Page 29 of The Wrong Brother

"Thank you," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

As the meeting wraps up and I’m ushered back toward the fitting area, the weight of everything presses down on me. The expectations, the comparisons, the constant feeling of being out of place.

I think of Brett. His easy smile, his endless optimism. If he were here, he’d tell me not to worry. He’d tell me I’m beautiful, that I have nothing to be afraid of. And for a moment, I wish I could hear his voice, feel his reassurance.

But then, unbidden, Zack’s image creeps into my mind. His sharp eyes, his commanding presence, the way he looks at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. What would he say if he were here?

He wouldn’t coddle me, that’s for sure. He wouldn’t tell me everything’s fine or that I’m perfect as I am. He’d challengeme. Push me. And for some reason, that thought sticks with me longer than it should, sending a faint shiver down my spine.

Why does he make me feel this way?

I shake the thought from my head as the flash of light nearly blinds me. It’s just the reminder I need to scrape all of this nonsense out of my head and focus solely on my work.

Chapter

Twenty

ZACH

The vaulted ceilings of the palazzo seem to press down as Mark clicks through slides, his voice a steady drone against the backdrop of a room humming with possibility. Frescoes overhead, their colors softened by time, hint at the stories this place has already witnessed. I lean back in my chair, fingertips grazing the edge of the polished table, my focus shifting between the presentation and the view through the arched windows.

The Spanish Steps rise in the distance, a reminder of the property’s prime location and the stakes riding on this venture. Months of consideration have brought me here, but it’s the newfound connections through Elizabeth’s father that make this moment feel within reach. The right contacts. The right leverage. The right time.

“This valuation aligns with projected growth in luxury development,” Mark says, his tone careful, almost reverent.

I don’t look at him. My gaze is locked on the sun-drenched courtyard below, where tourists mill about, their laughter rising faintly through the open window. "And the permits?"

Mark hesitates. "Expeditable, with the relationships we’ve cultivated."

I nod once, slow and deliberate, the weight of the potential filling the silence between us. This is mine to claim, my vision to build. It’s not about Elizabeth’s family…not directly…but their influence hangs over this deal, an invisible thread weaving opportunity into my hands. I tap my pen against the table, a slow rhythm that matches the pulse of the city outside.

Mark clears his throat, continuing the pitch, but his words fade into the background. My mind drifts, unbidden, to another image…hazel eyes that flash with defiance, a slip of a dress catching the moonlight. Jenny. Even now, miles away and focused on her fitting, she’s still here, threading through my thoughts like she belongs there.

I exhale sharply, dragging my attention back to Mark, the room, the deal. Focus. There’s too much at stake to lose sight of what matters. Too much to let anything…or anyone…distract me.

After the meeting comes to an end, though, my mind once again drifts to her. This trip is a good chance to handle business, but the fact is that the focus is on Jenny. I find, however, that I’m doing what I can to avoid my focus being on her, and it aggravates me that I’m so concerned about getting close that I’m dodging this. I should be bold, uncaring, and as usual, determined to take what I want and bend everything to my will.

However, when it comes to her, I feel exhausted and conflicted. Sighing, I decide that now is the time to take control and do what I have to. Perhaps slowly, with the time we have here, a way will open up. Perhaps we wouldn’t even have to get intimate at all, and I can just talk some sense into her…gettingher to let go of her fantasies with Brett and focus more on her career.

I step outside onto the terrace overlooking the city. The view is breathtaking…Rome sprawling out beneath me, a mix of ancient ruins and modern elegance. But it doesn’t hold my attention for long. I pull out my phone and call Simone, one of the executives at Tod’s and the person who helped secure Jenny’s spot in the campaign.

She answers on the second ring, her tone light and curious. "Zack, to what do I owe the pleasure? Not often I get a call from you during working hours."

"Simone," I say, leaning against the railing, my voice steady. "How’s the fitting going?"

"Finished a little while ago," she replies smoothly. "Thanks for recommending her, by the way…she’s an interesting choice."

"Interesting?" I echo, the word tugging at my curiosity. "What does that mean?"

"She did well," Simone continues, her tone thoughtful. "Better than I expected, actually. She’s got something…fresh, unpolished, but in a good way. She just doesn’t know it yet."

That gives me pause. "Doesn’t know it?"

"Impostor syndrome," Simone explains, her voice softening. "It’s not uncommon, Zack. She’s new, trying to find her footing. She’s got potential, but she doesn’t see it yet. Honestly, she’s holding herself back more than anyone else is."

I press my thumb against the railing, the rough metal grounding me. That shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I can picture her now…hesitant, unsure, doubting herself in a room full of women who have no idea what doubt even looks like. And yet, she’s still standing.

"Keep me updated," I say, my voice more curt than I intend.

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