Page 93 of The Rancher Married the Wrong Sister
“I think her name’s Jessica...something or other.”
“Right, that’s her! Now that’s the kind of woman who suits Mr. Launcelot.”
“Whatever happened to her anyway?”the Southern voice asks. “They seemed so perfect together.”
“Who knows? Maybe she realized what a demanding bastard he can be and ran for the hills.”Sharp laughter follows, the kind that makes me wince. “Can’t say I blame her. Though this new wife...she’s definitely not going to last long if she’s as naive as she looks.”
“Can you imagine her in bed with him?”The second woman’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s so...intense. She probably just lies there like a dead fish.”
More laughter.
“She’ll bore him to tears within a month,”the first woman agrees. “Mark my words, hon. He’ll be looking for a mistress before their first anniversary. Someone with actual experience who knows how to please a man like that.”
“Poor little thing probably thinks missionary position is adventurous,”the Southern voice adds, and they all dissolve into giggles.
I bite down hard on my lip to keep from making a sound.
“It’s almost sad, really,”the first woman continues once their laughter dies down. “She has no idea she’s just going to draghim down. A man in his position needs a partner who elevates him, not some small-town girl who’ll make him look desperate.”
“Or damaged,”the second voice adds. “Like he couldn’t do better so he settled for whatever was available.”
“She’ll probably cost him business deals just by existing. Imagine bringing her to client dinners or charity galas. The secondhand embarrassment alone...”
Their voices fade as they move toward the sinks, but I can still hear fragments.
“...such a waste...”
“...deserves so much better...”
“...just a matter of time...”
The bathroom door opens and closes.
The room goes quiet.
And that’s when I realize I’m crying.
I can taste the salt on my lips, feel the hot tracks down my cheeks. My hands are shaking as I fumble for toilet paper to wipe my face.
They’re right.
Of course they’re right.
I’ve always known I was different from Jessica. She’s the one who lights up rooms, who commands attention without even trying. She’s the one with the successful social media career, the one who travels to fashion weeks in Paris and Milan.
Years ago, she told me flat out that my existence was hurting her brand. That having a sister like me—boring, ordinary, unfashionable—would cost her followers if people found out. It would make her look...less than. Like she came from common stock instead of the glamorous world she’d carefully crafted online.
And so of course, I stayed away.
Because what she said was true, and so I swallowed my pride and learned to stay in the background, to make myself as invisible as possible when she was building her life. It’s why I never asked to be included in family photos she posted, why I never mentioned our relationship when people asked.
And now it seems like one day soon, I might have to do the same thing for Gavine.
Because those women were right about everything. I am out of my depth. I am naive and inexperienced and completely wrong for someone like him. I will drag him down, make him look desperate, cost him opportunities.
The woman who belongs at his side is sophisticated and confident. She knows about boardrooms and business deals and probably a thousand things I’ve never even heard of. She doesn’t blush when he looks at her. She doesn’t gasp and tremble at the simplest touch.
She certainly doesn’t fall apart in the back of a car like some desperate virgin who’s never been touched by a man.
