thought gave her a sudden chill.

“Pull it together, Harper,” she thought aloud, reminding herself that she had plenty of reasons to live — brunch with her best friend being one of them.

She parked at the picturesque seaside cafe and pulled down the sun visor, giving her appearance one last glimpse in the mirror. Again, she was reminded that she was losing the battle. A cold hollowness stared back at her, driving her to keep her sunglasses on despite the dreary, overcast day on the coast.

Tucking her purse tightly under her arm, she stepped into the restaurant.

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 us old ladies.”

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, Mia had to dash back to New York,“ Delia hesitated, seeming to savor the next tasty morsel. “— and I think she might be bopping in to see Oakleigh .”

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 quickly composed 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.”

“She’s entirely off track,” Harper sighed.

“Oh!” Delia exclaimed, sitting tall in her chair. “And I’m sure you saw the wedding post the other day. ”

Harper’s blood ran cold. “Not Oakleigh?”

“No, no,” Delia countered, sipping up every ounce of Harper’s explosive reaction. “Maeve.”

Harper pressed out an exhale, regaining her composure once again. “Oh yes, Maeve,” she waved away the thought. “I’m sure her husband is terribly ordinary.”

“A pastor, actually,” Delia’s eyes sparkled. Harper was her puppet on a string, and she was loving every moment of it.

“I suppose she just had to wait out the scandal ,” Harper casually surmised, twisting the corner of the napkin and pulling it onto her lap. “I’m not sure she ever had what it takes to be a pastor’s wife , I would know.”

“Oh yes, you certainly would,” Delia acknowledged, reclining her elbows on the table. “Remember the sold out women’s conferences?” she mused. “Thousands, Harper — packing the church just to hear you speak.”

“Not including the streaming,” Harper added, giving a shallow sigh. She was nearly misty-eyed as she recalled the esteem she once carried. Those days were long gone, and now, she wasn’t even recognized at her favorite restaurant.

“Like we’ve always said, take control of the narrative,” Delia scolded, something she would have never dared to do in a previous chapter of life. “You let that girl get away with far too much—”

“I did exactly what the publicity team asked me to do, Delia,” Harper cut her off, struggling to control her rising temper. Even though the hype had died down with the thankfully short attention span of the internet, the videos of her public tirade were still circulating. She was convinced Oakleigh had plotted the entire ordeal from the moment she put the microphone in her hands.

“What would you suggest I do?” she asked, knowing Delia always enjoyed offering unsolicited advice.

“I footed the bill for you to fly back there,” Delia shrugged dismissively, unable to keep from flaunting her wealth in Harper’s face. “You were supposed to make peace. I cannot fathom how you managed to make it worse.” Delia’s tone took a judgmental turn. “These kids hold all the power these days with their online followings.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard ,” Harper bit back, rolling her eyes. She was thankful now that she had opted to keep her sunglasses on. “You know Maeve’s told her terrible things about me. She’s convinced her that I’m some kind of villain.” Admittedly, it had been a while since Oakleigh had mentioned Harper on a livestream. Yet the absence of any communication at all was unnerving, as though she had been forgotten entirely.

“What hold does Maeve have on that girl?” Delia implored, lifting an eyebrow. “Oakleigh’s intelligent, you think she would be able to see through the jealousy .”

“That’s exactly what it is, too,” Harper affirmed, pounding her palm on the table, causing the glass and silverware to clang. “And Oakleigh’s just fueled the fire and made the woman a celebrity. ”

“Who would have thought? Our little Maeve,“ Delia said with a smirk. “Stealing the spotlight again after all these years.”

Harper ran her fingers down the corners of her lips. “It’s all water under the bridge now,” she shrugged. “What’s done is done.”

“Well — I do have some good news that might cheer you up.“ Delia paused, lowering her voice. “I’m not supposed to say anything. Rex made me promise.” Her eyes gleamed, and they both knew it was a promise she wouldn’t keep. “Rex is making headway at Pacific Crest.”

Harper was again mid-sip of the saccharine peach abomination when the news hit her ears. “What do you mean Pacific Crest?” she choked.

“You heard what I said,” Delia replied with a stiff, toothy smile, showing all her bright white veneers. “Wouldn’t it just be beautiful to be reconciled with your father’s church?” Delia clapped her hands together. “Oh, I knew you would love this.”

Harper overlooked the bit about it being her father’s church. She was the one who built it up from its humble roots to be the impressive megachurch it was today. She couldn’t deny the thought of being back in control of her destiny felt sweet. Seeing the elders cower to them with apologies would feel like justice served and prove an important lesson to all who had relished in their public downfall.

“Well, wouldn’t that be nice,” Harper replied casually.

Delia tilted her head, her eyes filling with false sympathy once again. “You hang in there, Harper; you’re not alone,” she said, reaching across the table and patting Harper’s hand. “We love you.”

Harper clenched her teeth at the familiar sentiment that made her want to flip the table.

“Just think,” Delia continued. “You and Shep just have to make it a little while longer, then things will be back like old times.” Her volume lowered in case anyone might be eavesdropping. “Everyone knows you need plenty of space to make a marriage work.”

Harper adjusted her posture and took another long drink of the peach cocktail, which was actually starting to taste better with every sip. She set the glass down with a gentle clink, her eyes locking onto her smug best friend. Fueled by a spark of optimism, their little game of cat and mouse meant little now.

The end of her dire circumstances was within reach.

“Why, Delia — I surely have no idea what you mean,” she deflected. “Shep and I are just as in love as the first day we met.” She gave a carefree wave of her hand, “practically newlywedded bliss. ”