My Darling Jane (The Darlings)

In the bathroom mirror, my reflection stares back—dark circles, hair with split ends, and a worried expression. I’m twenty-five, but the weight of the world makes me older.

“Listen up, Jane,” I say sharply to the mirror. “It’s not the end of the world if he moves out.”

I recall the time I had to throw a man out of the bookstore for indecent exposure during a book club. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Even when his floppy bits got close to my leg.

Once I even waved an axe at a man who threatened my sister.

“Raised by strong women,” I say. “Modern, unbreakable. You’ve weathered storms.”

I think of Londyn. “Teaching her to be fierce, independent. Just like you. You’ve got this. For Londyn. For yourself. For every strong woman who’s paved the way.”

I am capable.

I am resilient.

After my pep talk, I sink into the claw-foot tub in my bathroom with a glass of wine and my worn copy of Jane Eyre, ready to get lost. The second I do, though, my phone buzzes. I make the mistake of looking at it.

Jasper: Nice threat. Unnecessary, really. I’m the perfect gentleman.

Whatever. I flip my business phone to silent and rest it on the table that stretches across the tub. I really hope I’m not going to subject one of my clients to the worst night of their life.

Hmm.

I’ll think about it later. Right now, it’s time to read. Settling deeper into the bubbles, I open my book, eager for a quiet moment. But before I can start, Londyn pushes open the bathroom door and appears.

“Hi, sweetie. I thought you were sleeping.”

“I forgot something,” she says, her voice tinged with sleepiness. Her lower lip pouts just a bit.

“What did you forget?”

“Robbie asked me who my daddy is, and I didn’t know,” she says, her words simple.

Robbie is a little boy at school that she plays with. My stomach clenches. That question. The email from Tomas earlier today seems to have unwittingly opened the door.

I smile reassuringly as I get out of the bath, wrapping a towel around me as I dry off. “Well, you do have a daddy, but he lives in a place called California. He and Mommy aren’t together, and he knew Mommy would take the best care of you.”

It’s not like I can say that he never wanted her at all. I want to protect her innocence for as long as I can.

Londyn blinks. “Why he not pick me from school? Other daddies do.”

Gathering my thoughts, I slip on my robe and cinch it. I sigh, kneeling down to her level. “He lives too far away. But Uncle Andrew and I are always there to pick you up, right?”

“Is California on the moon?”

“No, it’s on Earth. I’ll show you on the map tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She seems satisfied for now.

“Do you want another bedtime story once I’m all done?”

She watches me brush my teeth. I make a funny face at her, then spit in the sink dramatically. She giggles. “Yeah. The one about the alligator.”

“You got it.”

After another story and getting her asleep, I curl up on my bed and decide to check my phone one more time before I put it on the charger for the night, which winds up being a mistake. I have three more messages from Jasper.

Jasper: No response to that? Something tells me you don’t believe me.

Jasper: Hello?

Jasper: You there?

Jesus, he is so needy. I have to go back and reread our convo, my hands tightening on my cell. Ugh. Part of me is glad that I wasn’t hanging on his every word like most women must do.

Rightfully so. Even if he is a macho-football-player cliché, he’s quite the panty dropper. Not that that matters. As far as I can see, every woman on my list would want a date from him. They’d be thrilled to have a date with a gorgeous football star.

But after the novelty wore off? It’d all fall apart.

Oh, who am I kidding? He’d never let it get that far. Women probably have an expiration date of exactly five minutes after he ejaculates.

How can I possibly subject any one of my clients to that? They want their forever. That’s what they signed up for.

But then my phone buzzes with a notification from my wireless company: Your bill for May is overdue.

That’s weird. I’m sure I paid it.

I navigate to my bank account and quickly find the reason. My checking account balance is negative twelve dollars.

“Ack. How is that possible? I just transferred money last week.”

I open up my savings account. It used to be pretty flush when I was modeling, but that was before I got pregnant. But gradually, the money’s disappeared, and now it’s at crisis level. I have less than $500 in there. And I’ll have to save extra money for rent for the apartment once Andrew is gone. Plus, I’ve been trying to sock money away for Londyn’s college fund. At this rate, I’ll have enough for her to attend when she’s eighty.

I clench my teeth so hard my jaw hurts.

I start to tap my fingernails on the night table, thinking.

Then I remember.

I go to the email and see the notification. JJ has paid you $2,000.

I check my business account, and sure enough, there it is, with all its pretty little zeros. Whew. I do have money.

Actually . . . I don’t. One condition of that fee is that I find him a date.

Hmm.

I glance at a discarded pile of profiles in the corner, then bolt over and snatch them up. Maybe . . .

Flipping through them, friends and acquaintances all, I hit a roadblock. None of them deserve Jasper’s circus.

Who could handle him?

Maybe someone tough.

A woman who’s unimpressed by glitz because she’s got her own glitter.

A put-you-in-your-place kind of woman.

That’s when it clicks. Abigail Carey.

She’s new to my list, a Yale lawyer turned skin-care mogul. Wealthy, driven, independent. When we met, she was straight-up intimidating, saying, “I don’t need a man. I need an equal.”

I remember squirming, admitting I had no matches yet. But now, it’s like fate. I make a mental note to enter Jasper into the database and see if she pops up.

I stare at her photo. She’s blond (I’m not sure it’s real), with razor-sharp eyes that dare anyone to try anything. Jasper’s antics won’t faze her.

If they match, she’ll either fuck his brains out or tear him apart like a tigress with a piece of meat.

I can’t help but grin.

I fall back on the bed and quietly giggle up at the ceiling fan.