The Other Brother

Book 1: London Hearts

by Tierney Page

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Sometimes the right love comes from the wrong place.
All I ever wanted was a love like my parents had—something deep, irrevocable, and all-consuming. The kind of love that’s written about in stories. And I thought I found it with Lucas, my fiancé. We had it all: the house, the cat, and the promise of a future full of possibilities. Until everything fell apart.

I discovered his secret. Heartbroken and betrayed, I convinced myself that I’d never find anything like what Lucas and I shared. He was my everything. Then one night, I ran into his younger brother, James.

He’s a musician—complicated, intense, and nothing like Lucas. And yet, I can’t deny the pull I feel toward him. I’m drawn to him in ways I cannot explain. Opening my heart to someone so close to the man who shattered it feels ridiculous. But it’s undeniable, and I can’t resist. Trying to stay away only makes it worse.

I want him.
I’m falling for the one person I shouldn’t.
I’m falling for the other brother.

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 352

Sample

I glance down, admiring my ring as it glimmers under the soft amber glow of my bedroom light. A simple, classic two-carat round solitaire set in a yellow gold band, timeless and elegant. The exact ring I would have picked for myself. Four months have passed since Lucas asked me to be his wife, and since then, I’ve lived in a bubble of pure bliss. Every aspect of my life finally feels like it’s falling into place.

Releasing a breath, a flutter of butterflies erupts in my stomach as I reach to pull the zipper of my dress. Turning to face the mirror, I study my reflection. Auburn curls cascade over one shoulder, skimming down to my ribs. For tonight, large gold hoop earrings are the only jewelry I opted for, aside from my ring, of course. Completing my ensemble, I matched my earrings with a pair of stunning gold strapped heels, which cost far more than I’m willing to admit. It’s my engagement party, so I decided there was no harm in splurging on some niceties.

My fitted silken midnight dress stops mid-calf, hugging my curves like a second skin. I feel sultry and feminine. The gentle material falls off the shoulder to reveal a golden-champagne highlight dusted across my collarbones, shimmering softly when it catches under the light. My makeup is natural, just the way I like it. A swipe of deep berry lipstick adds color to my lips, while a few layers of black mascara make the lighter shades of my blue eyes stand out.

I finish with a spritz of my favorite Chanel perfume—delicious notes of vanilla and musk. I know black isn’t exactly the most cheerful choice for my own engagement party, but it’s the color that always makes me feel the most confident and sexy. Plus, there’s the practical side to it: Black hides spills, and given my track record, wearing white is a disaster waiting to happen.

I hear the bedroom door creak open, and my smile widens. I turn to find Lucas standing at the threshold, and my breath stalls. Standing at six five, he commands attention. His chestnut hair is perfectly styled, a little shorter on the sides and slightly longer on top. He’s clad in a black suit and white shirt, pressed and tailored flawlessly, which accentuates his muscular torso. A pair of patent dress shoes add a finishing touch to his clean and polished appearance. I try to gauge his reaction as he drinks me in.

His gaze lingers on me as I attempt to read the emotion behind his dark eyes—wondering what he’s thinking. I clasp my hands together in front of me to keep from fidgeting. Silent, his eyes slowly travel from my red-tipped toes up to my nervous smile. Blowing out a long exhale, he palms the back of his neck and shakes his head in response. “Fuck, April. You look… You’re so beautiful.”

My cheeks heat, and I duck my chin, feeling exposed and shy. I adore getting dressed up, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being the center of attention. I would much rather bleed into the background.

He steps forward, closing the distance between us. Towering over me, he tenderly cups my face in his large hands, lowering himself until our foreheads and the tips of our noses meet in a gentle press. The gesture feels so safe and intimate. I close my eyes and breathe in his familiar Ted Baker cologne—citrus and pepper—my favorite scent in the world.

“I can’t believe my luck,” he murmurs, softly sealing our lips together. My breath catches and I fist the lapels of his jacket, deepening the kiss. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, biting it gently before pulling back. Releasing my face, he traces his hands over my bare shoulders and down my sides, barely touching, and my flesh erupts in goose bumps as he reaches my ass. Squeezing, he pulls us together so my hips meet his. A soft moan escapes my lips as I arch into him, desire surging through me, rushing to my core and dampening the thin fabric between my thighs. Wary of my dark lipstick making a mess, I pull back and giggle.

“Berry is a great color on you,” I say, using my thumb to wipe away the stain left on his mouth. He smiles softly in response. With lips swollen and adoration in his eyes, I melt at the sight of him.

Heavy footsteps echo down the hall, breaking our spell. “Okay, lovers, if you could stop making out and tell me where the champagne bucket is, that would be great.”

Anna marches in, snapping her fingers as if she could conjure a bucket from thin air, her phone gripped firmly in her other hand.

I can’t help but beam back at her. She is a few inches shorter than me, even in her taupe two-inch heels. Her natural, sun-kissed complexion pays homage to her Italian heritage. We may be chalk and cheese, but somehow, we couldn’t be a more perfect match. Her dark hair, streaked with blond highlights, is fashioned into an effortlessly messy up-do. Her eyes are lined with black kohl, accentuating their golden hazel, and her lips are painted peony pink. She wears a blush pink floral A-line dress with a sweetheart neckline, which suits her perfectly, a fun and playful vibe to match her bubbly personality.

Anna has been one of my best friends for over twenty-five years. We met in Year 1 when we were both the new kids at school. Her family had returned home to London from living in Fiji, and I had recently switched schools after moving to West London. Being the two new kids at school, we were seated next to each other, and we’ve been inseparable since. Now, at thirty-one, it’s incredibly special to share this moment with her.

“It’s under the staircase. I’ll get it,” Lucas says, shooting me a wink before disappearing through the door.

Anna waits until he’s left before letting out a low whistle. “Girl, if he hadn’t already put a ring on it, I’d lock that shit down myself. Look at you! You look amazing!”

“Thank you,” I murmur, lowering my eyes to the carpet.

“Don’t be shy. Turn around,” Anna instructs, waving her finger in a circular motion.

I turn slowly, offering her a complete 360-degree view.

“Ass looks great, good for you,” she says, giving a chef’s-kiss gesture.

“And what about you? That dress is gorgeous! You look so beautiful.”

“I know,” she states, punctuating her words with a curtsey.

I roll my eyes, chuckling.

“Picture time! We need to get a few snaps in before everyone starts arriving.”

“Oh, good idea. I’m so bad at remembering to take photos.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.” Stepping beside me, Anna unlocks her phone, switches it to selfie mode, and holds it in front of us to snap a few photos. After studying and selecting the best, Anna sashays out of the room and heads downstairs to assist with the final touches for the party.

We opted to have our engagement fête at home. It’s where we love to be, enjoying time with friends and family. We cook, drink wine, play board games, watch movies, and talk endlessly until the early-morning hours. Our home isn’t big, but it’s inviting. Hosting the party here felt right; anything lavish or fancy just wouldn’t be us. I prepared most of the food myself with help from my other dearest friend, Gemma.

My heels click along the hardwood floors as I walk down the stairs and through the lounge. The scent of warm pastry and desserts envelops me, and I take a deep breath.

Champagne buckets, hors d’oeuvres, cheese platters, and charcuterie boards are neatly arranged across the island bench and coffee table, while the oven fills the space with the delicious aroma of hot food. Two large glass doors reveal a deck and fenced-in courtyard beyond, with an outdoor heater, chairs and neatly arranged potted plants adding vivid pops of color. Fairy lights are strung from the deck, weaving along the fences like twinkling fireflies. It’s late winter here in London, so we leave the doors closed to ward off the biting cold.

I spot Anna in the kitchen fiddling with a champagne cork until the distinctive pop sounds. “Cheers!” Anna yells, extending her hand and offering me a filled flute. I accept and clink it against hers before bringing it to my lips. A hint of liquid courage to calm my nerves. Anna pours another glass.

“Where’s Lucas?” She peers over my shoulder just as Lucas sidles up beside me.

He playfully bumps my shoulder with his, smirking down at me before reaching for his glass and tipping it toward mine in silent cheers. “To us,” he says, lifting it to his lips.

“To us,” I say, smiling.

The front door bursts open, hitting the wall with a loud bang, causing Gemma to wince as she makes her grand entrance.

“Crap! Sorry about your wall! Am I late? What can I do to help?” she asks as she sheds her coat and unwinds her scarf, revealing a short, black leather skirt and laced bodysuit. She’s paired the outfit with black pumps and cherry-red lips. Her blond hair is slicked back into a low bun, and her usual quirky glasses are perched on her nose. She looks sleek and sophisticated. I all but skip toward her with excitement, wrapping her in my arms for a tight hug.

“You aren’t late. You’re just in time for a drink! Anna opened the champagne.”

“Oh my God, April… wow. Luc, you better watch yourself because I’m Mrs. Gonna Steal Yo’ Girl!” Gemma exclaims as she holds my hands, taking me in.

“I know. I’m going to have to watch her this evening,” Lucas says with a smile.

“You clean up pretty good yourself,” I say to Gemma. She beams at me as we approach Anna, who offers her a glass of bubbly.

“Gemma, are you wearing a lingerie bodysuit to our best friend’s engagement party?” Anna questions.

“Anna, come on. Do I wear anything else?” she asks, as if the answer is obvious.

“She’s in her ho era,” I reply, taking another sip.

“Ah yes, the best era. I remember it well.” Anna nods.

Gemma turns her attention to Lucas. “Speaking of ho, is James coming?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

“That’s way too close to home, Gemma,” I say, my voice laced with disapproval.

I quickly avert my gaze, scrunching my nose in confusion. Why do I feel so protective of James? The thought of him with Gemma doesn’t sit right.

I take a long pull of my champagne. I don’t want to explore why it bothers me.

James is Lucas’s younger brother, but the two are cut from different cloths. Lucas is romantic and light-hearted—the kind of man who favors crisp shirts, listens to ’80s hits, and fills notebooks with poetry. James, however, is broody and dark, wears ripped jeans and band T-shirts, listens to metal and rock, and plays the bass guitar. Even though the brothers aren’t the closest of friends, due to their differing tastes and five-year age gap, I’ve always got along reasonably well with James, despite his reserved nature.

Admittedly, there’s something alluring about his mysterious vibe, and I know I’m not the only one drawn to his dark charm.

Lucas strolls over to the sound system, fiddling with buttons and his phone until the first few notes of a song start to play. As the familiar tune fills the room, Anna, Gemma, and I exchange excited glances—we all love this song. Giggling, we finish our champagne and bustle around, belting out lyrics while setting up food and drinks before the guests arrive.

As our nearest and dearest pour in, the room comes to life with laughter and celebration. Lucas and I circle the space, ensuring we spend time with every guest. Now and then, we’re separated to make sure drinks are refilled, food is stocked, and everyone is having a good time.

With relief, Lucas’s parents, Caroline and Peter, arrive and take over the role of hosts, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the reprieve. Caroline has been incredibly kind to me since her son and I have been together, treating me as if I were her own daughter. She’s nurturing and sweet, and I feel privileged to have such a wonderful female role model in my life, after my own mother.

Caroline approaches me as I pluck a packet of dried apricots out of the pantry and tear it open to refill the charcuterie board.

“You shouldn’t be working at your engagement party, honey. Let me worry about the food. Here,” she says, extending her hand for the packet, “you go and enjoy yourself.”

“It’s no trouble, I’m happy to,” I reply.

“My dear, I promise you no one is worrying about the apricots,” she says as she grabs the packet. She makes a gentle shooing motion with her hands. “Go on.”

I smile, shooting her a grateful look before rounding the kitchen island.

As I slip away to the upstairs bathroom, I huff a sigh as I catch a lonely reflection of myself in the mirror. Even though my own parents passed away ten years ago, I still carry the weight of their loss with me; the burden is hard to bear in times of celebration. Lucas and I have been together for three years. I was twenty-eight when we met, so they never got the chance to meet him. It’s so bittersweet.

My father is supposed to be the man walking me down the aisle.

My mother is supposed to shop with me for my wedding dress.

My parents were killed in a car accident when I was twenty-one. The money I inherited from their estate, along with the sale of their flat in Notting Hill, helped me buy our townhouse in Fulham, securing a future I never thought I’d have so soon. I think about them often, wondering if they’d be proud of the life I’m building and the choices I’ve made. I know they’d love Lucas; they’d recognize in him the qualities they always valued—kindness, loyalty, and a quiet appreciation for life’s simple pleasures.

I’ve always wanted what my parents had—the kind of love that knows no bounds, free of expectations, where joy is found in the little things. My father adored my mother in every way that mattered, and growing up surrounded by that kind of love made me long for a happily ever after of my own.

I’m fortunate to carry those memories with me—precious morsels I’ll treasure forever. And I know how lucky I am to have grown up the way I did, in a way not everyone gets to experience. I’m incredibly grateful for that. We never left the house without saying, “I love you.” It wasn’t just a habit—it was a promise, a way of ensuring no moment passed without reminding one another how much we mattered. Christmas Eve was always spent huddled together in their king-size bed, watching Christmas films on the old telly we refused to upgrade. Our joined laughter filling the room felt like the best gift of all.

Even though I grew up without siblings, I never felt like I was missing out, because they were more than just my parents—they were my best friends. The kind of friends who made even the simplest things feel extraordinary.

My mother was an art teacher, so we spent hours every weekend painting in watercolors and making ceramics. Throwing clay was always my favorite. I still hold on to a pair of mugs we sculpted and decorated with vibrant tulips. Since they passed, I haven’t been able to touch my pottery wheel, but I keep it with me, just in case. I know she would be devastated if I ever got rid of it.

And now, when the house is quiet and the lights are low, I can almost feel them here with me, tucked away in the corners, watching over the life I’m building and reminding me that love like theirs never truly leaves.

The inheritance gave us more than a roof over our heads; it gave us freedom. We don’t live extravagantly—no designer clothes and furniture or exotic holidays—but we live comfortably, and that’s enough for me. I’ve never needed much to be happy, just the little things: the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the warmth of Lucas’s hand resting on my leg during a lazy Sunday afternoon, the way sunlight filters through the bedroom window on a quiet morning. Those small, fleeting moments mean more to me than any grand gesture or luxury ever could.

And though Lucas doesn’t earn as much as he’d like working in administration at the local university, that’s never mattered to me. It’s never been about the money. He has his love for helping students and his hobby of writing on the odd occasion too. What we have is simple but good—bills split evenly, a home we made together, with enough left over to indulge now and then. It’s solid, the kind of life I used to dream about when everything felt uncertain. I treasure that stability. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.

Celebrating this pivotal moment in the house their loss provided feels surreal.

Opening the top drawer of the bathroom counter, I pluck out my lipstick, snapping it open to swipe a fresh layer across my lips. I’m tousling my hair, running my fingers through the waved strands as Lucas steps in. I turn to face him as he places a large hand on my hip.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just freshening up.”

“Are you sure?”

I sigh. “It’s times like these when I can’t help but think about my parents. I’m so happy, really, I am… But I wish they were here to share my happiness. I wish they could have met you.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. How can I make you feel better?” he asks, pulling me in closer.

I pause, contemplating momentarily. “I can think of something,” I reply, a hint of mischief in my tone.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” he asks, pressing his index finger underneath my chin to tip my head up.

“We have guests downstairs…” I say softly.

“They won’t even notice we’re gone.” He pulls up his trouser legs before dropping to his knees before me. A surge of excitement and heat courses through my body, pooling at my center. Lucas delicately presses the fingertips of both hands to my ankles, the touch sending shivers up my spine as he slowly trails along my calf, gathering the silk of my dress. His palms flatten against the backs of my thighs, drawing me closer to him as he continues to push the material of my dress toward my hips.

I part my legs slightly to grant him better access, my heart thundering. He grunts his approval when he sees the wet fabric of my thong before spreading me wider. He hooks his thumb underneath the lace, pushing the flimsy fabric aside and exposing me.

“Fuck, April,” he breathes, running his fingers through my arousal, collecting my wetness. “Look at you.”

Leaning in, he swipes his tongue along me in a single, firm stroke. I arch my back. “Luc.”

His gaze shifts from my core, rising to meet mine. “What do you need?”

A desperate whimper escapes me.

“Have I rendered you speechless?”

Meeting his hungry look, I straighten my posture and say, “I need more, Luc.”

That’s all it takes before his restraint snaps and he turns feral. He dips his head, gripping my thighs possessively as he indulges. His tongue flicks across my clit before he releases my thigh to circle my entrance with his fingers. He slides two thick digits knuckle-deep, eliciting a heady moan from me. Curling his fingers in a beckoning gesture, he expertly rubs the precise spot I crave, over and over, as I mewl above him.

He increases his pace, and his mouth latches onto my clit, sucking as he continues to stroke me. I rock my hips back and forth, riding his face. I throw one hand behind me, gripping the counter tightly to support myself; the other instinctively tangles in his hair. He inserts a third finger, stretching and filling me more, and I can’t hold off any longer. Throwing my head back, I squeeze my eyes closed, releasing a muffled cry of ecstasy as my release courses through me.

Groaning, Lucas slows his pace, softly moving his fingers inside me as I ride out the wave. Releasing me, we lock eyes, cheeks flushed, our chests rising up and falling with breathless pants.

Lucas delicately presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh before readjusting my soaked thong and smoothing my dress. I run my hands down the soft fabric, ensuring no creases.

“I love seeing you come undone for me, baby,” he says, rising to his full height.

A sudden knock on the door startles us.

“Luc? Mum sent me to check on you. Is everything okay? Have you seen April?”

Oh God. I recognize the gruff voice immediately—James.

Lucas and I exchange a glance, panic flickering in my widened eyes. He shrugs his shoulders, adjusting his jacket, and I mouth, “Shit.”

Swiping the back of his hand over his wet mouth to remove the glistening evidence of my orgasm, he turns toward the door.

“James? Is that you? Give me a second.”

Lucas shoots me a nod before he clears his throat and reaches for the knob, pulling the door open. James pauses in surprise, leaning one arm into the frame as he eyes me, standing sheepishly beside his brother. He’s wearing a band T-shirt under his distressed leather jacket; his sandy blond waves fall perfectly out of place, shorter on the sides and longer on top, giving him a rugged look. He’s donning his usual scuffed, black combat boots. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a black guitar pick, and brings it to his mouth to nibble on as he considers us with an arrogant, knowing smirk.

Was he always this handsome?

I cast my eyes downward, feeling sheepish under his scrutinizing gaze.

Where Lucas is soft and clean-shaven, James has sharp edges and prominent cheekbones, his jaw dusted with stubble and a dimple in his left cheek. Seeing the two of them standing side by side is striking. Lucas has an imposing presence, but James, just an inch shorter at six four, matches him in intensity.

Yes, Caroline birthed two monsters.

Her poor, poor vagina.

“You couldn’t wait until the party ended?” James asks, his tone dry.

“You couldn’t put on a suit?”

James blows out a breath. “Give me a break, Luc. I came straight from practice. This is what I’m comfortable in. We have that audition coming up and I lost track of time, so I came straight here. Suits are your thing, not mine.”

“Whatever, the Golden Child does what he wants. Always has.”

Lucas has always referred to James as the Golden Child, and I’ve never understood why. Despite their lack of closeness, they’ve managed to remain relatively amicable, given their differences.

I give him a small, awkward wave. “Hey, James.”

His brows crease slightly. “Hey, April.”

As if drawn to each other, our eyes lock. My breath catches as I take in the vibrant green. His eyes are captivating, almost unreal—flecks of gold encircle his pupils, making them even more mesmerizing.

There’s curiosity in his stare, a flicker of amusement too, and just the barest hint of a smile. The air between us crackles, and my pulse quickens.

There’s no denying what just happened between Lucas and me—no pretending we’re innocent. The realization makes my cheeks burn hotter with the shame of being caught by my fiancé’s younger brother.

After a beat, James awkwardly looks away, his eyes skimming everything but me.

What was that?

Removing the pick from his mouth, he simply says, “Your mascara’s smudged,” before stepping away from the door-frame, turning, and disappearing down the hallway. His words hang in the air, and my mouth pops open, mortified, as I swivel to face the mirror. I do, in fact, look like a panda. I begin swiping madly underneath my eyes, desperate to fix the smudged mascara before rejoining the party.

“Don’t worry, he’s just being a dick,” Lucas says, stepping closer. He places a hand on my shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of my head before turning toward the door. His phone pings, and he pulls it from his back pocket, typing furiously as he walks down the hall.

I wait a few minutes to allow the flush of my face to settle before rejoining the party.

“All right, good job, lads,” Oliver calls, clapping me on the shoulder. I give him a brief nod, slipping the strap of my bass over my head and settling it back into its case. The latches click shut, and I straighten, turning to pack up the rest of my gear.

During the week and on most weekends, I work as a construction laborer. Most of my time is spent digging, preparing worksites, mixing concrete and assisting other trades. But my side hustle, and my main focus, is playing bass in a band, Atlas Veil, with my best mates. We mainly play progressive rock, but sometimes we throw in a classic rock or punk cover when we gig at local venues. While I also play the electric guitar, the bass is where my heart really lies.

We’ve just wrapped up another long day of rehearsal at Tom’s house and I’m exhausted. Oliver, Tom, Will, and I have been grinding nonstop for months—working twice as hard ever since we found out that our favorite band, Bound to Oblivion, one of the biggest names in rock, is holding auditions for an opening act on their European tour. The second we caught wind of it, we were all in—no hesitation.

This is the chance of a lifetime—playing for fans who love progressive rock and sharing the stage with our heroes. It’s our shot at recognition. We’ve paid our dues with pub gigs, weddings, and festivals; now we’re ready for the next step. We want to be signed by a major label, perform in stadiums around the world, in front of tens of thousands of people. If we nail this audition, we could be on the fast track to the big time. We submitted the audition application two months ago, and as soon as we got the approval, we dove into work, putting in the hours, day in, day out.. . .