Page 165 of Morally Black Betrothal
It wasn’t exactly a request, but at least he was communicating. And wehadjust “talked” in a completely different way, according to him.
So, I nodded and enjoyed a brand-new smile. It was quiet. Barely evident but for a shadow of that left dimple nearly masked by his stubble.
But I saw it for what it was: bliss.
“Brendan?” I asked just after his eyelids had fluttered shut.
“Mmph. Yeah?”
I toyed with an edge of the comforter, but when I pulled it up to cover my breasts, he pushed it back down despite the fact that his eyes were still shut.
“No covering up with me. Not anymore. Now, I’m about to catch up on the sleep I didn’t get last night, so whatever it is needs to be solvable in the next two minutes.”
I searched myself for the words I couldn’t quite figure out. Was it silly that I’d hoped he would look at me and just see the uncertainty I couldn’t quite name?
Know me, I wanted to tell him.Figure me out.Share yourself with me so I can know you.
Love me like I’m starting to love you.
Instead, I blurted out the only thing that ran through my head: “I’d like you to meet my father.”
His eyes opened. “Really?”
I shrugged. Asking for the answers to questions I couldn’t quite articulate wasn’t going to work. But coming home with me might accomplish more.
He studied me for a moment, as if looking for flaws in the request. “Yeah, okay. I could do that. Tomorrow?”
Well, that was unexpected. “Don’t you have meetings or something?” In the month I’d been staying here, I had never seen Brendan take a full day off except for the day he took me shopping.
He lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes again. “Fuck ’em. I’d rather spend the day with you.”
I gawked. Who was this man and what had he done with The Black Prince?
Then something else occurred. “Um, how should I refer to you? As my…friend? Boyfriend? Partner?” I hadn’t even told my father the news. He barely read the papers, and honestly, I’d been hoping to avoid lying to him until this whole thing was over.
Except now, would it end?
“Fiancé,” Brendan answered before he gave a great yawn. “That’s still what you are to everyone but me.”
38
DANDELION FARM
Brendan
I’d been to Vermont plenty of times. Learned to ski near the Canadian border, gone to business retreats in the Green Mountains, even passed through Woodstock, Simone’s hometown, a time or two without a thought for the people who lived there. Bought a business or two in Burlington.
But as I drove the Range Rover down the winding main street of the tiny colonial town, I felt like I was seeing the place anew.
I still didn’t understand why I’d agreed to do this.
I’d walked into my apartment yesterday morning after the meeting with Huntington with a heavy heart, knowing that despite retrieving Simone’s niece, I was going to have to tell her that the trade would cost her family everything else. And then I’d taken one look at Simone and the truth had hit me in the face like a knockout punch:
I loved her.
Not in the immature way of a teenage boy or with the fleeting infatuation that typically matched an acquaintance of just a few weeks.
I loved this woman with every cell of energy, every drop of madness, every obsessive instinct I’d ever had.
