15. Brother’s Keeper
CHAPTER 15
Brother’s Keeper
A lex's text had seemed simple enough. Dinner at his place, a chance to talk after my forced leave from the hospital. Just what I needed after the week I'd had – quiet conversation, maybe some answers about the strange memories that kept surfacing.
Instead, I stood frozen in a mansion's grand foyer, surrounded by New York's elite in evening wear that probably cost more than my yearly salary. My casual blazer and jeans might as well have been hospital scrubs for how out of place they looked among the designer suits and cocktail dresses.
“Breathe,” Rachel whispered, squeezing my arm. Thank god I'd called her in panic from the car. She'd arrived in record time, somehow perfectly dressed in a deep blue gown that looked like she'd planned for this all along.
“It's just people.”
People who looked effortlessly elegant, while I felt like a lost medical resident who'd stumbled into the wrong event. I glanced at her, about to protest, and finally took in the full picture—her perfect posture despite the undeniable swell of her stomach.
I exhaled. “You’re six months pregnant. How are you still making this look easy? ”
She smirked, shifting just enough to nudge me forward with the weight of her very-much-there baby bump. “Because I’m not the one panicking in a rich man’s doorway.”
But it wasn't just people. It was the Rothschilds' annual family gathering – old money, corporate power, and social influence all wrapped in perfect tailoring and practiced smiles. I felt like an intruder in a world I didn't belong in.
“I'm going to kill him,” I muttered, earning a small laugh from my sister.
“No, you're not. You're going to smile and let me handle the small talk.” She smoothed my collar with practiced efficiency. “Besides, you look fine. Distinguished, even.”
“Distinguished” wasn't the word for how I felt watching silver-haired society matrons whisper behind their hands, their gazes sharp with curiosity.
Alex found us before I could convince Rachel to help me escape. He looked devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo that probably cost more than my car, but his eyes held apologetic understanding as he approached.
“I'm so sorry,” he murmured, close enough that only Rachel and I could hear. “I didn't know Father had moved the party date. I would have warned you.”
He looked genuinely distressed at my discomfort, and something about his concern helped steady my nerves.
“It's fine,” I lied, but managed a small smile. “Though some warning would have been nice.”
Rachel, bless her teacher's instincts for social navigation, smoothly deflected attention from my inappropriate attire by engaging nearby socialites in conversation about her school's charity program. She had them eating out of her hand within minutes, their initial disdain melting into genuine interest as she described the impact of arts education on underprivileged students.
But I still felt eyes on me – calculating, curious, judging. This wasn't my world. Give me a trauma bay any day over these shark-filled social waters.
“So this is the famous Dr. Monroe.” The voice carried warmth that didn't quite reach shrewd eyes. Will Rothschild embodied everything his brother wasn't – perfectly polished, smoothly corporate, with a smile that promised friendship while assessing weakness. His handshake lingered a fraction too long, his gaze too intense as he studied me.
“Alex has been quite mysterious about you,” he continued, his tone suggesting layers of meaning I couldn't quite grasp. “Though I suppose that's understandable, given the circumstances.”
Something ancient and warning stirred in my gut at his words, but this time, Alex moved swiftly. “Will,” he said quietly, a hint of warning in his tone, “I'll accompany you both on the tour.”
Will's smile didn't falter. “Of course,” he said smoothly, “after all, we're practically family now, aren't we?”
The grand house opened before us – room after room of old money elegance and carefully curated history. Will gestured expansively, “The Rothschild legacy, built over generations. Family tradition means everything here.”
The implied contrast with my own more modest background wasn't subtle. “It's very impressive,” I said neutrally, wishing I'd kept my water glass. My hands felt empty, useless without something to hold.
“Alex has always been... unconventional in his choices.” Will's smile remained perfect, but something flickered in his eyes. “Though I must admit, you're not what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?” I asked.
“Someone more... calculated, perhaps. Someone seeking to benefit from the Rothschild name.” He studied me with unsettling intensity. “Instead, you seem almost reluctant to be here. ”
Alex's hand brushed mine briefly, a subtle signal of support. “Eli doesn't need to prove anything,” he said evenly.
“I'm not interested in his position or his name,” I interrupted, surgeon's directness cutting through social niceties. “I barely understand what's happening between us as it is.”
Will's laugh held genuine amusement. “Refreshingly honest. I can see why he's drawn to you.”
They'd reached the gallery – walls lined with generations of Rothschild portraits. Will paused before a massive painting, those aristocratic eyes seeming to follow our movement. “You know, it's fascinating,” he continued, his tone changing subtly. “The remarkable resemblance between you and a doctor who once treated our great-grandfather.”
“I'm sure it's just coincidence,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.
Alex stepped closer, his presence a protective barrier. “Will,” he said softly, “perhaps we could continue this conversation another time.”
But Will wasn't finished. “Do you dream, Doctor?” he asked softly. “About other times, other places? About lives you couldn't possibly have lived?”
“That's enough,” Alex's voice cut through the room, sharp and final. The ancient danger I'd glimpsed earlier returned, transforming his usually warm demeanor.
Will's perfect smile returned instantly. “Just sharing some family history,” he said lightly, smoothing his jacket. “No harm done.”
“My mistake,” Will murmured, moving toward the door with fluid grace. He paused briefly beside his brother, something unspoken passing between them. “See you on the dance floor,” he said, then was gone.
“Are you alright?” His hand hovered near my arm, not quite touching.
“What was that about?” I demanded, my voice shakier than I liked .
“Like he recognized you?” Alex's expression held careful neutrality. “Will has his own demons to wrestle with. His own memories to reconcile.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “But it's all I can give you right now. Not here, not with?—”
Footsteps interrupted whatever he might have said. Rachel appeared, slightly breathless, her eyes taking in the scene with quick assessment.
“There you are,” she said, relief clear in her voice. “David just arrived. He's asking for you, Eli.”
A lie, but a welcome one. An excuse to escape the weighted air of the gallery, the watching portraits, the questions I wasn't ready to ask.
“We should go,” I said, already moving toward the door. But Alex caught my hand, the contact sending warmth through my entire body.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Dinner, just us. I'll explain everything I can.”
I looked at our joined hands, at the way they fit together like they'd done it a thousand times before. “Everything?”
“Everything you're ready to hear.”
Rachel's presence kept me grounded as we made our way back downstairs, her steady support helping me navigate the rest of the evening. But I couldn't shake the memory of Will's desperate questions, of those painted eyes that looked too familiar, of the way Alex had appeared exactly when needed – like he'd done it before, like he always would.
“You're still in those clothes,” Rachel observed as I slumped at her kitchen counter. “Take it off before you get pasta sauce on it.”
The normalcy of her kitchen after the opulence of the Rothschild mansion felt like coming up for air. David moved around the stove with firefighter efficiency, the smell of garlic and tomatoes filling the space with comfort.
“I have sweats in the guest room,” my sister continued, already pushing me toward the stairs. “Go change. We're having emergency comfort food and you're going to tell us what happened after I lost sight of you.”
“Nothing happened,” I protested, but let her propel me upward.
The guest room – more accurately, my room whenever I needed it – held familiar touches. A spare set of clothes, medical journals I'd left last visit, photos from happier times.
When I came back down in worn sweats and one of Michael's old t-shirts that had migrated here somehow, David was plating his famous pasta while Rachel poured wine with determined purpose.
“Alright,” she said once we were settled. “Start with Will Rothschild cornering you in that gallery.”
I pushed pasta around my plate, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of sauce and noodles. “He was just being protective of his brother.”
“Bull.” Rachel's teacher voice came out full force. “I saw his face when he was leading you away. That wasn't protective, that was... something else.”
David set a garlic bread basket between us with careful neutrality. He'd always been good at knowing when to let Rachel handle things and when to intervene.
“He asked strange questions,” I admitted finally. “About dreams and memories. About Alex and me. Like he knew something I didn't.”
“And Alex?” Rachel's voice softened. “He seemed... intense when he found you.”
The wine was good – probably from the collection Michael had started, that Rachel had inherited by unspoken agreement. “Alex was... he was different than I've ever seen him. Dangerous, almost.”
“Because his brother was threatening you,” David pointed out, breaking his careful silence. His firefighter's instincts for human nature often cut straight to truth.
“Will wasn't threatening me exactly...” But even as I said it, I remembered the desperation in those eyes, the way he'd backed me against the wall. “It was more like... like he was trying to warn me. Or himself. I don't know.”
Rachel's hand found mine across the counter. “You like Alex.”
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. “I barely know him.”
“That's not what I asked.”
I sighed, letting my head drop onto my folded arms. “I don't know what I feel. It's all confused with... with everything else.”
“With Michael?” Her voice held no judgment, just understanding.
“With Michael. With work. With these strange dreams I keep having.” I lifted my head to find both of them watching me with careful concern. “Everything feels... shifted somehow. Like I'm seeing the world through someone else's eyes.”
David set a fresh glass of wine by my hand. “Maybe that's not a bad thing. Seeing differently.”
“You didn't see Will's face,” I countered. “The way he looked at me, like... like I was taking something that belonged to him.”
“Alex doesn't belong to anyone,” Rachel said firmly. “And neither do you.”
The pasta was perfect, because David never cooked anything less. The wine was excellent, because Michael had chosen it. The company was exactly what I needed, because my sister had always known how to hold me together when I started falling apart.
“I'm supposed to have dinner with Alex tomorrow,” I said finally. “Just us this time. He promised to explain everything.”
“Are you going to go?” Rachel's question held no pressure, just support for whatever I decided.
I thought about the way Alex had looked at me in the gallery, the mix of protection and something deeper in his eyes. About the way his hand had felt under mine in the car. About the strange sense of recognition that kept pulling me toward him despite everything.
“Yes,” I decided. “I need... I need to understand what's happening. Why everything feels so strange lately.”
Rachel squeezed my hand again. “Then we'll be here after. Whatever happens.”
“Whatever you need,” David agreed, already starting dishes because he was that kind of husband. “Even if it's just more pasta and wine.”
I looked at them – my sister who'd always been my anchor, her husband who'd become the brother I needed – and felt steadier than I had all night.
“Tell me about your students,” I said suddenly. “Something normal. Please.”
Rachel launched into a story about the fourth grade science fair, her hands painting pictures in the air as she described creative disasters and unexpected triumphs. David added commentary from his recent school visit with the fire truck, and slowly the weight of the evening began to lift.
This was real. This was solid. This was family and comfort and everything I knew to be true.