22. Wes
I pull my Jeep Wrangler into the driveway of the butter yellow house the Andrews rented and sigh.
I can’t believe I’m really here.
But it’s not like I went fishing for an invite.
I just couldn’t stop thinking about Elizabeth.
I hated that she was spending her valuable downtime with a man who gets twisted enjoyment out of proving that her sister loves him more than her.
And after what happened in D.C., I wanted to make sure she’s okay.
I doubt she wants me here—but she gave me permission to come anyway. If she tells me to fuck off and go home, I’ll do that, too.
I re-read the message she sent, letting me know they’ll be in the backyard when I arrive so I should use the garage code to let myself in.
After dropping my bag in an unoccupied bedroom, I grab the gifts I picked up and make my way to the back door.
Todd is at the grill, there are three kids chasing fireflies, and Jane and Elizabeth are seated at an outdoor dining table filled with plates, cups with utensils in them, and a few plastic containers.
As I open the back door, children sound the intruder alarm by screaming their heads off. I suppose I should have messaged Elizabeth to let her know that I’m here.
“Wes!” Todd cries, coming over while Jane reassures the kids that I’m not here to take anyone hostage. “You made it!”
“I did,” I say. “Thank you again for the invitation.”
“Of course,” he says, slapping me on the back as if we’re old friends rather than two people who have barely met. “We’re glad to have you. Kids! Come meet Wes!”
Suddenly, there are three children standing in a line in front of me, from tallest to shortest. The tallest says, “I’m Emma!
” followed by “I’m Eleanor!” and then “I’m Edmund!
” I wait, wondering if they’re going to break into song, like some contemporary version of the von Trapps.
When they don’t, I say, “And I’m Wes. It’s nice to meet you all. ”
“Are those for my mommy?” Emma asks, pointing to the flowers I’m holding.
“They are.”
“They’re gorgeous,” Jane says, coming forward and taking the bright summer bouquet. “And there’s a vase! How thoughtful.”
“Really, the florist is the visionary. She sized me up, pointed to the shelf, and said rentals don’t always have vases.”
Jane and Todd laugh easily, and I search for Elizabeth. She’s standing now, but hanging back from everyone else. I’m so used to her quietly commanding every space she’s in that it’s strange to see her on the sidelines. It doesn’t feel right. I don’t like it.
I head her way and offer her the thin, oblong tote bag. “This is for you, Jacobs. I figured you’d need it.”
She pulls out the bottle of rosé. “Chateau d’Esclans. Fancy.”
“Only the best for you,” I say, keeping my tone light. But I really did ask for the best bottle of rosé the store had.
“Aunt Lizzy!” Eleanor calls. “What’d you get?”
Suddenly, dots connect in my mind. “Emma. Eleanor. Edmund,” I say, before looking at their mother. “Jane.” I turn back to the woman beside me. “Elizabeth. That can’t be a coincidence.”
A pretty blush colors Elizabeth’s cheeks and Jane laughs delightedly. “I never thought a race car driver would be familiar with Jane Austen.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “They are when their mother is the world’s leading Austen scholar.”
“I didn’t know that,” Elizabeth says, peering at me curiously.
“And here I was thinking you’d done so much research on me,” I tease. “Didn’t you figure it out just from my middle name?”
Elizabeth frowns. “All I know is that it starts with an F.”
“I find it hard to believe you haven’t filed a Freedom of Information Act request for my birth certificate.”
Todd and Jane both laugh, and Elizabeth’s cheeks flush an even deeper pink. In a low voice, she says, “Honestly, I figured your parents were extremely prescient and named you Wesley Fucking Grant.”
I bark out a laugh. “They probably should have.”
“What’s funny?” Emma asks, distressed she’s not in on the joke.
“Emma,” Jane says to her daughter. “Do you remember the name of the woman who wrote the book you’re named after?”
“Of course,” Emma says primly. “Her name is Jane, like you.”
“That’s right,” Jane says. “Her full name is Jane Austen. And our new friend Wes just realized that most of us here are named after characters that Jane Austen wrote.”
“Oh,” Emma says. “That’s not funny.”
We all, of course, laugh at that, confusing the serious little girl further.
“Please tell me your middle name is Frank,” Elizabeth says, still on this. “There’s no way it’s Frederick. Andrew would have made you and Freddie do some social media thing if it were.”
I shake my head. Jane gasps and her eyes fill with mischievous joy. Elizabeth, however, is much less amused. “You have to be joking.”
“I can call my mom and have her confirm, if you’d like.”
“Well, what is it?” Todd asks.
I keep my eyes on Elizabeth as I say, “Fitzwilliam.” Though she keeps her face still, her eyes widen, just a touch.
“Fitzwilliam,” Todd says. “Why isn’t that ringing a bell?”
“Because that’s not what most people call that particular character,” Jane says, very obviously enamored by this entire situation. “Fitzwilliam is Mr. Darcy’s first name.”
“Oh!” Todd says. “The guy from Pride where I trust my body, my instincts, and everything around me.
I’m certain it’s all because of the woman leading me.
I’m not good at giving up control. It isn’t natural for me. But there’s something about Elizabeth that makes me want to cede it all to her. I trust that while she’ll control the situation, the playlist, me, she won’t take advantage. I feel safe with her.
When we start to slow, the sunrise is striping the sky in soft pinks, illuminating the white sand, the seagrass, the deep blue of the Atlantic.
It’s a lovely morning, and we’re not the only people taking advantage of it.
We pass plenty of other runners, couples walking their dogs, and groups in golf carts, off to the course.
I’m startled when my watch buzzes. I typically can’t keep my eyes off it during runs, but today I forgot about it entirely. “That’s ten,” I announce.
“Want to keep going?” Elizabeth asks, as if running ten miles on an empty stomach is child’s play. Hell, maybe it is for her.
I laugh. “No. I want to collapse in the sand, take a nap, and then have a massive pancake breakfast.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that’s not what’s on the agenda.”
“Very unfortunately, it is not.” I bend over, resting my hands on my knees. “I’m going to stretch, eat a banana or two, down some electrolyte water, and then go to the gym.”
Elizabeth nods, then starts her own stretching. It surprises me. I thought she’d jet off, leaving me in her dust. But she didn’t. She stayed here. With me.
I don’t know what to make of that. I don’t know what to make of her anymore.
“Tell me something true, Elizabeth W. Jacobs.”
“Is that your way of asking what my middle name is?”
If I didn’t know her, I’d say her tone was emotionless. But now, I hear the droll note in it. “What you share is up to you.”
She looks out at the water for so long that I don’t think she’s going to give me anything. But then she takes a deep breath. “I would do unspeakable things for one hour with my sister, just the two of us.”
I blink, surprised she’s confided in me.
I want to tell her that she shouldn’t have to make a deal with the devil to spend time with her sister.
That I’m sorry Todd is such a toxic asshole.
That I wish she could have everything she wants.
But I don’t want to push my luck. I don’t want to turn this lovely, surprisingly vulnerable morning into something she regrets.
So instead I lean toward her and pitch my voice low. “Unspeakable things, you say?”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. But there’s also a small grin on her face.
As Camden pushes me through a grueling training session, the thing that keeps me going is that I know precisely how to grant Elizabeth’s wish.