Page 13 of The Wrong Brother

I take the glass, eyeing him warily. “And I suppose you’re here to tell me I shouldn’t be around him,” I say, meeting his gaze directly. “Because he’s engaged, and that’s what’s expected of him.”

Zack’s expression shifts, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “You’re right. Brett does have obligations, Jenny,” he replies, his tone careful, controlled. “Ones he can’t afford to ignore.”

I feel a surge of frustration and hurt, the tension between us thickening. “So, is that why you’re here?” I say, my voice sharper than I intended, refusing to look away. “You’ve come to offer me money to walk away? That’s how these things work with familieslike yours, isn’t it? The girl gets paid off, told to disappear quietly.”

A hint of amusement flickers across his face, and a small, almost daring smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “A million,” he says smoothly, his tone deceptively calm. The number is ridiculous, thrown out so casually, but there’s something in the way he says it…like he’s daring me to take the bait…that sends a chill down my spine.

My grip tightens around the champagne glass, fighting against the surge of emotions within me.

“No, Zack,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside. “None of this has anything to do with money. I’ve loved Brett all my life… and I still do.”

For a second, his gaze flickers, a hint of something inscrutable passing through those dark eyes of his. Then, just as quickly, he gives a faint smile, shrugging slightly as if the whole conversation were trivial, a throwaway moment.

“Well,” he says smoothly, almost dismissively, “lucky for you, it wasn’t a serious offer.”

His tone is casual, almost too light, as though he’s trying to set me at ease. I don’t quite trust it, but I feel the tension between us slip just a fraction, the sharp edge blurring as he shifts, glancing around the conservatory. He picks up his glass, takes a sip, and then looks back at me, studying me with that calm, assessing gaze of his.

“So, Paris…” he says, his voice trailing slightly. “It must have been an incredible experience.”

I stiffen, caught off guard. Paris was indeed an experience but I’m in no mood to discuss it with Zack of all people. I shake my head, trying to deflect. “There’s really nothing to say about it right now.”

His eyes narrow slightly, not with anger but with a kind of piercing curiosity, as if he’s trying to read between my words.“Nothing at all?” he presses, not letting me sidestep. “You came back a different person, Jenny. It’s hard to believe you wouldn’t have a few thoughts about the place.”

I sigh, exasperated, but he doesn’t back down. He holds my gaze, his persistence disarming in a way that’s almost maddening. “Honestly, Zack, I don’t feel like talking about Paris.” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to lose my patience. “I just want to see Brett… to make sure he’s alright.”

Something in his expression tightens, and for the briefest second, his eyes flash with a dark intensity that makes me want to step back. But he recovers quickly, his voice smooth and steady.

“You’ll have to respect Brett’s privacy, Jenny. He’ll reach out to you when he’s ready.”

A spark of frustration flares inside me. “How convenient that he’s disappeared and I won’t be able to see him for a few days…especially when you just saw him a few minutes ago,” I say, my voice edged with irritation. “You can’t keep me away from him.”

He tilts his head, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’m not keeping him away from you,” he says quietly, though there’s a subtle undertone to his words. “I’m just asking you to consider that Brett might need a little space. Not everything revolves around you.”

Just as I open my mouth to retort, a familiar, haunting melody fills the conservatory, an old song I’ve loved since I was young. My anger wavers, caught off guard by the sound, and Zack notices immediately. He glances at me, one eyebrow raised, a trace of amusement in his expression.

“Shall we?” he says, extending his hand, his tone gentler than before. “It’s the least I can do since you were expecting… someone else.”

I hesitate, every instinct screaming at me to refuse, to pull away. But his hand is already outstretched, and the soft musicwraps around us, a quiet invitation. Almost without thinking, I reach out, letting my fingers slip into his. He pulls me in close, his grip steady, almost comforting, as we begin to sway to the music.

“You never struck me as the dancing type,” I say quietly, trying to keep the mood light, though there’s an undeniable tension in the air between us.

His mouth curves into a small, sardonic smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jenny,” he replies, his voice low and measured. “But I’d wager you’re used to that by now.”

His words sting, and I can’t help but look down, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me.

He leads with an unexpected grace, guiding me across the conservatory with an ease that makes me feel as though I’m stepping into another world. The music fills the silence, each note weaving between us, breaking down the guarded distance I’ve tried so hard to maintain.

Just as the song begins to fade, Zack’s hand shifts to my lower back, pulling me closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. I don’t know why I can’t look away, why I can’t pull back…but there’s a power in his eyes that holds me captive.

And then, without warning, his mouth is on mine.

The kiss is overwhelming, pulling me in like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My mind goes blank, my pulse racing as his lips press against mine, firm yet somehow… gentle, a strange combination of control and warmth. It’s nothing like I imagined a kiss would be…so intense, so consuming that I feel as though the world has fallen away, leaving only the two of us.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, reality crashes back. The meaning of this kiss hits me like a cold wave, a reminder that this isn’t right, that this isn’t Brett. I break away, shocked and breathless, and before I even know what I’m doing, my hand flies up and I slap him, hard, my palm stinging from the impact.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he looks at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher, his eyes dark and steady, a trace of something almost… vulnerable flickering there for just a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The apology sounds genuine, though I can’t make sense of the way he’s looking at me, like he’s somehow lost in the same confusion I’m feeling.

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