Page 49 of The Wrong Brother

Just before I toss the phone aside, however, my phone's screen lights up, and I dive for the device.

“Hiya Jenny,” he replies. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking," Brett replies.

“Thanks for asking?” I’m immediately irritated, but this is better than complete silence, so I reply.

“That’s really good to hear. I’ve been worried about you. I’m in Rome now for work.”

“Yeah, I heard,” he replies back to my excitement. “Zack is in Rome as well. Hope he’s taking care of you. Don’t be too intimidated by him. He comes off a bit stern, but he’s someone to feel extremely safe around. You know how close we are.”

“Safe?” My entire body is immediately dying to protest at this, but ultimately, I have to admit that this is the truth. He is safe…he’s always been kind, protected me, even up until last night, and then everything changed.

“Yes, I know,” I reply, feeling even sadder. “What are you up to these days?” I proceed to ask. “Can you take a quick phone call?”

The seconds stretch into minutes, and the silence on his end feels deafening. I bite my lip, staring at the screen, willing him to say something more. Another minute passes. Then two. Nothing.

My chest tightens, anger bubbling beneath the surface. Zack’s words from earlier echo in my mind: “Brett is with Elizabeth.”

“Yes, he is. But still… if he just paid attention long enough, he would be able to give us both a chance. But he never did, and he never does.”

My emotions are spiraling out of control, and I recognize this, but it is too difficult to stop. Not when Zack is next door, not when more than anything, I’m now very aware of the alternative, and it is brighter and shinier than what I had imagined with Brett.

However, I cannot stop thinking of Brett and Elizabeth. What if he’s with her right now? What if he’s ignoring me because she’s there, smiling, laughing? What if they’re… what if they’re being intimate just like Zack and I were last night?

Zack is right. Brett is with Elizabeth, and it astounds me now that I had been so undeterred by this on my return. I understand that this is because he has always felt like mine, and everyone else…and the many…had always felt like a passing inconvenience, a distraction for him until it was time for him to really see me.

But what if… what if he never will?

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut, and I sink onto the edge of the bed, my phone clutched tightly in my hands. A wave of frustration washes over me…at Brett for being so distant, at Zack for planting the seed of doubt, and at myself for letting either of them get under my skin.

And then there’s the memory of last night…Zack’s hands on my body, his lips trailing fire across my skin, the way he made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. The shame should outweigh the pleasure, but it doesn’t. I close my eyes, the vivid recollection of his touch sending a fresh jolt of heat through me. God, I hate how good it felt.

How could I have let this happen? How could I crave it even now, when I’m supposed to be thinking about Brett?

I type another message to Brett, my fingers trembling over the keys: "I really wanted to talk to you more. Let me know when you're free."

I hit send, the message as much a plea as it is a test. The response, or lack of it, will tell me everything I need to know. But deep down, I already know the answer. Brett doesn’t care…not the way I want him to. If he did, I wouldn’t be here, reeling from Zack’s words and touch, craving something I have no right to want.

I throw the phone onto the bed and bury my face in my hands, trying to steady my breathing. But the anger doesn’t fade. If Brett had taken me seriously…if he’d seen me as more than just a convenient fixture in his life…I wouldn’t have been in Zack’s arms last night.

The anger twists into something darker, something I don’t want to name. I want to hate Zack for how easily he’s undone me, but all I can think about is the way his gaze burned into mine, the low rasp of his voice, the undeniable pull between us. My fingers grip the sheets, my body trembling with the need to let go of the tension coiling inside me.

I hear a faint knock from the adjoining door, and my heart lurches, a mix of dread and anticipation flooding through me. For a moment, I freeze, staring at the door as though it’s alive, as though Zack himself might come through it.

But the knock doesn’t come again, and I force myself to breathe. I can’t do this…not tonight, not now. I need clarity, not more confusion. Yet as I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, all I can think about is him…the way he looked at me across the table, the warmth of his hand on mine, the heat of his body against mine last night.

And despite myself, I know I’ll never truly forget it.

The days pass in a haze of photoshoots and perfectly curated schedules, but they do little to quiet my restless mind. The work is demanding yet somehow not enough, leaving me with too much time in the evenings to think. Too much time to listen for Zack.

Even when I tell myself not to, I do it anyway. Every time I’m in the room, scrolling aimlessly through social media or staring at the breathtaking view from my window, my ears are attuned to the faintest sound from the adjoining room. A door opening, footsteps, the low murmur of his voice…it’s become a habit I can’t seem to shake. And it makes me feel ridiculous.

We haven’t crossed paths since the last time we spoke, and I’ve done everything in my power to keep it that way…or so I tell myself. In truth, I might have been trying a little too hard to create opportunities for us to meet, all while pretending I wasn’t. Either way, he’s been keeping his distance, and he’s done a much better job of it than I have.

Part of me feels relieved. After all, the space is what I need to clear my head, to focus on why I’m really here. But another part of me…the part I try to bury…is undeniably sad. No matter how much I try to throw myself into work or the city around me, I can’t stop thinking about him.

Today, especially since for the first time since arriving in Rome, I have a day off. No work, no photo shoots, no carefully scheduled appearances. I should be excited, thrilled even, to explore the city, to immerse myself in its history and culture. But instead, I find myself sitting in the room, staring out at the sprawling view of Rome and feeling paralyzed by indecision.

The golden rooftops and ancient ruins seem to mock me. Rome is a city for lovers and dreamers, and all I feel is this unrelenting tug of confusion and desire. My fingers hover over my phone, scrolling past images of scenic ruins and quaint countryside villages. A thought strikes me: maybe I should takea day trip. I could visit the ruins, lose myself in history, or drive out to one of those charming little villages where the tables are set with red-checkered tablecloths, and the food tastes like someone’s grandmother made it.

---