Brief Encounters

Part 29

Due to Dad's health and the growing necessity for me to assume a more prominent public role, the weight of responsibility had shifted squarely onto my shoulders. It wasn't sudden-we'd all seen the signs-but the reality of stepping into his shoes was a different matter entirely.

I sat at my desk, the room dim except for the golden glow of a single desk lamp. In front of me lay a stack of speeches, each one neatly organized in a leather-bound folder. The crisp edges and carefully arranged pages gave the illusion of order, but to me, it felt overwhelming.

I picked up the first speech, running my fingers over the embossed insignia at the top. It was for a charity gala tomorrow, an event Dad had attended every year without fail. My throat tightened at the thought of standing in his place, the room full of people who'd look at me and see not just myself but a continuation of him.

The door creaked open, and the faint scent of Earl Grey wafted in before I saw the steaming cup in the hands of a housekeeper. She placed it beside me with a soft smile, her kindness cutting through the tension in my chest for just a moment.

"Thank you," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

She nodded and left, leaving me alone with the speeches once again. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. The truth was, I wasn't just worried about getting the words right. I was worried about living up to him and Granny.

Could I fill those shoes? Could I carry the weight of this family, this institution, this legacy?

I glanced at the top folder again, then at the portrait of Mum that hung on the wall nearby. Her expression was reassuring, as if to say, You'll find your way. For a moment, I let that thought settle over me, steadying myself in her quiet confidence.

But even as I turned back to the speeches, my mind drifted elsewhere, to a different kind of reassurance-Jeanna. She'd always had a way of grounding me, of making the world feel just a little less heavy. I reached for my phone almost instinctively, needing her voice, her warmth, even if just for a few minutes.

I called Jeanna to tell her what had happened-or most of it, anyway.

I hadn't found the courage to bring up the pressure mounting around me to marry. The expectation loomed like a shadow over everything, but I couldn't bring myself to confront her with it-not yet.

I didn't want her to feel rushed, to mistake my love for obligation. Despite everything pushing me toward a decision, I wanted to give her the space to feel like she had a choice. If this was going to work-if we were going to work-it had to be on her terms, not just mine.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice steady yet warm, as if she already knew the answer.

"Just getting ready for work," I said, the familiar ache of missing her settling in already. "I'm sorry we couldn't meet before I leave."

"That's fine, babe," she replied softly. "Just focus on yourself for now, will you?"

"Okay," I murmured.

The call ended, but the conversation didn't feel complete. Too much remained unsaid, tangled in the corners of my mind-thoughts I couldn't quite bring myself to voice. I lingered, staring at the phone in my hand, before setting it down with a sigh, willing the emotions to fade into the background.

When I turned, Harry was there, leaning casually against the doorframe. His usual air of mischief was tempered by something quieter, harder to read. He stepped forward, his hands tucked into his pockets, and for a moment, the silence between us carried an unusual weight.

"Take care," he said, his voice steady but uncharacteristically serious. Then, as if to break the moment, a familiar smirk tugged at his lips. "And don't forget to bring me back something nice. Something dignified, of course."

I couldn't help but smirk back, shaking my head at his cheek. "You're impossible."

"That's why you love me," he shot back, his grin widening, but there was something softer in his eyes-a rare flicker of sincerity beneath the teasing.

But we both knew the truth-our words barely scratched the surface of everything that needed to be said. Beneath the banter lay a deeper tension, a shared understanding that revolved around Jeanna. I could feel it in the way Harry avoided her name yet lingered on the edges of conversations about her. His feelings for her weren't overt, but they were there, tucked carefully away out of respect for me.

I wasn't sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it was noble, a sign of the bond we shared as brothers. On the other, it complicated everything. There was a conversation waiting for us, one we'd have to confront eventually. It could clear the air-or fracture it further. But not now. Not yet.

Patrick's figure appeared in the doorway, a steady reminder of the obligations I couldn't delay. "Sir," he said quietly, a gentle nudge that it was time to leave.

I rose, adjusting my jacket instinctively. Harry stepped closer, his hands reaching out to smooth my collar in a gesture of care. "Be well," he said, his voice quieter now, almost earnest.

I nodded, holding his gaze for a moment longer than usual. Despite everything, we were still brothers. Then, with a deep breath, I turned and walked out the door, leaving Harry behind, and with him, the weight of what couldn't yet be said.