Page 130 of Morally Black Betrothal
My brother blinked for a few long seconds, then nodded with another smile. “Sure, sure. I’ll stay out of your way, and you stay out of mine. Are we clear?”
His eyes met mine, and all traces of joking vanished.
I knew what he meant.
The mortgages.
The Ventnor development.
Simone’s family farm.
“We can talk about this tomorrow,” I said through gritted teeth.
He bared his own teeth like a wolf. “Oh, we definitely will, brother. You can count on it.”
30
A LITTLE HEALTHY COMPETITION
Brendan
The whole goddamn world had been invited to my engagement party.
I’d expected our extended family to be there. The board of directors, of course, including the Savage family, and some other key stakeholders. A fair number of Dad’s old guard from the neighborhood. But I didn’t think he’d invite every person of note in greater New England, every hand he’d ever shaken.
I should have known, of course. Blackguard Holding was the only thing that truly meant anything to my old man. Nearly two months had passed since his procedure, but he still hadn’t gone back to the office (though in some ways, he may as well have, considering how many calls I was fielding from him per day). This party was a way for him to announce to the world that if he wasn’t back, he was close.
I knew the truth, though. I still remembered how he’d looked the first time I saw him lying unconscious in the hospital, weak and frail, a complete contrast to the man who’d done nothing but instill fear in me and my siblings our entire lives. Now theoxygen tank was gone, but the cane was needed. At home, he still stumbled every so often, wheezed when he walked too fast, and grimaced each time he had to get out of a chair.
I found myself wondering what Simone would do if she were at the house with him instead of the hospital. She was literally trained to help people like this be at ease with their weaknesses.
What would she do for someone like my dad?
Not that I was going to ask her. The fucker didn’t deserve it.
After the dinner with Owen, we’d both, by unspoken decree, taken a break from the charade, spending our days separately and pointedlynotgoing out in public or really anywhere explicit displays of affection would be required. I went to the office to put out fires and try to prove to the board that my position should be made permanent upon my father’s supposed (yetstillunannounced) retirement. Simone spent her time either baking or learning all the crap Ruth insisted she needed to know to socialize with my family and the rest of our peers.
We’d have dinner together, chat a little, and retire to our bedrooms, where she probably read a book or something equally innocent while I went upstairs and furiously jerked off so I wouldn’t tear down her door like a sex-crazed Viking.
I was up to three times per icy shower just to get some sleep.
So, sure. Things were calmer. But definitely not easier.
I only came close to kissing her one more time, when she sent Rosie home so she could make me a French omelet with her family’s goat cheese, served with some of her fresh bread and butter. It was probably the best fucking thing I’d ever eaten. I took the rest with me for lunch the next day, and the taste made me lose focus in the middle of a meeting where I was too busy imagining her smile when I was supposed to be listening to the newest numbers coming out of our tech division.
Otherwise, there were no more kisses. No more hugs. No more touches.
I was a model of self-control.
And it was fucking torture.
“Are you okay?” Simone asked as we approached the portico entrance to the house, where an event planner was checking people off a list as they filed inside.
It was ridiculous. My fake engagement had turned into an event that essentially required ticketed entry. A month ago, I’d have thought nothing of it, but lately, I was seeing the grandeur of my life through a different lens. It was Simone’s conscience I now heard when I arrived home to my far-too-spacious apartment or walked up the steps of a house bigger than a monarch’s castle.
What was it all for?
And couldn’t it be used for something more?
