The Wrong Brother

Chapter Fifteen—Nova

The penthouse kitchen smelled like ambition and mild judgment—Adrian’s kind of kitchen, with gleaming marble counters, stainless steel appliances, and utensils organized like soldiers on parade. I was standing on a stool, trying to reach the top shelf for a mixing bowl, Atlas panting at my feet like he’d been drafted into some secret canine espionage.

“You know, you could ask,” Adrian said from across the kitchen, leaning casually against the island, arms folded, eyes narrowing in mock assessment.

I glared down at him, precariously balancing on the stool. “I could, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, you’re busy being… you.”

He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Busy being precise, you mean. There’s a difference.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course. Everything you do is precise. The world revolves around precision, doesn’t it?”

“Some things do,” he said smoothly, stepping closer, hands tucked in his pockets. He smelled faintly of leather and something faintly like cedar. “Cooking isn’t one of them.”

I huffed, finally grabbing the mixing bowl. “Good thing I’m not you.”

“Not good for me, maybe. Perfect for you,” he countered, watching me set the bowl down.

Zeus barked once, sharp and insistent, nudging my ankle. I looked down to see him giving me the “Seriously?” look, like he, too, was judging my precarious kitchen technique.

I dropped onto the floor with a dramatic flop, ignoring the protest in my ankle. “Okay, you win. I’m clearly the worst sous-chef in the world. Can we move on?”

Adrian chuckled softly, a rich, low sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. “You’re not terrible. Just… chaotic. But somehow, that might make this more interesting.”

I shot him a look. “Interesting? That’s your diplomatic way of saying I’m a disaster?”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning over the counter, close enough that our arms brushed. I felt the flicker instantly—the kind that made my stomach flip and my knees feel slightly off-balance.

I shook my head, trying to focus. “Fine. Disaster it is. Now what’s first? Ingredients? Instructions?”

“Both,” he said, passing me a neatly folded recipe printout. “Follow the steps carefully, or Zeus here will judge you even more severely.”

I snorted, unfolding the paper. “I swear, if that dog judges me more than you do, I’ll throw him in the pool.”

“He’d probably enjoy it,” Adrian said, amused. “But you wouldn’t. Not enough theatrics.”

I ignored the jab and started gathering ingredients. Flour, sugar, eggs… all while sneaking glances at Adrian. He had moved to the other side of the kitchen, chopping vegetables with precision, shoulders tense, jaw set—focused, intimidating, and infuriatingly attractive.

I muttered under my breath, “Why is everything about him attractive?”

Atlas growled softly at me, clearly disapproving of my wandering thoughts. I gave him an apologetic scratch behind the ears, and he wagged his tail like a truce had been declared.

“You’re… distracted,” Adrian said suddenly, his voice low and teasing.

I froze, caught mid-motion with an egg in my hand. “What? I’m… paying attention.”

“Sure,” he said, smirking, eyes glinting. “Just… distracted in a fascinating way.”

My cheeks warmed. “Fascinating? Is that a compliment?”

“Depends,” he said smoothly. “On whether you want it to be.”

I tried not to notice how close he had moved. Our arms brushed again as he handed me a whisk. Sparks. Definitely sparks. I ignored them and focused on mixing the batter, though my hands shook slightly.

Zeus barked at the whisk. I jumped. Adrian’s quiet chuckle filled the room. “You’re jumpy.”

“I’m… reacting to… the dog,” I said quickly, gesturing toward Zeus, who wagged his tail innocently, clearly mocking me.

“Uh-huh,” Adrian said, moving closer, standing just behind me now, leaning slightly over my shoulder to guide my hand with the whisk. Heat radiated off him, and I had to fight the urge to shiver.

“You know,” he said softly, “you could just let me do it.”

“No,” I said quickly, though my voice lacked conviction. “I’ve got this.”

He didn’t push, but his presence was overwhelming—so close I could feel his breath lightly brush my neck. I realized my heartbeat had accelerated, and the simple act of mixing batter had become a battle of wills.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You don’t want to spill it.”

I laughed nervously. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” he asked, his tone playful, teasing, but with an undercurrent of something else—something that made my stomach twist.

I focused, mixing harder, trying not to think about how close he was. But of course, Zeus had other ideas, leaping up to nuzzle my arm. I yelped, batter splattering slightly. Adrian’s hand shot out reflexively to steady me.

Our eyes met. That spark again. The flicker of something dangerous and thrilling. I swallowed, heart pounding.

“Careful,” he whispered, though now there was something different in his tone.

I nodded, pretending to focus on the batter, but I could feel him. Every inch of him. I wanted to glance up, wanted to see that smirk fully, but I kept my head down.

Minutes passed like hours. Zeus had settled somewhere between my feet and Adrian’s legs, occasionally nudging us like a silent observer. The kitchen felt charged.

Finally, the batter was ready. Adrian moved to the counter, sliding a tray out. I followed, careful not to brush against him, but inevitably, our hands touched when I reached for a measuring cup. Sparks. Again.

“Careful,” he murmured, eyes locking with mine.

“Yes,” I said, tone sharper than intended. “Careful.”

We loaded the tray together, playful bickering continuing. “You’re doing it wrong,” he said. “Not enough precision.”

“Precision is overrated,” I shot back. “Chaos makes it interesting.”

“Interesting,” he repeated, leaning just slightly closer. “Dangerously interesting.”

I felt my stomach twist. “Dangerous?”

“You might find out,” he said smoothly, smirk tugging at his lips.

Zeus barked at that, as if disapproving of the tension. I laughed nervously, breaking the moment, but my heart didn’t stop racing.

We slid the tray into the oven together, our hands brushing once more. The near-constant contact, the teasing, the subtle heat of him so close—it was confusing. I had come here to treat him like a tool, a means to revenge. And yet…

Something in me was shifting.

Several moments later, after breakfast, the kitchen smelled sweet, warm from the baked goods. We washed dishes together, water splashing, Zeus sniffing the steam like a curious judge.

“You know,” Adrian said, handing me a plate, “you’re not as hopeless as I thought.”

“I could say the same about you,” I replied, though my voice wavered slightly.

He leaned closer to grab a towel from me. Our fingers brushed, again, lightly, and I felt a flicker—a moment suspended in time. My pulse leapt.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he murmured softly.

“I’m… not,” I stammered, though my eyes betrayed me.

“You are,” he said, tone low, teasing, dangerous. “And I like it.”

I swallowed hard. “Adrian…”

Zeus barked, breaking the tension with perfect comedic timing. I laughed, hiding my flustered face in my hands. Adrian smirked, clearly amused.

“Nice save,” he said. “But I was enjoying that.”

“Not helpful,” I said, mock scolding.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Oh, it’s very helpful. You just don’t know it yet.”

I blinked, caught in the intensity, then turned away, pretending to focus on drying dishes. My hands shook slightly.

Our near-kiss hung in the air, tantalizing, unfinished, the sparks between us unspoken but undeniable.

Zeus leapt onto the counter for a closer sniff at the finished pastries, sending a small clatter of utensils to the floor. I jumped back, and Adrian grabbed my wrist to steady me.

Our eyes met. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, warmer, charged.

“Careful,” he murmured again, but this time softer, intimate, with an edge of something I couldn’t define.

I nodded, heart racing. “I will.”

For a moment, silence. Then the doorbell chimed. Adrian froze. I blinked.

“Delivery?” I asked.

He shook his head slightly, already moving toward the door. “Unlikely.”

I peeked out from the kitchen, curiosity battling caution. Whoever it was… I had a feeling this wouldn’t just be a simple interruption.

And somewhere deep down, I knew things were about to get even more complicated.