Page 99 of Spin Control

“Thanks,” she says, taking a small sip. “When I got your message about that tabloid story, I wanted to call you immediately. But I was still feeling so raw. I was angry that you were right. But I was angrier at myself. I had been too trusting and so stupid. I allowed our relationship to suffer and then hurt you so badly. And for what? My cheating husband?”

“Jane, it’s okay,” I say. “I’m not angry. I hate that I was right.”

Her eyes fill with tears again. “I really did love him. But I think I loved who he once was, rather than who he is now.” She bites her lip and lets the tears fall. “When we first met, I couldn’t keep up in class. I was failing, Lizzy. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to make a change. Todd helped me understand that it was possible to love science and choose a softer life.” She sniffs, then brushes a lingering tear away. “He gave me that. And I think I’ll always be grateful for it.”

I blink, and a tear falls down my own cheek. I didn’t know any of this. I didn’t realize she was stressed and paralyzed at the thought of change. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jane gives me a pointed look. “You? My ambitious, focused sister who has never failed at anything?”

I flush.

She shakes her head. “I was already ashamed and heartbroken that I was giving up my lifelong dream. I didn’t know how to tell you that it was too hard and that I needed to find something that didn’t make me feel like a failure every single day.”

I blow out a heavy breath. She’s right. I would have tried to motivate her. I would’ve given her pep talks about studying more, and that would have only made her feel worse. “I’m sorry you couldn’t confide in me.”

“I should have,” she says. “So I’m sorry, too. I hope we can repair things between us.”

“Of course,” I say immediately. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“I just want you to be my sister,” she says. “And to maybe let me post photos of you and Wes so I can get a sweet, sweet follower bump.”

“I think I can cheers to that,” I say, holding up my glass.

When she clinks hers against mine, it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

A few days later, Jane returns to Houston, leaving me with a schedule that is completely clear for the first time in years. There isn’t a crisis to focus on or a to-do list filled with items ready to be crossed off.

So I fill my days and nights with Wes.

We wake up slowly and linger in the sheets, in the soft sunlight, in each other. We have leisurely breakfasts followed by long strolls.

One morning, we walk to an outdoor market and mosey through the rows of vendors. I stop to buy a punnet of strawberries, and when I look over my shoulder at Wes, his expression is serious.

“What?” I ask.

”I want to do this forever.”

“Buy produce at the market?”

He smiles and slips an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “Buy produce at the market with you. I love you, Elizabeth. So much.”

The warmth that spreads through my chest feels as if I’ve just stepped inside a perfect beam of sunlight. Though we both acknowledged this back in Hungary, we haven’t talked about it since. But I feel it when he touches me. I see it when he looks at me. I watch it in motion every morning when he brings me a perfectly made cup of coffee. And yet, hearing him say the words out loud is more impactful than I realized it would be. Because something I believed has just become something I know. “I love you, too. So much.”

He kisses me deeply, right there in the middle of the market, and then whispers, “Please tell me I can take you home and directly to bed.”

As if I would ever deny him that.

In the days that follow, we picnic in parks, go on afternoon drives along the coast, explore medieval towns that feel like fairytales, and swing by vineyards so picturesque it seems you stepped into a painting. We spend our time laughing and playfully bickering and learning all the intimate little quirks that only come with constant contact.

“We’ve done this whole relationship backwards,” Wes says one night as we’re settling into bed. “I’m pretty sure most people fall in love after they’ve gone on daytrips and dinner dates.”

“Sounds boring,” I quip. “Surely mutual antagonism, mutual bedroom preferences, and being mutually forced into bringing down a crime syndicate are the real tests of true love.”

“True love?” Wes asks. “Why Jacobs, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He steals a kiss, looking very pleased with himself.

I never knew this kind of relationship was something I could want. But now I can’t imagine not wanting it. The thought of being anywhere else—being without him—is unfathomable.

When Clint calls me on a Thursday, I answer with, “I’m still on leave.”