Page 31 of The Wrong Brother

Inside, the cool air greets us, carrying the sweet scent of fresh cones and vibrant gelato. She stands at the counter, her gaze flicking over the endless choices, but I notice how her focus lingers…not on the flavors, but somewhere far away. Her posture is relaxed but distant, as though her mind is milesfrom here. The oversized black satin dress she’s wearing flows elegantly down to her calves, paired with sneakers that make her seem both poised and playful. She’s stunning, even now, caught in a moment of distraction.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask softly, leaning slightly closer.

She blinks, turning to me as if pulled from a dream. "Nothing. Just… everything."

Her answer makes me pause. I watch her carefully, struck by how vulnerable she seems, how real. For a moment, I forget the controlled, calculated version of myself I usually present.

"You’re going to be fine, you know," I say quietly. "Today was just the beginning. You’ll figure it out."

She looks at me, her hazel eyes softening, though doubt still lingers there. "You really think so?"

"I know so," I reply. “It’s the same with business. Sometimes… the strain wears down on you. I hope, though, they didn’t work you too hard today.”

“No, no,” she says. “They were fine. Kind. Patient. Very patient.”

Her lips part once again, as though she’s about to say something, but instead, she turns back to the counter, studying the flavors again. I step forward, nodding to the server. "Two scoops…hazelnut and chocolate for her, and pistachio for me."

When I hand her the small cup, her fingers brush mine, and for a brief second, something unspoken passes between us. She looks at the gelato, then at me, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

After a quick glance around I find a park bench and we head over to it.

She sits hesitantly, the soft fabric of her dress catching the light as she moves. Her sneakers tap against the cobblestones, and for the first time tonight, she looks more relaxed. She takes atentative bite, her lashes fluttering slightly as the flavor hits her tongue.

Her eyes widen, and she lets out a quiet laugh. "Okay, this is… really good."

I lean back, watching her with a faint smile. "Told you. Sometimes it’s the simple things."

For a while, we sit in silence, the hum of the city around us. I steal glances at her as she eats, struck by the way she seems to belong here, in this moment, more than she realizes. The air between us feels different tonight…not just charged, but… softer. Like something unspoken is starting to take root.

The bench we sit on is nestled under the shade of tall cypress trees in the Villa Borghese Gardens. The soft rustle of leaves swaying in the evening breeze mingles with the distant hum of Rome…its city streets alive yet softened by the sanctuary of this place. The gelato melts slowly in my cup, but I can’t seem to focus on anything but her.

She’s quiet, savoring each bite, her hazel eyes fixed on the scene ahead of us. A couple rides past on bicycles, laughing as they wobble along the path, their carefree joy oddly infectious. She follows them with her gaze, her lips twitching as if tempted to smile but holding back.

“It’s beautiful here,” she murmurs, breaking the silence.

“It is,” I reply, though my eyes are on her. The way the fading sunlight catches in her hair, the slight tilt of her head as she watches the world go by…she looks so effortlessly captivating, even in this unguarded moment.

She finishes her gelato and sets the cup down on the bench beside her. “I’ve been thinking…” she starts, then trails off, her voice soft but uncertain.

“About?” I prompt, gently, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. My tone is casual, but my curiosity is anything but.

Her fingers toy with the hem of her satin dress, the material slipping between her fingers. “Today, at the fitting. The other models… they seemed so confident, so sure of themselves. It made me wonder if I even belong in a place like this.”

“You do,” I almost say, but what’s the point? Blind reassurance isn’t what she needs right now. It wouldn’t help her, and honestly, it wouldn’t be true…not in the way she’d want to hear it. So, I choose something else, something more fitting for her.

“Do you want to belong?” I ask instead, keeping my voice steady.

She freezes, caught off guard by the question. Her head tilts slightly as she processes it, her eyes flicking to mine. I can see her turning it over, trying to find an answer, though she doesn’t speak right away. The silence isn’t awkward…it’s thoughtful, weighted, and I let her have it.

After a moment, her gaze drops to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I don’t know,” she says softly, almost to herself.

Her vulnerability in this moment catches me off guard, the way she’s willing to admit what most people would avoid saying. I lean forward slightly, resting my arms on my knees. “Figuring that out is part of it,” I tell her. “Belonging isn’t handed to you. You carve it out yourself.”

“Right,” she nods and continues with her ice cream.

“I used to ride bikes all the time as a kid,” she says suddenly, her tone wistful. “I don’t think I’ve been on one since.”

The words catch me off guard. I glance at her, noting the faint smile tugging at her lips, the distant look in her eyes. She’s not talking to me, not really…she’s talking to a memory, something softer, simpler. I let the silence stretch for a moment, letting her have it.

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