Then Barbie pulls out her phone. Starts typing.
"I'm texting Natalie now. Asking her to meet us in an hour."
Jane goes still. "An hour?"
Sloane nods. "Right after we leave here. Straight to her villa."
"You were right, there’s no point waiting," Merritt says. "She needs to know before the final rehearsal dinner tonight."
Barbie looks at Jane. "You sure you don't want to be there?"
"This is your moment with your friend." Jane's voice is steady. "I'm just the hired help."
"You're more than that," Katelyn says.
Jane smiles. Small and genuine. "Thank you. But I'm good. This is for you and Natalie."
Barbie reaches for her phone again. "One more thing before we go. Payment."
Jane blinks. "Oh. I thought—after you tell Natalie—"
"You've done the work. You get paid now." Barbie's fingers hover. "Account information?"
I watch Jane's hands. They shake. Just slightly—barely perceptible—as she pulls out her phone and reads off her routing number. Her account number.
Fifty thousand dollars.
Enough to get current with her rent. Get a new used vehicle. Cover Grace's tuition. Buy groceries without calculating whether she can afford protein and vegetables in the same week.
"Done," Katelyn says, tapping. "Should hit your account in a few minutes."
Jane stares at her phone. Waiting. The terrace is silent except for the waves below.
Her phone buzzes.
She looks down.
Her lips part. Her eyes go glassy.
"It's here," she whispers.
"Good," Katelyn says softly.
"Grace's tuition is covered," Jane says, and her voice shakes. "All of it. Spring semester. Summer housing. Books. Everything." She swallows. "I can pay off my business loans. And I can fix the leak in my apartment ceiling."
"How long has that been leaking?" Sloane asks.
"Since October."
October. Five months. She's been living with water dripping through her ceiling for five months because she couldn't afford the repair.
And she never told me.
I want to ask why she didn't tell me. But I know why.
Because telling me would mean admitting she needs help. And admitting she needs help would mean this arrangement isn't purely transactional. And if it's not transactional—
I stop the thought. Not now.
