Page 26 of Morally Black Betrothal
“About five years.” She was back to polishing glasses. Always on the move. Clearly a good worker. “Since I moved to Boston.”
“Good money?”
Her mouth twisted in an adorably wry smile as she glanced around the bar. “I wouldn’t say that. That’s why I work here, topay the bills. I tried nannying for a while, but I prefer the hours at the bar.”
“Planning to be a doctor or something?”
Simone scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, gosh, no.”
“Why not?” It seemed like the obvious reason for all the time at the hospital.
“Honestly? I’m not interested in all that school. I didn’t even go to college.”
I was legitimately surprised. She seemed like the studious type—or at least like the teacher’s pet, the one who finished every assignment and did every bit of extra credit.
“Secondly, I don’t have that kind of money. And thirdly…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “No. Definitely no.”
Yeah, there was a story here.
“So, why spend so much time at the hospital?” Something wasn’t adding up, and for reasons I wasn’t ready to consider, I desperately wanted to know.
I wanted to know all the little mysteries about this woman.
She bit her lip, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to say it. But then our eyes met again, and the rest of the bar seemed to blur around us.
“My mom died there,” she said softly. “She had breast cancer, and at one point, we moved with her to the city so she could take part in a clinical trial at Mass Gen. It…failed.”
“That’s what you were talking about earlier.” She’d mentioned her mother died there, but this was on a different level.
Simone nodded. One glass was going to shine like a damn diamond. “So, I suppose—I don’t know, working there makes me feel like I can be closer to her, even when she isn’t around. She always said it’s our responsibility to give to people who need us. This is just my way of doing it, I guess.”
One of the missing pieces to the Simone Bishop puzzle clicked into place. I knew a little bit about losing a mother too, even if mine wasn’t technically dead. I bet this angel was just a kid, too.
“How old were you when she died?”
“Eight.”
I knew it.
Simone’s eyes glazed, but she didn’t cry. She was strong, this one. Used to her own tragedy. “After that, we went back to Vermont—that’s where I grew up.”
I already knew that, but I didn’t say. Given her thoughts on privacy, I doubted that she would appreciate my outright bribery of her coworkers.
“But when I moved to Boston, this was a way to be close to her again,” she finished. “Especially when I didn’t know anyone here.”
“What brought you back to Boston?” I found myself asking even though I was already making mental plans to have our family’s private investigator do a full workup on her.
For what, I didn’t know.
Yes, you do, you fuckin’ liar.
Simone’s bright face darkened with something that looked like bitterness, though the shadow was fleeting. “My twin sister. And my niece.”
Twin.Twin. It meant she probably wasn’t burdened with eldest child syndrome like I was, but I was still willing to wager she’d been born first.
My fingers drummed on the bar top, fighting the urge to reach across it for her hand. Maybe even tug her back around to hold her the same way she’d held me. Anything to erase the loneliness that had crept into those beautiful features.
In that moment, I would have traded every penny of my net worth just to see what joy looked like on Simone Bishop’s beautiful face.
