And for the first time in years, that felt like enough.
Even if he’d forget it by morning.
Even if I wouldn’t.
Chapter 2
Brittany
I still remember the day I got the call.
It was a warm Thursday afternoon, and I was sprawled across my bed, flipping through a copy of the very magazine that would later feature me—though I didn’t know it at the time. The sunlight poured through my window, golden and soft, but I felt like I was stuck in a shadow. My phone buzzed beside me. I almost didn’t answer. I wasn’t expecting anything good.
But when I did, everything shifted.
“Hi, is this Brittany?”
My voice caught in my throat. “Yes?”
“This is Alana from Modern Muse. We saw your portfolio through Mr. Jackson’s agency and we’d love to feature you in our next issue. Are you available for a shoot this weekend?”
I froze. Then sat up. My heartbeat tripled.
“Yes. Yes, I—I’m available.”
“We’ll send you the details. Congratulations, Brittany. You’ve got the look.”
When I hung up, I just stared at my phone. I didn’t even scream, not at first. I just let the weight of it sink in. This was it. My dream. My shot.
But dreams in this house were complicated.
“I got booked,” I told Dad that night at dinner. “It’s for Modern Muse.”
He didn’t even look up from his plate. “Modeling? Still?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
He finally glanced up. His expression was unreadable. “It’s not a real career, Brittany. You should focus on something serious.”
Mom let out a sigh. “She just wants attention. Always has. When are you going to take your future seriously?”
I stared at them, the food in front of me suddenly turning to ash.
Jasper cleared his throat. “It’s Modern Muse, Dad. That’s a big deal.”
Dad gave him a look. “It’s not architecture or law.”
“No,” Jasper said calmly, “it’s Brittany finally getting recognized for something she’s worked at. Maybe you should support her.”
I looked at my brother then, and I could’ve cried. He was the only one who ever saw me. Really saw me.
The day of the shoot, Jasper drove me out to the location—a sleek, renovated loft downtown with huge windows and whitewashed brick walls. My nerves were a mess, my fingers shaking, but Jasper just turned down the music and glanced at me.
“You good?”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
He laughed. “You won’t. You’re going to kill it. I saw the concept—they want soft edge. You’ve got that in your sleep.”
