Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
JENNY
T he evening air feels lighter after the bike ride, the lingering exhilaration still tingling in my fingertips as I dismount and catch my breath. My chest rises and falls, the warm breeze brushing against my skin, carrying with it the faint, intoxicating scent of Rome. For the first time all day, the tightness in my chest has loosened, replaced by something softer…something that feels almost like hope.
I glance at Zack as he secures the bikes, his movements calm, efficient, and utterly self-assured. He looks up, his gaze meeting mine briefly, and there’s something in his expression…something unreadable but grounding. I tear my eyes away, focusing instead on the soft glow of Antico Arco’s lights spilling out onto the cobblestones ahead. The restaurant looks like something out of a dream, perched on a hill with views of the entire city twinkling below. I feel a pang of awe, quickly followed by the familiar ache of not belonging.
I smooth my satin dress, fingers brushing over the soft, flowing fabric that feels both luxurious and oddly childish paired with my sneakers. The thought makes me smile faintly, though the moment is fleeting. We step inside, and I’m immediately struck by the elegance of the place…the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clinking of glasses, the refined atmosphere that seems almost too perfect. It’s not new to me, not really. Growing up with the Jacksons meant I spent more time in places like this than most people ever would. But tonight, it feels different. This isn’t their world anymore. It’s mine. Or at least, I want it to be.
The hostess leads us to a table by the window, where the view outside is breathtaking. Rome sprawls out in golden lights, the distant hum of the city muted by the glass. I slide into my seat, trying not to fidget as I glance around. The other women in the restaurant are striking…dressed to perfection, their every movement polished and effortless. My stomach twists, the same sinking feeling I’d had at the fitting creeping back. I don’t belong here. Not really.
Zack settles across from me, and I steal a glance at him as he shrugs off his tie, setting it aside with deliberate ease. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, tanned forearms. His dark hair is tousled from the ride, and the soft lighting makes his pale grey eyes almost translucent. It’s impossible not to notice him…breathtaking in a way that feels dangerous, as if he’s too perfect to be real. Brett, I remind myself. Brett is approachable, warm, easy to be around. Zack… Zack is something else entirely.
I hate to compare them, but truly I cannot help it.
The brush of fabric against my skin brings me back to the moment, and I shift slightly, my nipples brushing against the satin of my dress. My cheeks flush as I force my gaze down to the menu, telling myself it’s nothing. Just a reaction. Just a stupid, physical thing. It doesn’t mean anything.
“What do you want to drink?” Zack asks, his voice low, calm.
I glance up, meeting his gaze. “Red wine,” I say quickly, the words slipping out before I can think them through.
His brow arches slightly. “Wine?”
“Yes.” I close the menu and sit back, trying to steady my voice. “I think I need it.”
The corners of his mouth lift in the faintest hint of a smile, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tease me. Instead, he nods. “Red it is.”
When the waiter arrives, Zack barely glances at the menu before ordering with the kind of confidence that seems second nature to him. “The veal saltimbocca,” he says, his voice smooth, “with a side of sautéed spinach and roasted rosemary potatoes.” He hands the menu back with a nod, adding, “And a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino—2015.”
The waiter nods appreciatively, as if Zack’s choice carries a weight he respects, before turning to me. I glance down at the menu again, my fingers brushing the edge as I search for something that feels right. “The ravioli al tartufo,” I finally say, my voice a bit softer, “with the garden salad on the side.”
The waiter writes it down without missing a beat, and I hand him my menu, feeling a little unsure but masking it as best I can.
Zack speaks up again, this time his tone more deliberate. “And decant the wine for us,” he adds, leaning back in his chair with an air of quiet authority. “Let it breathe.”
I glance at him, surprised by the attention to detail. He catches my look and raises an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “You just seem… particular.”
“I am,” he replies simply, as though that explains everything.
The waiter disappears, and I try to focus on the conversation, but the weight of Zack’s presence and his easy command of the situation leaves me feeling oddly out of place…and yet drawn to him even more.
I reach for my glass of water, needing something to occupy my hands. But as I lift it to my lips, the memory of last night flashes unbidden in my mind…the wine we’d shared on the balcony, the tension that had hung heavy between us. The way he’d looked at me, like he could see right through every wall I’d ever built. My grip on the glass tightens, and I force the thought away.
The silence stretches between us, comfortable in a way I didn’t anticipate, until I find myself speaking again.
“There are probably so many other people you’d rather be having dinner with right now,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My tone is light, teasing, but there’s a genuine curiosity beneath it. “Business partners. Girlfriends. I mean, just look around. There are so many beautiful women in this city.”
His gaze doesn’t waver, his expression unreadable. “What are you trying to say?”
I shrug, the movement small, almost self-conscious. “Nothing. I’m just… wondering. We’ve known each other for years, but we’ve never actually spent time together. Not like this.”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, the weight of his attention making my pulse quicken.
“Unless it’s a business dinner. I don’t like eating with unfamiliar people.”
“Oh,” I say, feigning nonchalance, though my heart skips a beat. “So I’m familiar, then.”
His lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “You could say that.”
For a moment, the air between us shifts, something unspoken lingering in space. I glance down at the table, my fingers tracing the edge of my napkin. The city lights outside blur slightly as my focus turns inward, the quiet realization settling over me: Zack isn’t like Brett at all. The more time I spend with him, the more the difference between them becomes stark, and I cannot help but admit to myself that maybe, just maybe, I might prefer the dangerous heat that Zack stokes in me to the warm and sweet one that Brett does.
The silence stretches as our food arrives, each dish a work of art plated so beautifully it feels wrong to disturb it. Zack doesn’t speak, but I can feel his presence like a weight in the air. He watches me as I take my first bite, the rich flavors melting on my tongue, but his gaze is so steady, so unreadable, it makes my pulse skip.
I try not to fidget under his scrutiny, but the longer we sit, the more I find myself wondering what’s going through his mind. He seems so composed, so perfectly in control, but beneath that polished exterior, there has to be more. And for reasons I can’t quite name, I suddenly want to know. I want to understand who he is beyond the commanding presence, the calculated looks, the unreadable silences.
“You came to Rome for business, right?” I ask, my voice breaking through the quiet. It’s a simple question, but it feels like the first step toward unraveling him.
He pauses, his fork hovering over his plate before he answers. “Partially,” he says, his tone measured. “I plan to take some meetings, but I’m treating the rest of the time here as… a sort of holiday.”
A holiday? The word feels strange coming from him, like it doesn’t quite fit. “You?” I tease, raising a brow. “Taking a holiday?”
He leans back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Right.”
The corners of my mouth lift despite myself. “Well, you should. Rome’s beautiful. I might just do the same.”
“You should,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve earned it.”
I nod, setting my fork down and reaching for my wine. “I didn’t plan much of an itinerary, to be honest. Everything happened so fast. Plus…” I trail off, hesitating as the words catch in my throat. I don’t know why I’m saying this, why I feel compelled to bring it up. “It felt like you were just trying to send me away, so I didn’t know how it was going to play out.”
He freezes, his expression sharpening slightly. “But you still came,” he says after a moment, his tone quiet but firm.
“I did,” I admit, my voice soft. “I came because of the job. And as for you trying to send me away…” I sigh, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Unless you ban me from the country somehow with your connections, I’m still going to head back eventually. Plus, you’ve forgotten what I said. I’m moving out.”
“Moving out?” he repeats, his brow lifting slightly. “And where exactly do you plan to go?”
I shrug, swirling the wine in my glass. “Let’s see after I get my paycheck from today.”
He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto mine. “You shouldn’t move out too soon,” he says, his voice low, almost coaxing. “Your contract’s for a few months. You’ll be busy.”
“Which is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” I shoot back, though there’s no real heat in my tone.
His lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile, the kind that makes my chest tighten. “You can’t blame me for trying to exert my influence to get what I want. It’s what I do. But ultimately, the choice is yours.”
The way he says it, the weight in his words, sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not a threat…it’s an acknowledgment, a reminder of his power but also of the fact that, for once, he’s leaving something in my hands. The tension between us feels like it’s vibrating now, filling the space with an electricity I can’t ignore.
I hold his gaze, my pulse quickening as the silence stretches. For a moment, I don’t know what to say. But then, a small, wry smile tugs at my lips. “Well, that’s… surprisingly generous of you.”
He smiles once again, amused, and my heart starts to race. What is it about him?
I want to see him unflustered, though I realize I want to see him completely lose his composure so that I know I’m not the only one.
This is lust, I remind myself. It’s his fault for teasing me. All I have to do is control myself until I get back to New York, and then I’ll take matters into my own hands and kiss Brett. I cannot be careless here the same way I almost was with him last night. Plus, if any accidents happen with Zack, I understand that automatically erases any future I could have had with Brett.
All my life, it was the one thing I was sure about, and now I feel somewhat uncertain. I love Brett, but now I wonder if the way Zack makes me feel isn’t what I truly want.
"Where are your shoots going to be for the rest of the week?" Zack asks, his tone casual but his eyes focused on me in that way that always seems to strip away my defenses.
I hesitate for a moment, surprised by the question. “Villa Borghese tomorrow,” I reply, my voice softer than I intend. “Then the Spanish Steps later in the week. After that, there’s some indoor work at a historic palazzo... they want to capture the elegance of the architecture or something like that.” I stop, glancing at him. He’s still watching me, his expression unreadable but intent.
As I continue, I start to notice something in the way he listens. He’s not just nodding politely or waiting for his turn to speak. He’s paying attention, really paying attention. I’m not used to this…his focus, the way it feels like he’s drawing every word out of me with his quiet, steady gaze.
The silence stretches for a moment before I blurt out, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
The question catches even me off guard. It’s impulsive, thoughtless, but now that it’s out there, I can’t take it back. It’s just that I’m realizing now, for the first time ever, that unlike Brett, I haven’t actually ever seen him with a woman. My heart pounds as I wait for his reaction, and when he doesn’t answer right away, I rush to cover my tracks. “I mean, not that it’s any of my business. I just… I’ve never seen you with anyone. Not that I would know, but…maybe you’re... maybe you don’t like women?”
His frown deepens at this as he stops chewing entirely, and I want to bury myself in the sand.
“Jenny,” he says his voice calm but firm enough to make me stop rambling. His gray eyes narrow slightly, and his lips twitch with the faintest trace of amusement. “Your interest in my personal life seems to be increasing.”
My face flames.
“It’s not,” I say too quickly, the words tripping over themselves. “I was just… curious. That’s all.”
“Curious?” He echoes, his tone making it clear he’s not convinced. He watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before finally leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. “No. I don’t have a girlfriend. And no, I am most definitely not gay.”
The admission shouldn’t affect me as much as it does, but my stomach flips all the same. “Oh,” I say, trying to sound indifferent, though I know I’m failing miserably. “I just assumed… someone like you…”
“Someone like me, what?” he asks, his voice low, challenging.
I look up at him, my heart racing. “You’re Zack Jackson,” I say, as if that explains everything. “Wealthy, powerful, and, well…” My cheeks burn as the rest of the sentence catches in my throat. I don’t need to say it. He knows exactly what I mean.
“And?” he prompts, his voice edged with intrigue.
“And nothing,” I mutter, turning my attention back to my plate. “Forget I said anything.”
For a moment, he doesn’t reply. The silence between us feels heavier, charged with something I can’t name. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckles softly. “You shouldn’t try so hard to hide your thoughts. It’s not like you. You’ve always been honest and loud-mouthed, giving your opinions even when not asked.”
This suddenly makes me laugh out loud because my dad, as well as a step-worker I grew up with, always says the same thing.
I’m reliving my time with him, I realize, even though I know I shouldn’t be. And soon, I resolve to settle my nerves and treat this simply as what it is…two acquaintances sharing a meal together. I fill up my glass once again and turn my focus to the wine.