Page 6 of The Wrong Brother

“Apparently, in all the commotion of Mr. Jackson…Zack..finding you and bringing you here, one of their guests noticed you. She thinks you’d make the perfect house model for her daughter’s fashion company in Paris. You’ll be abroad, and you can attend an English-speaking school if you want as well. You’ll be there for three years, and then you can come back. You’ll also be able to take the time to travel around Europe. This is wonderful, isn’t it?”

I stare at him.

Yes, it is wonderful, but… Brett.

Once again, he’s sending me away, but at least it’s not to a farm. I turn my head away and shut my eyes. By the time I return, Brett will probably no longer be available. I would likely have missed my chance. Well, I can’t do what I had felt so distraught enough to do earlier, so I guess I have no choice but to bear it.

“Jenny,” Mrs. Finnigan beams, her face lighting up. “Aren’t you so happy? This is amazing! Just think, Jenny! You’ll be off to see the world! Paris! It’s such a great chance for such a young, gorgeous girl. You’ll do great, sweetheart.”

The room fills with gentle laughter, murmurs of encouragement, their voices weaving together, wrapping me in warmth. They’re all so happy for me, so relieved that I’m safe and that I have this new opportunity. But deep inside, I feel a hollowness growing, a quiet sorrow that none of them can reach.

I force myself to nod, to give them the smile they want to see, but inside, I feel as if I’m already fading, slipping away from everything I know.

Auntie Mae squeezes my shoulder. “You’ll have the chance to be someone, Jenny. To make us all proud.” Her voice is soft,warm, and her hand lingers there, like she’s offering me all the strength she has. I can see the brightness in her eyes, the hope she’s holding onto for me, and it makes something deep inside me tighten, a bittersweet ache I can’t shake.

I look around the room, at all these people who have loved me like family, who’ve watched me grow up, who’ve been there for every scraped knee and tear-filled day. They’ve seen me at my best and at my most foolish, and yet they still look at me now like I’m someone worth caring about, worth supporting. Mrs. Finnigan, with her gentle, motherly ways; Mr. Collins, ever so formal but steady as a rock; Auntie Mae, who’s filled every gap in my heart with her warm meals and even warmer hugs. I see the younger maids watching from the doorway, their smiles shy but genuine, and even the gardeners who’ve come all the way up here just to make sure I’m all right.

And all of them, every single one, has nothing but hope in their eyes. Hope for me. And the realization fills me with a soft, aching sadness, because leaving them I realize now as well, feels like a loss I can barely comprehend. I cannot believe what I had planned to do. I would have hurt them all. It was truly beyond foolish.

I think beyond Brett now as my mind begins to truly consider Paris, and it feels like I’m being pulled away from the only family I’ve ever known.

I take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of it settle inside me, a quiet acceptance. Maybe, with enough time and distance, I can forget Brett, forget the way he looked right through me last night, his smile meant for everyone but me. Forget the hollow ache in my heart that whispers how he’ll never be mine, no matter how much I wish for it. Maybe, in Paris, I can find something else, someone else.

One by one, they leave, each offering me a gentle smile, a nod, a quiet word of encouragement, like they’re leaving me withpieces of themselves to take along. Auntie Mae is last to go, her hand squeezing mine just a bit tighter before she steps back, her eyes lingering on me like she’s memorizing my face.

As the room finally empties, I lie back, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of their kindness settling over me like a blanket. They’ve given me all the love they can, wrapped me in it as if it could heal every bruise on my heart. But it doesn’t change the pain pressing in on me, the heartbreak I carry like a secret, a burden I can’t share. I wonder when it will end. In fact, I’m hoping now for Paris because at this point, I would give anything not to feel like this.

Chapter

Six

JENNY

THREE YEARS LATER

As the train slows into the station, I catch a fleeting glimpse of my own reflection in the window…sleek hair framing my face, lips painted in a muted rose, and clothes that practically announce Paris. I tug at the collar of my leather jacket, feeling the softness of the designer material beneath my fingers, grounding myself. I’ve come back a different woman, one who knows her way around a high-fashion studio and the vibrant streets of the Champs-Élysées. Yet here I am, heart pounding, as if I’m still sixteen, about to step into a world that’s seen me only as the tomboy daughter of the chauffeur.

I scan the crowd for my father. He promised to be here on time, ready to see the version of me that Paris has polished and refined. But there’s no familiar face in sight. I tap my foot impatiently, the strappy heels clinking softly on the polished floor, hoping to spot him any second.

My phone buzzes, and a message from him lights up the screen:Stuck in traffic, love. Just wait afew minutes, and I’ll be there.

With a sigh, I slip my phone back into my jacket pocket and look around for a place to sit. Just then, my eyes land on something even more familiar than my father…a cherry-red sports car parked at the curb. My heart stutters. Brett’s car? The same one I almost… I push the thought away, a cocktail of nostalgia and dread tightening in my chest.

The last time I saw that car; it had been a symbol of my own foolishness and despair. But now, I’m back, and I’m not the girl who would sit in the shadows hoping for a glimpse of Brett. I’m here with my own ambitions, my own purpose. Modeling isn’t just a whim anymore; it’s something I want, something I can build on. Maybe, if I’m lucky, it could even give me a way into the Jackson world…but on my terms.

I take a deep breath and steel myself, but my pulse quickens all the same when I do see him. I’m in shock. What are the freaking odds? And once again, I cannot pull my eyes away.

Brett, standing by the hood of his car, casual as ever, exuding that effortless charm. He’s laughing, his arm slung over the shoulder of a woman stepping out of the passenger side, her laughter mixing with his as if they share a secret I’ll never know. And just like that, the years between then and now slip away, and I’m back to being that girl up in the tree, watching him from a distance.

I'm frozen in place as he kisses her on the mouth, and then she walks away as though she owns the entire world. I cannot believe the grief and rage that fill me up. It starts slow, as envy, and then I’m irritated and furious all at once. I thought I had changed. I thought I was better. I thought I would feel better.

I think of what to do now. Ignore him altogether and wait for my dad or…

In an instant, I’m up on my feet and hurrying out of the arrivals hall. I look gorgeous, even more beautiful than the bimbo he was with. I really want to see if he ignores me. And so, I stare directly at him as I stroll over with my luggage, and of course, he notices. He’s just about to return to the driver’s side when he stops.

I walk past, but a few seconds later, the blare of a car horn jolts me out of my thoughts. I freeze, my heart hammering as I turn around to see Brett leaning out of the driver’s seat, a playful smirk lighting up his face. “Hey! Need a ride somewhere, gorgeous?”

The word gorgeous hangs in the air, and for a moment, I can’t move, can barely think. He doesn’t recognize me. But I let him look anyway, let him really see me, hoping he’ll realize who I am. His eyes roam over me, clearly intrigued, and I feel a thrill of satisfaction as his gaze lingers a little longer than it should.

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