23. Elizabeth
I’m reading the updated draft of Arjun’s article when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call, expecting it to be Wes interrupting my work the way he always does at the motorhome. To my delight, it’s Jane—and she’s alone.
I sit up straight. “Of course.”
She smiles. “Good. Because we’re going out.”
“We are?”
She nods as she moves further into the room and perches on the end of the bed. “Wes told me to take the night off. He said he’d help Todd with the kids.”
A riot of emotions floods my body. In a moment of vulnerability that I can only attribute to a runner’s high and a lack of caffeine, I told Wes I’d do unspeakable things for an hour alone with my sister. And here he is, just, making that happen. For far more than an hour, it seems.
Heat pulses through me as I consider precisely the type of unspeakable thing Wes Grant might want in exchange for this—but I quickly bat it away. Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?
Half an hour later, Jane and I are at an outdoor table, chilled glasses of chenin blanc and a dozen oysters in front of us. As Jane spoons mignonette sauce into her briny treat and I liberally dash Tabasco into mine, she says, “I genuinely can’t recall the last time I had oysters.”
“I’m guessing they’re not popular in the Houston suburbs.”
She snorts. “It’s not as if you can’t find them. It’s just that Todd thinks they’re disgusting and refuses to order them.”
“Boo. It’s not as if he has to eat them.”
“Right?” she says, holding up her oyster. “Bottoms up.”
I clink mine with hers, and then the two of us slurp them back. My sister grins and I return it. This is what I’ve been craving. All of my favorite memories involve Jane, and the thing I resent most about adulthood is that you rarely have time to hang out with your favorite person.
“Alright, enough oyster talk,” Jane says. “Regale me with stories. Tell me everything.”
So I do. I tell her about the world of F1, about Chalondra and Lu and Sarah, about my political machinations in Miami, about the glitz of Monaco and the thrill of meeting Prince étienne Beaumont. She shrieks at that and demands to know why I didn’t call her immediately.
But I did reach out to her that weekend. She never responded.
I get it. With three kids to wrangle, a house to manage, lessons to plan and teach, and content to create, I’d wager her daily to-do list puts mine to shame.
That means something’s gotta give—and that thing is me.
But I’m not going to guilt trip her for being an inattentive sister on our night out together.
“It sounds like things are nonstop,” Jane says. “I know you shrugged this off the other day, but I’ve been following everything that’s been going on with Martine. Can you talk about it?”
“Considering the magnitude of the allegations, I’ve been a little surprised with how slow-moving it’s been.”
“It’s only been a few weeks,” Jane says. “Plus, professional criminals usually aren’t stupid.”
Dread slithers up my spine. “That’s true.”
“Do you have to stay with Martine until the scandal is settled?” she asks. “Or just until the team feels like they’re in a better situation reputationally?”
“It’s up to them,” I tell her. “It’s technically a three-month contract, but they can extend it.”
Jane nods. “Right. Well. I guess I’ll hold out hope that they keep you around until the race in Austin.”
I can’t hold back my laughter. “Jane, that’s months away! Besides, you have Wes’s number now. You can go straight to the source.”
“Speaking of,” Jane says pointedly. “Tell me every single thing about Wesley Fitzwilliam Grant.”
I groan and she laughs. “I’m not sure if this matters, but I wholeheartedly approve.”
“Only because he’s currently babysitting your children.”
“For free,” she says, her tone bright. “I know I don’t actually know him, but he seems great.”
I open my mouth to tell her how obnoxious he is, how he’s a cocky asshole, how he’s said things so disrespectful to me that most men would be fired in an instant.
But. But. He worried about my feet when I was living in heels around the track.
He advocated for Lu. He sent me an apology breakfast. He stopped me from walking straight into traffic.
Not to mention how I had the best orgasm of my life with him.
But that is information my sister does not need to know.
The last time we gossiped about my love life, I still thought sex was uncomfortable, violating, and misogynistic, and she was telling me the fix was communication and the right partner.
It turns out she was right—but I very seriously doubt she would be understanding about the kind of sex I need. So I say, “Wes has his moments.”
Our seafood platter arrives, presented beautifully on two tiered stands and served with an assortment of side dishes.
Jane oohs and aahs as she snaps photos, then we dig in, comparing notes on it all.
When there’s a natural lull in the conversation, I start to ask Jane if she thinks we could plan a real sisters’ vacation, but she says, “Just so you know, Todd told me what happened at the conference.”
My stomach drops. I’m sure he had a grand time telling her all about how I misinterpreted things and went into hysterics.
“I wish you had said something,” she says. It’s obvious she’s disappointed I didn’t—as if that’s fair. As if she would have even listened to my perspective. I’ve tried to make her see how awful Todd is before, but her responses have included ignoring me, defending him, or telling me I got it wrong.
But she did find a way to book this trip, even when Todd was against it. So perhaps things have changed between them?
“Does that mean you suspect something?” I ask.
“No! God, no. Todd wouldn’t.”
I try to keep my face neutral. But I fail spectacularly and Jane shakes her head as she lets out a disbelieving little huff. “I’m not some delusional housewife clinging to a fantasy. Todd and I talk. We’re honest with each other. And we have a healthy sex life. He has no reason to cheat.”
“As if having the perfect wife has ever kept a man from stepping out. Even satisfied men cheat.”
Emotion flashes in Jane’s eyes and I brace myself.
But then she takes a deep breath and straightens her spine.
“I get where you’re coming from, Lizzy. I really do.
You deal with awful situations all the time and see the worst of people.
I understand why you misinterpreted what you saw, and I appreciate that you jumped to my defense.
But I need you to know that my marriage is solid and that I’m happy. ”
I want to believe my sister. I want this to allay my concerns. I want to say something warm and loving.
But all I can see is the way Todd was looking at Bianca. How his hand curled around her elbow as he leaned in toward her. How it didn’t seem like his nearness was a surprise to her. I wonder what would have happened had I waited just thirty more seconds before walking over.
So rather than laughing this off and letting Jane know that I’m happy she’s happy, I say, “I really hope you’re right about him.”
“Of course I am. He’s my husband. I know him better than anyone.”
“How often is he actually home?”
Jane’s mouth sets into a hard line. “I trust my husband, Lizzy.”
“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think critically about him.”
“You really think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
“No. I just don’t want you staying with a man who ends up being even worse than Dad.”
Jane flinches as if I just slapped her across the face. Todd may not be as openly misogynistic as our father, but in my book, they’re just the same: men who do not respect or appreciate their wives and who don’t seem to love their children.
“Well,” Jane says. “It’s a good thing you’re leaving for Montréal tomorrow. That keeps me from having to ask you to leave.”
My jaw drops. “Jane!”
My sister’s stony expression makes my blood run cold.
“You’ve made it abundantly clear for years that you do not respect or trust me.
I’ve tried to be nice about it. I’ve worked very hard to understand things from your perspective, but you have not afforded me the same courtesy.
I hoped you’d have grown up by now, but I have to accept that you’re always going to be like this.
I can’t make you change. So, I think this is where we should part ways. ”
“Part ways? We’re sisters!”
Jane motions for the bill. “We are. But that doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
Shock surges through me and tears sting the backs of my eyes. But I grit my teeth and set my jaw, letting the calm of a crisis wash over me. “That’s probably for the best. It’s not like you’ve been interested in having a relationship with me in years anyway.”
Hurt crosses Jane’s face, and I know that was a low blow—but I’m also not wrong. I’m the one who reaches out, who tries. After all, she does it so rarely that I think every call from her is an emergency.
I grab my phone out of my bag, transfer Jane money for my share of the house rental, groceries, and this meal, and then use a ride-hailing app to book a cab. “I wish you all the best, Jane.”
With that, I turn and walk away, my heart breaking with every step.
As I’m packing my things, I weigh whether I should get a hotel room.
I probably shouldn’t stay the night here after having such a massive falling out with my sister. But the thought of leaving in the middle of the night and not saying goodbye to my nieces and nephew makes my chest hurt.
A potent mixture of humiliation and anger floods my veins as I think about how thrilled Todd must be about this.
I’m sure Jane called him the second I left the table.
He’s probably basking in his victory, listening to “Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead” on repeat.
Hell, he’ll probably volunteer for breakfast duty for the first time ever so Jane doesn’t have to see me in the morning.
How did it come to this? Am I really such an awful sister?