Page 29 of Dating His Brother

“My siblings don’t need to work, but they do,” I tried to explain. “They work these big corporate jobs and make even more money they don’t need. All for their image and reputation, so they can pretend they’re not freeloading off of our family’s fortune. Even if I did take the money, I’d be expected to be a part of their lives, but I don’t particularly like them. On top of that, they’d still look down on me for the kind of work I do and how I prefer to live. That’s justoneof themanyreasons I don’t want their money.”

I sat down in the kitchenette area and propped my feet up on the table, leaning back in my chair and putting my hands behind my head. “No, I like my place and my life just the way it is. This is all just fine for me, thank you very much.”

“Not good enough,” she barked. “Who cares what they think? And so what, you have to tolerate them at Thanksgiving dinner. Plenty of people don’t enjoy their family’s company. They’re not going to pass on a million dollars over it. No, I’m not convinced. Tell me the other reasons.”

I shot her an incredulous look. “Not that I owe you or anyone an explanation for my life and the way I live it, but if you must know…Ilikebeing poor.”

“You wouldn’t if you had no choice,” she argued.

“The way I see it, I don’t have a choice.”

“But you do!”

I shot up, growing frustrated. “Look, Izzy. I live a simple life. I’m not stressed or too busy, and I have all the time in the world for the things I love. Sure, I struggle to make ends meet like this. But it keeps my head straight. You don’t have time to overthink things and get all existential or discontent when you’re focused on working to pay your bills, or scheming over how you’ll pay for your next round of groceries or your tab down at the bar. If I had money, I’d just get bored and depressed like…”

Her eyes widened. “Like…like who? Say it. You were going to say likeme, weren’t you!?”

“Like all rich people,” I corrected her.

“Which includes me,” she huffed in offense.

“Izzy, what are you doing here?” I asked impatiently. “I know you didn’t come to make sense of my lifestyle or to berate me with questions. What do you want?”

Her lips curled into a coy smile as she rolled her shoulder with an innocent sort of shrug. “I didn’t know if you might be up for another portrait session…or we could just skip to what comes after that.”

I didn’t want to fall for her antics again, but she did make it hard to refuse her. I walked over, stopping inches from her face, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear—grazing her cheek as I went. “You want sex? That’s it?”

“I didn’t think you’d have any complaints.” She smiled wider, batting her eyelashes.

“This is just a fling to you?”

Her brows wrinkled. “What else would it be? I figured a guy like you loved flings. That you’donlyhave flings. Isn’t that the bohemian artist thing to do? Free love and all that.”

“You seem to be confusing artists with hippies during the seventies,” I smirked. “And you obviously have me all wrong. You think a fling is all I’m good for?”

“A fling is all I’m good for,” she insisted. “Look, in my family…people haven’t really married for deep, meaningful love. No, we marry for security and financial reasons. To add to the persuasion of our names and the zeroes in our bank accounts. I see no reason why I should do things differently. It worked out for all of them.”

“You’d give up a chance at finding real love to keep the status quo?” I questioned. “And that’s what will make you happy? Let me as you this...what about after this whole Heartstring Bachelorette thing is over with. You’ll marry the lucky winner eventually, right? And then what? You keep coming back here to me on the side?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Her eyes clouded over with a subtle hint of sadness just before she looked away. “Who says the guy who wins my hand in marriage won’t be some form of real love, anyway? If I’m even capable of such a thing…”

Her voice grew quiet and then she trailed off, showing a softer, less secure side to all of her feelings. She was scared and grasping at straws.

“You’re desperate for something,” I whispered.

Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, all real emotion in her vanished. She snapped back into seduction mode, shutting off the rest of it. Her hand reached out and wrapped around the bulge in my pants. “This.” she squeezed. “Is the only thing I’m desperate for right now.”

“I asked how you felt about all of this,” I murmured, trailing my thumb along her bottom lip. “But I didn’t tell you how I feel about all of this. I can give you many things, Isabella. But some meaningless fling on the side…I’m afraid I can’t do that. I can give you what you’re wanting right now, but not in the way you’re wanting it.”

“And just why not?” she pouted.

I cupped her face in my hands, speaking to her in a slow, deep rasp. “Oh, you silly woman. You really can’t see it, can you?”

“See what?”

“That I’m absolutely mad for you. Head over heels for you,” I replied. “The way I feel for you, I’ve never felt for anyone before. You light me up, and I know I light you up too. That’s why you keep coming back here. That’s why you were never really able to turn me down when we first met. That’s why we kept running into each other all over town. I think this was meant to be, Izzy.”

“Meant to be,” she whispered, looking intently into my eyes. She didn’t say it as a question or a certainty. It’s more like she was rolling it around on her tongue just to see how it tasted.

---