Page 104 of Morally Black Betrothal
Rosie beamed. “Let me know if you want anything else, love.”
“Might we discuss your schedule, Ms. Bishop?” Ruth swiped to a different, much less colorful calendar that was apparently for me. “I’m sorry to say, we couldn’t get Kate to reschedule for today. But you do have some events coming up, so it’s essential we get you outfitted properly. Not that your clothes aren’t perfectly lovely, of course.”
“Did Brendan tell you to say that?” I had to ask.
She offered a rueful smile. “Ms. Bishop, please allow me to apologize for my comments at your apartment. I never meant any offense.”
“It’s fine,” I said honestly. “I know you were just trying to help.”
She pursed her lips as if considering something. “I’m from Revere, you know. Have never been too good for jeans and a T-shirt. It’s only that for Blackguard events?—”
“I have to look like I’m worthy of marrying into the fashion houses they partially own,” I completed for her. “I get it. But thank you for saying that anyway.”
Ruth looked visibly relieved. “You know, I think you might be quite good for him. But don’t you tell him I said so.”
“I might, though,” Rosie called from the sink, causing Ruth to roll her eyes again.
I couldn’t help but smile. By becoming Brendan’s fake fiancée, I’d accidentally inherited two surrogate aunties. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
I sipped my coffee as Ruth went through the services she had scheduled for me over the next few days. In additional to the stylist and the bevy of staff she commanded, I’d also start meeting daily with a personal trainer of my own, as well as the lawyers Brendan had recommended and a financial manager he was apparently insisting on. In my downtime, I needed to memorize a dossier of Brendan’s family history so that I would be prepared for the upcoming family dinner.
In the meantime, I apparently needed a complete transformation—and as soon as possible. Ruth had arranged for a full day at a Korean spa where I’d be scrubbed, buffed, massaged, and waxed within an inch of my life. That would apparently prep me adequately for hair, makeup, nails under the purview of the stylist. Additional consults had been scheduled with cosmetic dermatologists and dentists. After that, there were several more days set aside for clothes fittings.
“Dermatologist? Dentist?” Maybe I should skip the coffee.
Ruth pointed absently at her mouth. “Whitening or maybe veneers. Although your teeth are quite nice. The dermatologist would be for Botox or fillers, most likely. Given our time constraints, I doubt you have time for anything more invasive. No recovery time, you see.”
I paused mid-bite of my pancake. “Brendan thinks I need Botox?”
Ruth looked up from the iPad. “Have I muddled things again? Mr. Black just told me to do what’s needed to make you feel your best.”
I had no clue what to make of that. Last night, I could have sworn Brendan liked me and the way I looked—it was why he had asked me to do this, right? Now, I was back to feeling like I wasn’t enough. Quite the opposite.
I set my fork down on the plate. “Is he planning to count my calories for me too? Put me on an extreme diet or get me on Ozempic? How many pounds should I lose? Twenty? Forty?”
“Oh, Lord, Ruthie, tell me he didn’t,” Rosie called from where she was busy wrapping up the breakfast goods. “She’s already a twig of a girl. What, does he want her to look like she’s at death’s door?”
With a glare at Rosie, Ruth put her iPad down and set her hand atop mine. “Ms. Bishop. Simone. May I call you Simone?”
I sighed, and when she moved her hand back to her lap, I nodded.
“Mr. Black hired me a long time ago for two reasons: to manage his life and tell him the truth. I’ve been with him nearly twenty years, since he first started working for his father.”
Twentyyears? That was a long time to work for anyone.
“That said, it occurs to me that I may take for granted that you know certain things when you don’t. Every service I’ve arranged is available to you, but only because they are the same services many women in Mr. Black’s social circle engage in. I know this because I have arranged them many times.”
Shame heated my cheeks. “I—oh.”
Who, exactly, were these women Ruth arranged these things for? Brendan had a sister, of course. And a stepmother. His mother had been around at some point, I assumed. But maybeRuth did this for the women he was interested in. Maybe Brendan really did expect me to look and act in a manner that would require all of this cosmetic costumery, like I was little more than a doll being painted at a factory…
“That said, please listen carefully.” Ruth’s calm, direct voice pulled me from my spiral. She cocked her head to one side, looking a bit like a hen might when examining her brood. “Mr. Black has said only one thing about you, and it is this: he likes you exactly the way you are.”
The words sucked the breath out of me. Exactly as I was?
“Are we clear?”
“I—yes,” I mumbled. “Yes, we are.”
