Page 51 of The Wrong Brother

“Good,” she admits, glancing around the interior with wide eyes. “Definitely good.”

As soon as we hit the road, I regret leaving the top down. The wind kicks up, tossing her hair into a chaotic storm that she keeps trying to bat out of her face. It’s distracting…not just for her, but for me. Her laugh bubbles up every time she loses the battle, light and unrestrained, and I have to grip the wheel tighter to keep my focus on the road.

“Do you want me to pull the top up?” I ask, already reaching for the latch. “It’s going to drive you crazy.”

“No!” she says quickly, pushing my hand away. “It’s fine. I love it.”

Her fingers brush against my arm for barely a second, but it’s enough. The heat of her touch lingers, igniting something I’ve been trying so damn hard to suppress. I stay stoic, my hand falling back to the wheel, but inside, I feel the crack forming in my resolve.

I don’t care that the original goal was to get her to forget about Brett. That doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is her…her boundaries, her comfort. I won’t do anything to make her uneasy again, not after the way she looked at lunch the other day. She’d seemed so dejected, her shoulders hunched, her gaze avoiding mine at all costs. And since then, she’s done everything in her power to avoid me altogether.

Even now, as she grins and tries to wrestle her hair into submission against the wind, I can’t ignore the distance she’s carefully built between us. But her laugh, her touch…even brief…remind me that the distance isn’t unbridgeable. I just have to tread lightly, even if it means denying myself the pull I feel toward her.

“Are you sure?” I press, glancing at her as another strand of hair whips across her cheek. “You’re going to end up with it in your mouth.”

She shakes her head, grinning as she wrestles it back again. “I’ll manage.”

I hesitate, then pull my baseball cap off and hold it out to her. “Here. Use this.”

She blinks, surprised by the offer, but takes it without comment, sliding it onto her head. The cap is too big for her, the brim casting a shadow over her face, but it works. Her hair settles, the wind no longer able to tug it free, and she leans back into the seat with a contented sigh.

“Thanks,” she says softly, adjusting the brim slightly.

I nod, keeping my eyes on the road, but once again there is that strange warmth in my chest I can’t quite push away. It’s ridiculous, really…handing over a damn hat shouldn’t feel like anything. But it does. And that’s exactly why I shove the feeling aside and focus on the drive.

The ruins are everything I hoped they’d be: quiet, sprawling, and steeped in history. Jenny steps out of the car first, her sneakers crunching on the gravel as she takes in the massive stone archways and crumbling columns. Her awe is infectious, and I find myself watching her more than the ruins themselves.

“This is incredible,” she murmurs, turning in a slow circle. “It’s like stepping back in time.”

I gesture to a small map of the site I grabbed at the entrance. “There’s a trail that leads to the amphitheater. You want to check it out?”

She nods eagerly, and we fall into step together, the gravel crunching softly beneath our feet.

Around us, the air hums with the chatter of other visitors, the occasional laughter of children, and the murmur of tour guides explaining the ruins. But the energy of the crowd only seems to amplify the magic of the place…the ancient stone arches, weathered walls, and the faint scent of wildflowers carried on the warm breeze.

Jenny’s eyes dart from one structure to another, her curiosity evident in the way she pauses to take in the details…the carvings on a crumbled pillar, the way sunlight filters through the gaps in a ruined roof. I find myself watching her more than the scenery, the way her expression lights up, the faint furrow in her brow when she’s reading a plaque.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” she says, her voice filled with awe as she gestures toward a towering archway ahead of us.

I nod, though my gaze lingers on her instead of the structure. “It is. Makes you wonder how they managed to build something so massive without modern tools.”

“Right?” She glances at me, her excitement contagious. “But you should know though, since you’re in construction.”

“I’m an investor, and my involvement is more on the real estate side,” I reply, and she nods at the clarification.

We step closer to the archway, and the guide’s voice carries over to us as he describes its history in a mix of Italian and English. Jenny leans in slightly, her shoulder brushing mine as we listen. It’s a fleeting touch, but I feel it down to my core. I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to focus on the guide’s words instead of the warmth of her skin.

The path winds around to a small courtyard surrounded by more ruins, with a few benches scattered under the shade of ancient trees. A couple sits on one, sharing a quiet moment, while others mill about, snapping photos or examining the stonework.

Jenny points toward a shaded corner with a small fountain, its water trickling softly. “Can we stop there for a bit? I just want to take it all in.”

“Sure,” I say, following her lead. As we settle onto the low wall near the fountain, she tilts her head back, letting the dappled sunlight play across her face. The breeze lifts her hair slightly, and I resist the urge to reach out and tuck it behind herear. Instead, I let my gaze linger, the sight of her etched into my mind like a memory I don’t ever want to fade. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to be this idle…to simply exist without the weight of my responsibilities pressing down on me. There’s always something to do, some deal to close, some problem to solve. My life is a constant forward march, with no time to stop and savor anything.

But here, with her, all of that fades into the background. The world narrows to just this moment…the sound of her laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves, the way the light catches in her hair, the soft curve of her lips when she’s lost in thought. I don’t want to leave. Not the ruins, not the serenity of this place, and definitely not her.

It’s unsettling, how much I want to stay. How much I want to see her smile like this forever, unburdened and free. The realization creeps up on me like a quiet storm, and I can’t decide if it’s comforting or terrifying. Because I know this feeling won’t last. It can’t. And yet, for the first time in a long time, I find myself wishing it could.

“Have you ever been here before?” she asks suddenly, breaking the quiet. Her voice is soft, like she’s afraid to disturb the peace around us.

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