Page 149 of Morally Black Betrothal
Simone’s hand was wrapped firmly in mine when we returned to Boston two days after the engagement party. Had been all through the rest of the weekend in Newport. During the interminable lunches and dinners, while I endured unending ribbing from my siblings about our disappearance from the party, and even as my father continued to do his level best to goad all his children into fighting each other for forty-eight hours straight.
It made no difference to me. All I had to do was hold out my hand, and hers would find it, providing the grounding I might have been searching for most of my life. My family had yelled at me twice for making up the weakest excuses possible to be alone with my fake fiancée.
It was the first time a trip to Newport had ever felt like a real vacation. It was fucking fantastic.
I liked the way it felt, her small hand nestled in my palm. Delicate but strong, especially now that I was aware of exactly what she could do with it. Simone was a grabber, a fact that shouldn’t have surprised me after watching her shape bread dough. But the way her fingers yanked my hair when I was pushing her to her limits or the way she hung onto my shoulder for dear life when I had my face buried between her thighs…
Let’s just say my girl gave as good as she got.
And judging by the tired, yet satisfied expression she’d been wearing all weekend, I’d say she was getting it pretty good.
Even so, by the time we pulled to a stop in front of the Martin, I was ready to welcome her home all over again, beginning with the elevator, glass or not.
That is, until I saw Simone’s reflection arguing with my doorman, tears streaking black eye makeup down her cheeks.
No, not her reflection. Her twin.
“Oh my God, that’s my sister.”
“Jesus, Simone, watch out!” I shouted as she jumped out into traffic and rounded the car before I could help her. “Anthony, park the car and bring up our bags.”
My driver nodded in the rearview mirror before I exited to where Simone was trying to console her sister.
“There he is!” Selena shouted as I stepped onto the curb. “Yo, rich boy! Tell this asshole you know me.”
“Mr. Black, I’m so sorry,” Gordon, the morning doorman, called out. “I’m calling in a disturbance right now.”
“It’s not trespassing if she’s my sister. Or are you fucking blind?” Selena scowled at Gordon. “See, Itoldyou my twin lived here, you uptight twat.”
Without waiting for a response, she threw herself into Simone’s arms. Over her sister’s shoulder, Simone’s eyes widened with obvious surprise.
I, however, was more suspicious than surprised. If there was one thing being the son of Niall Black had taught me, it was how to smell a rat.
Selena Bishop stank like a nest of them.
“It’s fine, Gordon,” I told my doorman. “She can come in.”
Gordon looked doubtful but stepped aside to let us enter the building.
“It’s going to be okay.” Already Simone was comforting her sister, soothing her. It seemed to be second nature to this woman. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to you,” Selena said with a glance my way. “And you, too, I guess.”
“You must be Selena,” I replied. “I’m?—”
“I know who you are, Brendan Black. Nice of you to ask before you decided to marry my sister, by the way.”
I glanced between her and Simone, who shrugged.
“Right.” I swallowed back a scowl. As a CEO paying a woman to pretend to be his fiancée, I would have requested she escort her sister elsewhere out of a basic sense of professionalism. As a self-anointed boyfriend, however…my obligations were somewhat different.
Goddamn it.
My hand flexed.
For the first time in two days, Simone didn’t take it. She was too busy with Selena.
Fuck.
