Page 48 of The Wrong Brother

The waiter interrupts, clearing away our plates and replacing them with the next course…a beautifully plated sea bass with a delicate citrus glaze. Normally, I’d savor a meal like this, but right now, it might as well be cardboard. I barely register the aroma as I pick up my fork and knife, cutting into the fish mechanically.

“I know this is complicated,” I say after a moment, my voice quieter now. “And I don’t want to make it harder for you. But I think we should talk about it…about us.”

Her fork stills mid-cut, and she looks up at me, her expression guarded. “What is there to talk about?” she asks, her voice carefully neutral. “We both know this was… complicated from the start.”

I exhale slowly, setting down my utensils. “Jenny, last night wasn’t just some random mistake. At least, not for me.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my admission, and for a second, I think I see a flicker of something…uncertainty, maybe even longing. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by the same guarded expression she’s been wearing since we sat down.

“It’s just…” She hesitates, struggling to find the words. “You’re Brett’s brother, Zack. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel about that. Or about any of this.”

“You’re not cheating on him,” I say firmly. “Brett is with Elizabeth. They’re in a relationship. What happened between us doesn’t change that.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she looks away again, her gaze drifting toward the panoramic view outside the window. The domes and spires of Rome glimmer in the sunlight, but her focus seems distant, lost in her own thoughts.

“Are you trying to discourage me from him or encourage me toward you?” she asks suddenly, her tone sharp but not unkind. She’s testing me, searching for something, and I’m not sure what.

“Which would you prefer?” I counter, leaning forward slightly, my voice steady but edged with something I can’t quite name. “I don’t want to push you into anything, Jenny. Last night… it meant something to me. But if it didn’t mean the same to you, I won’t?—”

“I didn’t say that,” she cuts in quickly, her cheeks flushing. She looks down at her plate, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. “I just… I don’t know what to do with it.”

I hesitate, the vulnerability in her voice striking something deep within me. “ "You don’t have to do anything with it. Last night, you were tipsy," I say carefully, gauging her reaction.

Her eyes snap up to meet mine, sharp and unyielding. “But you weren’t,” she says pointedly, her tone carrying a weight that leaves me momentarily stunned.

I sit back, caught off guard by the directness of her words. “So… you regret it,” I say slowly, the words tasting bitter as they leave my mouth.

She exhales shakily, her hands twisting together in her lap. “No,” she whispers finally, so softly I almost don’t hear her. Her cheeks flush deeper, and she looks away again, her voice trembling. “I don’t regret it. It happened. That’s it. Full stop. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“It shouldn’t happen again, or you don’t want it to happen again?” I counter, my tone calm but deliberate.

She doesn’t respond, her silence lingering between us like a heavy weight.

“Okay,” I say finally, leaning back slightly. “Like you said, it happened. That’s it. Full stop. It’s not a secret, but if you insist specifically on keeping it as one, then no one will hear about it from me.”

She resumes eating, her movements slow and deliberate. It takes a while before she speaks again, her voice quiet but steady. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

I decide then and there to completely remove any emotional weight from the conversation. If this is what she wants, I can match her resolve.

“Since it is a secret, and just between us,” I say, setting my fork down, “I don’t see why it can’t continue during our time here. We expect nothing from each other. No rules are being broken, so… keep your mind open.”

At this, I pick up my flute of wine and don’t stop until I’ve completely drained the glass. The burn is satisfying, but not nearly enough to distract me from the fire simmering between us.

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

JENNY

Iwatch as Zack lifts his glass of wine, the deep crimson liquid sliding down his throat. My eyes betray me, fixating on the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, the faint tension in his jaw as he drains the glass. He doesn’t rush, and the deliberate way he drinks feels like some kind of quiet provocation. My chest tightens, heat pooling low in my belly despite the resolve I’m desperately trying to hold onto.

Damn him. Damn him for being so composed, so unshakable, while I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. He sets the empty glass down, his fingers brushing the stem lightly, and I tear my gaze away, forcing myself to focus on anything else…the plate in front of me, the soft murmur of the other diners, the breathtaking view of Rome outside the window. But it’s useless. He’s all I can think about.

I need space. Perspective. Something to keep me from drowning in this confusion. As soon as we return to the hotel, I slip into my room, shutting the adjoining door behind me asthough I can physically block Zack’s presence out. My heart is still racing, my skin humming with leftover tension.

I grab my phone, needing an anchor to steady me, and type out a quick message to Brett. We’ve rarely spoken since I arrived, although I have been trying to get in touch with him. As usual, he is slow to respond, but now more than ever, it slowly fills me with fury.

What happened between me and Zack was supposed to be between us, and now I am more confused than I have ever been.

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