Page 101 of Morally Black Betrothal
“Definitely not. I can barely boil water.” His voice was practically monotone, but the tips of his ears turned pink. “I had some changes made over the last few weeks.”
“‘Some changes?’”
He shrugged. “It needed some expansion.”
“Something like that should take months, not days.”
Another shrug. “It’s nothing.”
There was that word again.
Brendan’s eyes met mine, and he sighed. “I know you didn’t want to give up your job. Or your position at the hospital. I didn’t want you to have to give up your passion, too.”
I honestly didn’t know what to say.
“Ruth will help you hire an assistant who can pick up whatever you make and deliver your orders wherever they need to go,” he continued. “Manage your pop-up. Whatever you need.But I think it’s the baking part that’s really important to you, yes?”
I swept my fingers over the cool marble counters, blinking away the tears that threatened.
“Shit. Are you—angel, what did I do? You don’t need to use it if you don’t want, really. I have a cook. It’s nothing.”
Again, that stupid word.
“It’s not—oh, Brendan, it’s notnothing.” I cleared my throat and forced myself to face him and smile through the pending waterworks. “This is unbelievably thoughtful. I—thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” That bashful half-smile made another appearance. He was pleased, but it made him feel uncertain.
I liked him all the more for it.
“That won’t get in the way of the other things you’ll need from me?” I wondered as I explored the huge space. It had literally everything I needed and more. An industrial mixer. Huge vats for rising dough. An entire cabinet of bannetons.
He’d already cancelled half my life because it conflicted with his. Who was to say he wouldn’t do it again?
“I can’t make commitments and leave people hanging,” I told him. “I know it’s just some bread. A few hundred dollars at stake, not millions or billions. But it matters to me.”
Something like regret flickered through Brendan’s dark eyes. “I know it does. And I shouldn’t have…I thought about it today, and I understand why these things are important. Our work—what we do—it’s what makes us who we are. I don’t want to take that from you, Simone. Especially when you’re doing so much to help me protect what’s mine.”
And what is that?I wanted to ask. What, exactly, defined him the way my passion for baking defined me? It wasn’t taking care of birds in his spare time. Or drinking in a lounge while his father was in the hospital.
He spent his days at the top of that big, scary building, managing an empire on behalf of his father and the rest of his big, scary family. And yet, other than the driving obligation that had him asking me to pretend to be his betrothed, I still couldn’t see exactly how that made Brendan Black, this increasingly complicated man, who he was.
I wondered if he even knew himself.
Unable to stop myself, I quickly crossed the room and wrapped my arms around his big shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said. Then again, more quietly: “Thank you.”
He stiffened, then sank into my touch, slipping his hands around my waist, then up my back to hold me close.
We stood there, rocking slightly in each other’s arms. His breath warmed the skin behind my ear where my hair was pulled back, and I could hear the solid thump of his heartbeat where my other ear rested on his broad chest.
For the first time since entering this odd agreement, something felt indelibly right. The bakery, the bird sanctuary…all of it seemed like it had been leading to this moment.
And yet, I didn’t want to think about why I felt this way in this man’s arms. The very place I shouldn’t get too comfortable.
Brendan seemed to have the same feeling because he gently unwound my arms from around his neck and stepped away. I barely silenced the mewl of disappointment in the back of my throat.
More, my body seemed to cry.Come back.
