Page 51 of Spin Control

I shake my head. Jane gasps and her eyes fill with mischievous joy. Elizabeth, however, is much less amused. “You have to be joking.”

“I can call my mom and have her confirm, if you’d like.”

“Well, what is it?” Todd asks.

I keep my eyes on Elizabeth as I say, “Fitzwilliam.” Though she keeps her face still, her eyes widen, just a touch.

“Fitzwilliam,” Todd says. “Why isn’t that ringing a bell?”

“Because that’s not what most people call that particular character,” Jane says, very obviously enamored by this entire situation. “Fitzwilliam is Mr. Darcy’s first name.”

“Oh!” Todd says. “The guy from Pride & Prejudice.”

“Exactly,” Jane says. “This has to be fate.”

“Oh boy,” Elizabeth mutters.

“I’m hungry!” Edmund yells, and Jane turns to her son. “Well, Eddie, I guess we should do something about it, huh?”

We fill our plates with the steaks and chicken breasts, potato salad, and green beans. The conversation is breezy, but it’s dominated by Todd. He asks me tons of questions about my job and experiences in F1, but doesn’t direct a single question at Elizabeth, who now has solid first-hand knowledge of motorsports.

When he mentions that he’d love to be in the garage when we race in Austin, Elizabeth’s whole body tenses. “That’s a popular one,” I say. “I’ll have to check if we have any space available.” I don’t miss Elizabeth’s quiet, relieved exhale.

When everyone is finished with their meals and the kids are running around the backyard again, Todd says, “I can’t believe everyone but me is named after a Jane Austen character.”

“Well,” Elizabeth says, her tone airy. “If it’s any consolation, there are several Toms in her books.”

I don’t hold back my laughter.

My alarm goes off at 4:57am.

Camden expects me to call him at 7am so he can coach my gym session remotely—and he’ll know if I didn’t put in the requisite miles beforehand.

I change into running gear and tip-toe through the house. I actually love this time of day, when the air is still cool and dewy and the world painted in pale, pre-dawn blues, but I know that is not a popular opinion. I don’t expect anyone else to be up at the crack of dawn, so when I open the door and see Elizabeth in skin-tight shorts and a matching sports bra, stretching her left hamstring, my brain buffers. It’s more of her than I’ve ever seen—which is ridiculous considering I’ve been inside of her. But here she is, looking like a goddamn fitness model.

“Good morning, Jacobs.”

She looks over her shoulder, unsmiling. “Of course you’re a morning person.”

“As if you aren’t up before the sun to go for a run.”

“I’m up. But I’m not perky.”

“Honey, I don’t think anyone would accuse you of that at any time of the day.”

Elizabeth narrows her eyes. For a moment, I wonder if she’s going to deliver a delicious little burst of pain. But then she continues stretching in the quiet of the morning.

“How far are you running today?” Elizabeth asks as I’m warming up my ankles.

“Planning on 10 miles.”

“Of course you are," she sighs. “I looked up a 10-mile loop last night.”

I give her a side-long glance. “What a coincidence.”

“Tell me about it,” she says rhetorically, the delivery flat. “Don’t make a big deal out of this. It’s just a run.”

“Okay,” I say easily, even though my heart is already reaching the aerobic zone. My phone lights up with an invitation to join her playlist. As I click accept, my brain relaxes, comfortable with the fact that I’ve given her complete control of my run. If Elizabeth notices, she doesn’t let on. She just pops in her earbuds and says, “Let’s go.”