"What? It's true. You sent me that fertility tracker app, Eleanor. Wanted me to weigh in on optimal conception windows for West's future spouse. As if I care when the girl gets pregnant so long as she's not a coward."
Jane makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. I squeeze her hand under the table.
"Rabbits," Aunt Milly repeats, grinning at Jane with sharp approval. "I like it. Means you come from people who know how to survive. How to work. How to breed without a manual."
"Aunt Milly, please—" Mom tries again.
"Oh, hush. You asked about her pedigree. She doesn't have one. Good. Pedigrees make people soft."
Aunt Milly taps the table with a pointed finger. "This girl helped an old woman she didn't know, told off a man twice her age, and just stared down the entire Prescott inquisition without blinking. That's worth more than any boarding school resume."
"West, bring Jane to New York for the summer gala. I want to see Eleanor's book club friends try to out-snob a girl whomultiplies like rabbits."
Suddenly, my mother’s snickering at the idea.
"Now." Aunt Milly waves a hand. "Someone get me more Egg Benedict. And stop interrogating the poor girl. She's already won."
***
Brunch passes in a blur.
Jane holds her own, answering questions with a mix of honesty and strategic vagueness that I'm starting to recognize as her trademark.
She doesn't apologize. Doesn't shrink. Doesn't perform… well, maybe a little. But she mainly holds her ground and answers appropriately. And somehow, that’s more impressive than any polished act.
Because she’s defending me.
My mother warms incrementally—or at least stops looking like she's planning Jane's social execution.
My father asks polite questions about her business, genuinely curious.
And Aunt Milly, the terrifying gatekeeper of the Prescott legacy, has fully adopted Jane as her personal project.
She turns to me, eyes bright.
“You look alive, boy. Less like a handsome gargoyle and more like a person. It’s an improvement. Credit where credit’s due.”
“You make him smile, Jane. Really smile. Not the polite, empty thing he’s been doing for the past three years. We haven’t seen that since…” She trails off, the unspokenCarolinehanging in the air.
“Since the Dark Ages,” Mom finishes bluntly. “When he’s engaged with that walking mannequin with the emotional range of a teaspoon.”
I shift in my seat, suddenly the center of attention. My parents are looking at me like I’ve sprouted wings. Because of her. Because of Jane Cooper.
"You keeping her?"
The question punches the air from my lungs.
Keeping her.
As if it's that simple. As if the deal doesn't expire in three days. As if I haven't been lying to myself about the clean break we both agreed to.
"We're together," I say carefully.
"That's not what I asked."
Jane's hand tenses in mine.
I look at her. She's staring at the table, her cheeks pink, her jaw tight.
