Page 24 of Morally Black Betrothal
Was it fucked up that for a split second, I actually considered sitting at this bar for the rest of my life, ready to chase away any man who got the wrong idea about this angel?
Probably, since it only took me another half-second to realize I was no different than them. Just one drink in, looking for another, getting ready to propose…well,somethingthat definitely qualified the “wrong idea.” Simone was wary of them, and now she looked wary of me. I couldn’t fault her that. And I didn’t like it either.
What was the matter with me? I didn’t care what others thought of me. Certainly not this girl, a nobody, right?
Right?
“Just as well. I don’t really drink much anyway,” I said to my whiskey. “Today is an…exception. Given the circumstances with my dad.”
The second the lie came out of my mouth, I knew I did care. At least a little.
At the mention of my father, she softened visibly. “How is your father?”
“Still asleep, apparently.” I gave her a wry smile. “Might be what’s best for him, given what’s waiting for him in that room.”
“Your family.” She started wiping down glasses from a sanitizer and putting them away. “Is that who they were?”
I nodded.
I waited for her to tell me she knew how I felt, just like anyone else might in a half-hearted attempt at empathy or some bullshit. Explain away my troubles. Feed me some line about how everything would be okay, that my old man would wake up, and our family would be just like it was before.
But she didn’t. Simone was patient. Used to waiting for people to sort things out on their own, I guessed. At ease with the silence while they did.
For the first time, I was the one who couldn’t take the silence. “I’m Brendan,” I said suddenly. I stuck out my hand across the bar.
Simone examined it for a moment, then took it. Her palm was warm against mine, her grip firm but gentle despite the heat of thatsomethingagain, sizzling between us.
“I know. You introduced yourself at the hospital. Just before the, um, others arrived.”
“My brothers. Animals, all of them.”
Simone took back her hand. I gripped my glass to stop myself from grabbing it back.
“We can’t control our siblings’ behavior,” she replied as she went back to drying glasses. “I’ve tried with my sister. It’s impossible.”
Again with the sister, the one with debt. Someone particularly difficult in her life. I filed that bit of knowledge away.
“Everyone knows who you are.” She changed the subject naturally, like she was used to doing that with other people. Misdirection to avoid something she didn’t want to discuss.
I decided to let her. “Everyone, huh? Including you?” I should have anticipated that she might have seen me in theHeraldor whatever garbage tabloid had me on its cover that week.
“Not really, but the nurses were making a big deal about what a celebrity your father is. I didn’t know he had such a big family.”
Relief. That’s what was flooding my chest.
But why?
“He’d hate being called a celebrity,” I told her.
“That’s kind of funny. Most people want to be famous.”
“Dad’s a…paradox. He thinks most celebrities aren’t famous for having actual talent. Ergo, that kind of fame is beneath him even though he’d expect you to know who he is regardless.”
“What about entertainers?” Simone enumerated examples with clean, unpainted fingers. “Actors? Musicians? Artists?”
“‘Shallow, meaningless, bullshit’,” I listed right back. I could just hear him giving this diatribe. “His words, not mine. Dad’s not exactly a devotee of the arts. He thinks they’re all talentless hacks obsessed with their reflections, even though he’ll still pay them to model his clothes on the red carpet and candy up his arm at events. He even married one just for that.”
“He’s a designer?”
