Page 133 of Morally Black Betrothal

A slow clap broke out on the other side of the group: Owen, drawing attention away with a knowing smirk.

“Sheisworth it,” he said. “Although it’s unfortunate that none of her family or friends could come to celebrate with her.”

I narrowed my eyes. I didn’tthinkhe planned to screw me over—he certainly wouldn’t risk embarrassing our father. But I’d been dodging him all month, unwilling to discuss the farm and the mortgage situation or even take meetings without others present. Mostly because I was continuing to extract Simone’s farm from the deal without my brother knowing.

This was his way of pressing me.

“Simone’s father has a lot on his plate managing the dairy,” I said. We’d actually prepared for this question at home.

“And my sister wasn’t able to come because she’s looking for work right now,” Simone completed. “Before I met Brendan, I didn’t have much of a social life because of my jobs. So, it’s just me here today.”

“Pity,” said Owen through bared teeth.

“At least one of my children finally has the balls to get married,” Dad remarked like he was observing the goddamn weather, not lecturing his children. “You only have a legacy to secure. Instead, Owen’s flailing around with real estate and my other son is giving away his fortune every weekend in Vegas.”

With every word, Owen and Ronan both seemed to shrink another inch. Dad might have been weak, but his ability to cut his children down to size hadn’t suffered at all.

“What about me, Daddy?” Shea piped up. “I finished school. That’s got to count for something, huh?”

A few other onlookers were starting to gather around us now, as eager as ever for another round of the Black family drama.

“Oh, right,” Dad said, a little louder now. “An Ivy League education only to tell me…what was it you want to do, sweetheart? That’s right, she wants to be a fuckin’ disc jockey!”

Shea couldn’t quite meet his eye as the rest of the crowd joined in with my father’s cruel laughter. “It’s a music socialmedia platform,” she mumbled. “TikTok shouldn’t be the only one doing it.”

I felt bad for my sister. The rest of us had been done with school for at least a decade—I was almost two out. As the youngest, Shea was only just emerging from her cocoon of boarding schools and college. She hadn’t enjoyed our father’s habit of baiting and switching for years—not on a regular basis—and even then, she was the baby of the family, the princess. The brat.

But the looks on my brothers’ faces told me they were thinking the same thing: welcome back, kid. Taking Dad’s shit was just part of being a Black.

“Brendan’s the only one getting it done.” My father’s hand landed on my shoulder, heavy despite his frailty. “I’m proud of you, son.”

A collective sigh traveled through our audience.

The words were so simple. They sounded so natural. And while no one else outside this small circle would notice the way it turned every one of his children into stone, I knew my siblings were just as affected by the mild praise as I was.

I shouldn’t have cared so much. Not about such a meager carrot from a man who had enjoyed pitting us against each other since we were kids.

I’d made millions for this family. Billions. Sacrificed my life, my dreams, any childish ideas of independence. I shouldn’t have been clamoring for my daddy’s approval like a child.

And yet, I couldn’t deny that some small part of me glowed under the praise.

Pathetic.

“So, what made you want to marry my son, twinkie?” Dad wondered loudly. “How did he charm you into such a whirlwind romance?”

“You mean, other than with his net worth?” Ronan muttered just loud enough to be heard.

“Don’t,” I ordered as Simone stiffened beside me.

Dad’s question sounded like an invitation for a sweet story, but I recognized it as the trap it was. He was opening up Simone to more ridicule that she didn’t deserve.

“It’s okay, Brendan,” she said with a pat to my chest. “Actually, it was with his sweet disposition.”

She might as well have suggested I had blue hair and a part-time job on Sesame Street. Every mouth in our audience fell open with disbelief. Liza and Liam looked like they’d been hit in the head.

“Brendan? Sweet?” Owen didn’t even bother to mask his snort.

“As a Sour Patch Kid,” Shea chimed in.