The Wrong Brother

Chapter 20

Chapter

Twenty

ZACH

T he vaulted ceilings of the palazzo seem to press down as Mark clicks through slides, his voice a steady drone against the backdrop of a room humming with possibility. Frescoes overhead, their colors softened by time, hint at the stories this place has already witnessed. I lean back in my chair, fingertips grazing the edge of the polished table, my focus shifting between the presentation and the view through the arched windows.

The Spanish Steps rise in the distance, a reminder of the property’s prime location and the stakes riding on this venture. Months of consideration have brought me here, but it’s the newfound connections through Elizabeth’s father that make this moment feel within reach. The right contacts. The right leverage. The right time.

“This valuation aligns with projected growth in luxury development,” Mark says, his tone careful, almost reverent.

I don’t look at him. My gaze is locked on the sun-drenched courtyard below, where tourists mill about, their laughter rising faintly through the open window. "And the permits?"

Mark hesitates. "Expeditable, with the relationships we’ve cultivated."

I nod once, slow and deliberate, the weight of the potential filling the silence between us. This is mine to claim, my vision to build. It’s not about Elizabeth’s family…not directly…but their influence hangs over this deal, an invisible thread weaving opportunity into my hands. I tap my pen against the table, a slow rhythm that matches the pulse of the city outside.

Mark clears his throat, continuing the pitch, but his words fade into the background. My mind drifts, unbidden, to another image…hazel eyes that flash with defiance, a slip of a dress catching the moonlight. Jenny. Even now, miles away and focused on her fitting, she’s still here, threading through my thoughts like she belongs there.

I exhale sharply, dragging my attention back to Mark, the room, the deal. Focus. There’s too much at stake to lose sight of what matters. Too much to let anything…or anyone…distract me.

After the meeting comes to an end, though, my mind once again drifts to her. This trip is a good chance to handle business, but the fact is that the focus is on Jenny. I find, however, that I’m doing what I can to avoid my focus being on her, and it aggravates me that I’m so concerned about getting close that I’m dodging this. I should be bold, uncaring, and as usual, determined to take what I want and bend everything to my will.

However, when it comes to her, I feel exhausted and conflicted. Sighing, I decide that now is the time to take control and do what I have to. Perhaps slowly, with the time we have here, a way will open up. Perhaps we wouldn’t even have to get intimate at all, and I can just talk some sense into her…getting her to let go of her fantasies with Brett and focus more on her career.

I step outside onto the terrace overlooking the city. The view is breathtaking…Rome sprawling out beneath me, a mix of ancient ruins and modern elegance. But it doesn’t hold my attention for long. I pull out my phone and call Simone, one of the executives at Tod’s and the person who helped secure Jenny’s spot in the campaign.

She answers on the second ring, her tone light and curious. "Zack, to what do I owe the pleasure? Not often I get a call from you during working hours."

"Simone," I say, leaning against the railing, my voice steady. "How’s the fitting going?"

"Finished a little while ago," she replies smoothly. "Thanks for recommending her, by the way…she’s an interesting choice."

"Interesting?" I echo, the word tugging at my curiosity. "What does that mean?"

"She did well," Simone continues, her tone thoughtful. "Better than I expected, actually. She’s got something…fresh, unpolished, but in a good way. She just doesn’t know it yet."

That gives me pause. "Doesn’t know it?"

"Impostor syndrome," Simone explains, her voice softening. "It’s not uncommon, Zack. She’s new, trying to find her footing. She’s got potential, but she doesn’t see it yet. Honestly, she’s holding herself back more than anyone else is."

I press my thumb against the railing, the rough metal grounding me. That shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I can picture her now…hesitant, unsure, doubting herself in a room full of women who have no idea what doubt even looks like. And yet, she’s still standing.

"Keep me updated," I say, my voice more curt than I intend.

"Of course," Simone replies smoothly.

I nod to myself, ending the call without another word. As I slip my phone into my pocket, my gaze shifts to the streets below. She’s done for the day, and if I know her, she’ll be trying to handle the city on her own again.

I call my chauffeur to meet me downstairs, and within minutes, I’m on my way to her. It’s not hard to find her…standing at a bus stop close to the Tod’s office, looking slightly frazzled but no less beautiful. She’s clutching her bag tightly, her shoulders tense as she waits. The sight of her, so stubbornly self-reliant, sparks equal parts irritation and admiration.

I step out of the car, my polished shoes clicking against the cobblestones as I approach her.

"Jenny," I call, my voice cutting through the ambient noise.

She turns, startled, and nearly drops her bag. Her eyes widen when she sees me, a flicker of something…relief… annoyance...crossing her face. "Zack," she says, her tone guarded. "What are you doing here?"

"I was nearby," I lie, gesturing to the bus stop. Its not a very good lie but yet she doesn't seem to notice or even care.

I step closer, noting the weariness in her posture, the thoughtful stillness in her eyes. She's calmer now, reflective, as if the day has settled something in her. There’s no defensiveness, just a quiet uncertainty that makes her look even more vulnerable.

"Come on," I say, gesturing toward the car. "I’ll take you back."

Her eyes linger on the bus stop for a moment before she speaks, her voice soft, reflective. “I thought I’d just walk around for a bit. I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to see Rome like this again.”

There’s a wistfulness in her tone, an unspoken worry threading through her words. It’s not about sightseeing; it’s about something deeper. She most probably had a nerve- wracking day. According to Simone she was most likely under a lot of performance pressure especially from herself.

I step closer, keeping my voice low and steady. “You’ll see a lot more. This is just the beginning.”

She glances at me, her hazel eyes flickering with doubt. “Is it?”

I nod, watching her carefully. “Of course. You’re a model now. Travel comes with the territory.”

She holds my gaze for a moment, something unreadable in her expression, then looks away. “Am I?” she murmurs, almost to herself. Then, without waiting for a response, she turns and starts walking, her bag shifting on her shoulder.

I follow her, matching her pace as the cobblestone streets of Rome unfold around us. The air is warm, the city alive with its usual rhythm…street performers strumming guitars, couples strolling hand in hand, the distant hum of Vespas weaving through traffic. For a while, we don’t speak, the silence between us comfortable yet heavy with unspoken thoughts.

We pass a small piazza where a fountain sparkles under the evening light. I catch her glancing at it, her steps slowing slightly. “How was your first day?” I ask, breaking the quiet.

She exhales softly, her gaze fixed ahead. “It was… good,” she says, though her tone carries hesitation. “Different. A lot to take in.”

I nod, keeping my tone casual. “It’ll get easier. First days always feel like that…like everything’s too big, too much. But you’ll find your rhythm.”

She looks up at me, her brow furrowing slightly. “Why are you walking with me?” she asks, not accusing, just curious.

I pause for a beat, considering how to answer. “You’re done with work for the day,” I say finally. “I want dinner, and I thought of you.”

The words feel strange even as I say them. I don’t think about people like this, not normally. But with her, it’s different. I actually mean it and I’m just as taken aback as she is. She doesn’t press me for more, though I can tell the answer surprises her as much as it surprises me.

We continue walking, the city unfolding around us like a living postcard. We pass a gelateria, its bright awning spilling light onto the sidewalk. I stop, nodding toward it. “Gelato?”

She hesitates, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

I glance at her as we pass the gelateria, its warm light spilling onto the cobblestone street. The faint hum of chatter and the rich, creamy scent of gelato hang in the air. I stop, nodding toward the entrance. “Come on. Ice cream’s always a good idea.”

She hesitates, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. "I’m not really in the mood."

I step closer, lowering my voice slightly. "Hazelnut and chocolate. That’s your favorite, isn’t it?"

Her brows lift in surprise, and for the first time tonight, I catch a flicker of emotion breaking through her distracted calm. "How do you know that?"

I shrug lightly, a small smirk tugging at my lips. “It might be easy to forget this but I’ve known you since you were a baby. Come on. You’ve had a long day. Let’s get something to take the edge off.”

She hesitates, glancing toward the glowing interior of the gelateria, her expression softening but still tinged with uncertainty. “Okay,” she murmurs finally, letting out a quiet sigh.

Inside, the cool air greets us, carrying the sweet scent of fresh cones and vibrant gelato. She stands at the counter, her gaze flicking over the endless choices, but I notice how her focus lingers…not on the flavors, but somewhere far away. Her posture is relaxed but distant, as though her mind is miles from here. The oversized black satin dress she’s wearing flows elegantly down to her calves, paired with sneakers that make her seem both poised and playful. She’s stunning, even now, caught in a moment of distraction.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask softly, leaning slightly closer.

She blinks, turning to me as if pulled from a dream. "Nothing. Just… everything."

Her answer makes me pause. I watch her carefully, struck by how vulnerable she seems, how real. For a moment, I forget the controlled, calculated version of myself I usually present.

"You’re going to be fine, you know," I say quietly. "Today was just the beginning. You’ll figure it out."

She looks at me, her hazel eyes softening, though doubt still lingers there. "You really think so?"

"I know so," I reply. “It’s the same with business. Sometimes… the strain wears down on you. I hope, though, they didn’t work you too hard today.”

“No, no,” she says. “They were fine. Kind. Patient. Very patient.”

Her lips part once again, as though she’s about to say something, but instead, she turns back to the counter, studying the flavors again. I step forward, nodding to the server. "Two scoops…hazelnut and chocolate for her, and pistachio for me."

When I hand her the small cup, her fingers brush mine, and for a brief second, something unspoken passes between us. She looks at the gelato, then at me, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

After a quick glance around I find a park bench and we head over to it.

She sits hesitantly, the soft fabric of her dress catching the light as she moves. Her sneakers tap against the cobblestones, and for the first time tonight, she looks more relaxed. She takes a tentative bite, her lashes fluttering slightly as the flavor hits her tongue.

Her eyes widen, and she lets out a quiet laugh. "Okay, this is… really good."

I lean back, watching her with a faint smile. "Told you. Sometimes it’s the simple things."

For a while, we sit in silence, the hum of the city around us. I steal glances at her as she eats, struck by the way she seems to belong here, in this moment, more than she realizes. The air between us feels different tonight…not just charged, but… softer. Like something unspoken is starting to take root.

The bench we sit on is nestled under the shade of tall cypress trees in the Villa Borghese Gardens. The soft rustle of leaves swaying in the evening breeze mingles with the distant hum of Rome…its city streets alive yet softened by the sanctuary of this place. The gelato melts slowly in my cup, but I can’t seem to focus on anything but her.

She’s quiet, savoring each bite, her hazel eyes fixed on the scene ahead of us. A couple rides past on bicycles, laughing as they wobble along the path, their carefree joy oddly infectious. She follows them with her gaze, her lips twitching as if tempted to smile but holding back.

“It’s beautiful here,” she murmurs, breaking the silence.

“It is,” I reply, though my eyes are on her. The way the fading sunlight catches in her hair, the slight tilt of her head as she watches the world go by…she looks so effortlessly captivating, even in this unguarded moment.

She finishes her gelato and sets the cup down on the bench beside her. “I’ve been thinking…” she starts, then trails off, her voice soft but uncertain.

“About?” I prompt, gently, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. My tone is casual, but my curiosity is anything but.

Her fingers toy with the hem of her satin dress, the material slipping between her fingers. “Today, at the fitting. The other models… they seemed so confident, so sure of themselves. It made me wonder if I even belong in a place like this.”

“You do,” I almost say, but what’s the point? Blind reassurance isn’t what she needs right now. It wouldn’t help her, and honestly, it wouldn’t be true…not in the way she’d want to hear it. So, I choose something else, something more fitting for her.

“Do you want to belong?” I ask instead, keeping my voice steady.

She freezes, caught off guard by the question. Her head tilts slightly as she processes it, her eyes flicking to mine. I can see her turning it over, trying to find an answer, though she doesn’t speak right away. The silence isn’t awkward…it’s thoughtful, weighted, and I let her have it.

After a moment, her gaze drops to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I don’t know,” she says softly, almost to herself.

Her vulnerability in this moment catches me off guard, the way she’s willing to admit what most people would avoid saying. I lean forward slightly, resting my arms on my knees. “Figuring that out is part of it,” I tell her. “Belonging isn’t handed to you. You carve it out yourself.”

“Right,” she nods and continues with her ice cream.

“I used to ride bikes all the time as a kid,” she says suddenly, her tone wistful. “I don’t think I’ve been on one since.”

The words catch me off guard. I glance at her, noting the faint smile tugging at her lips, the distant look in her eyes. She’s not talking to me, not really…she’s talking to a memory, something softer, simpler. I let the silence stretch for a moment, letting her have it.

Then she turns her gaze toward me, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. “I’d love to ride one now,” she says, her voice quieter, like she’s testing the thought out loud. “But you probably wouldn’t be interested in something so… casual.”

Pointless. I don’t know if she’s saying that because she believes it or because she’s bracing for my rejection. My instinct is to brush it off…keep things structured, predictable. But something about the way she says it makes me pause.

For a moment, I don’t respond, studying her instead. Her expression is guarded, but there’s an undercurrent of longing there, like she’s daring herself to ask for something just for the joy of it. And damn it, for some reason, I want to give it to her.

“You know what?” I say, my voice calm. “Let’s do it.”

Her eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face. “You’re serious?”

I shrug, keeping my tone even. “Why not? There’s a rental station down the path.”

She looks at me like she doesn’t quite believe it, like she’s waiting for the catch. “You don’t seem like the bike-riding type, Zack.”

“I’m not but for once, why not,” I reply, though I can hear the faint edge of self-amusement in my voice. Truthfully, I’m not sure what’s come over me. It’s been years…decades, even…since I’ve done anything as casual as riding a bike.

She glances toward the rental station, her uncertainty softening into something closer to excitement. “You’re really going to do this?”

“Sure,” I say, already walking toward the station.

She hurries to keep up, her sneakers scuffing lightly against the cobblestones.

At the station, she busies herself examining the bikes, running her fingers over the handlebars and testing the brakes. She’s distracted, her brows furrowed as she tries to figure out how the rental process works. I watch her for a moment, noting the way her dress moves as she leans forward, the sheen of her makeup catching the dim light.

“You’re stalling,” I say, stepping up beside her.

“I’m figuring it out,” she replies, her tone defensive but not sharp.

“Let me help,” I offer, entering my details into the kiosk. She steps back, watching me as I select two bikes.

When the locks release, she pulls her bike free, testing it cautiously.

“You really don’t seem like the type for this,” she says again, her tone lighter now, almost teasing.

“I’m not,” I admit, lifting my own bike and adjusting the seat. “But tonight’s not about me.”

Her expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unspoken crossing her face. She doesn’t respond, but the faint curve of her lips tells me enough.

We set off down the path, the crunch of gravel under the tires and the gentle hum of the wheels filling the quiet space between us. The Villa Borghese Gardens stretch out in every direction, the manicured lawns and ancient sculptures glowing faintly under the streetlights. The scent of blooming flowers lingers in the air, mingling with the faint sound of distant laughter and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

She rides ahead of me, her movements cautious at first, but she quickly grows more confident, the bike weaving lightly as she experiments. Every so often, she glances back at me, her smile growing wider with each turn.

I slow my pace deliberately, watching her from a distance. There’s a joy in her movements, something effortless and pure, and for once, I let myself just enjoy the moment. It’s not something I’ve done in years…maybe ever. But tonight, it feels… right.

As we near a clearing, I pull out my phone to check the time and map our location.

“Twenty bucks says I’ll get there first.”

I shake my head, smirking. “Make it a hundred.”

Her eyes widen briefly before she nods, determination flashing in her gaze. “You’re on.”

And with that, she takes off, her laughter trailing behind her as she gains speed. I linger for a moment, watching her figure disappear down the path, her hair catching the wind. The world feels lighter, freer, in her presence, and for once, I don’t mind letting her take the lead.

With a soft chuckle, I start after her, the cool night air rushing past as I pedal, the sound of her laughter echoing in my ears. The city unfolds around us, ancient and alive, and for the first time in years, I let myself simply be.

The restaurant isn’t far now…just a short ride through the park. An idea sparks, something unexpected but fitting for the lightness of the moment. “It’s not far from here,” I say, holding up my phone. “How about we make this interesting?”

She arches a brow, intrigued. “Interesting how?”

I smirk, slipping the phone back into my pocket. “Let’s see if you can beat me there.”

Her eyes light up with a mix of challenge and mischief. “Twenty bucks says I’ll get there first.”

I shake my head, my smirk widening. “Let’s make it a hundred.”

Her mouth opens slightly in surprise before she recovers, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Send me the directions.”

I do, and she studies her phone briefly before tucking it away. “You’re on,” she says, kicking off and picking up speed instantly.

I watch her for a moment, her figure cutting through the fading light as she glances back at me with a grin. I deliberately slow my pace, letting her pull ahead.

The park unfolds around us in pockets of beauty…bronze statues tucked into alcoves, gardens blooming even in the dim light, and the steady stream of people enjoying the evening. A group of children races past on scooters, their excited shouts ringing out, while an older couple strolls hand in hand, pausing to admire a rose bush. I’ve spent so much of my life rushing through moments like these, always focused on the next deal, the next victory.

It makes me sigh now, thinking of how many tiny, mundane, magical moments like this I’ve missed.

About forty minutes later, as the sun dips lower and the sky deepens into twilight, we arrive at Antico Arco.

Jenny beams with triumph as she slows to a stop, her laughter spilling out into the crisp evening air. Her chest rises and falls with exhilaration, her cheeks flushed from the ride, and the faintest sheen of perspiration glistens on her forehead under the soft glow of the streetlights. She leans forward slightly, gripping the bike’s handlebars as she catches her breath.

“I told you I’d win,” she says between gasps, her voice bright with satisfaction.

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips as I step off my bike. “You did,” I admit, reaching into my pocket for my handkerchief. The white linen is crisp, my initials embroidered neatly in one corner. I hold it out to her. “Here.”

She looks at me, her eyes flicking to the handkerchief before taking it. Her fingers brush against mine briefly, and then she dabs it lightly against her forehead. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now, still breathless. She puts it away in her messenger bag.

The sight of her…radiant, glowing from the thrill of victory…renders me momentarily still. She’s breathtaking. Not in the overly polished, put-together way the women I usually surround myself with are, but in a way that feels entirely her. Real. Unfiltered. Stunning.

My hand slips into my pocket, retrieving my wallet. I pull out a crisp 100-euro bill and extend it to her, my other hand resting casually on the handlebars. “Your winnings.”

Her brows knit together as she glances at the note, then back at me. “Wait… this is a hundred euros. I meant dollars.”

“When in Rome…” I reply, tucking the wallet back into my pocket with a faint smirk.

Jenny laughs softly, taking the bill from my hand with a shake of her head.