Page 127 of Morally Black Betrothal
My brother walked past me, not waiting for an invitation, to grab some of the appetizers Rosie had finished preparing. “Just wanted to visit my brother and his lovely fiancée. Is that so bad?”
“Not at all,” I lied. Suspicion washed over me like milk gone bad.
“It smells amazing in here.” He moved to where Rosie was pulling something out of an oven. “What’s that, Rosita?”
“It’s Rosie,” I snapped. “And you’ve met her too many times to count.”
“Sure, yeah. What’s for dinner?” He seemed to consider whether or not to steal a bite of the dish but decided not to. At least he was smart enough not to burn himself.
“It’s Beef Wellington,” Simone piped up from where she still sat on the counter with me standing between her legs. Christ, I didn’t want to move. “Brendan’s favorite.”
Owen turned, a snide smile spreading across his face. “Isn’t that sweet? The little wife is learning your favorite things.”
Simone shrank. I wanted to punch him in the face even more than usual. I settled for moving my hands to her thighs and holding her close.
“Rosie made it,” Simone said, a bit more quietly now. “She was just showing me how.”
“And Simone was baking bread. For her business.” I looked down. “Right, baby?”
Her gaze looked a little more hopeful when it met mine. “That’s right. Ruth arranged for a delivery service to come tomorrow to pick it up.”
“Sounds great. Save some for us, though, will you?”
“Mr. Black—I mean, Brendan—” said Rosie. “Would you and Simone like to eat in the kitchen or in the dining room?”
“It’s ‘Brendan’ now?” Owen asked. “Getting familiar with the staff, are we?”
“Shut it,” I snarled. Then, to my thankfully unflappable chef: “Kitchen’s fine, Rosie. Thank you.”
“And make sure you set a plate for me,” Owen added. “I wouldn’t miss ‘Brendan’s favorite’ for the world.”
We waited, somewhat awkwardly, for Rosie to set the table and lay out the dinner. Simone slid off the counter to change, but when she returned, she kept glancing at me like she was expecting me to touch her or put on the show we’d mutually agreed to in front of my family. When I didn’t, she eventually gave up and went to help Rosie set the table.
I wanted to touch her, but there was no need. Beyond my own, anyway. And I was done being that selfish. For now, anyway.
“There you have it.” Rosie put the Beef Wellington on the table alongside a salad, a bowl of buttery mashed potatoes, and a bottle of wine.
“Can’t you join us?” Simone gestured to the fourth place she’d set out.
Owen snorted, then made a big show of flipping out his napkin.
“You’re a love,” Rosie told her. “No, I’ll go home to my family now. But I’ll take some at lunch tomorrow if there’s any left. Good night.”
Simone rose to give Rosie a hug, surprising me, and, by the looks of it, my brother. Then Rosie was gone, leaving the three of us plus one empty seat, all watching each other like owls.
Dinner. With my brother.
When was the last time we’d done that, 2005?
“Look at us. All together. Pals,” Owen said.
Owen went for the wine and filled his glass to the brim. Simone and I watched as he piled two large slices of Wellington onto his plate with equal gusto.
“Can I serve you?” I held out a hand for Simone’s plate.
With a curious glance at Owen, she nodded and handed it to me.
“So, I was thinking I could help you guys out,” my brother said through a mouth full of potatoes.
