Chapter Ten #2
His friend stared at him for a long moment, then rose, and before Roger could object, bent down and grabbed him in a fierce embrace. “Mazel tov,” the man said, his voice a touch thick. “May you be granted many years of happiness.”
“Thank you,” Roger said, choking a touch as the overenthusiastic man’s elbow was digging into his neck. “I’ll be a lot happier once she agrees—we must meet first. I need to breathe in order to live long enough to make the meeting, however.”
“That would be preferrable,” Sol said, releasing him and retaking his seat. “I shall be pleased to attend your wedding. I’m invited, am I not?”
“You are, and it’s expected to occur just before Purim,” Roger affirmed.
“That’s soon,” Sol remarked.
“I know. It’s early this year. But I don’t want to wait until Lag BaOmer. We won’t announce until after Miss Adler returns home, so there’s no… confusion,” he explained to his friend’s odd expression. “However, those details are unimportant and not what you came to discuss.”
“Right,” his friend said, clearing his throat. “I haven’t seen you for over a week.” He made a face, which could be best described as a pout.
Roger rolled his eyes, sighing. “My agreement with Teres required me to decline all social invitations until the betrothal is formalized,” he admitted to his friend.
Sol gave a low whistle. “You must really want this marriage,” he teased. “I don’t see you bowing to someone like him.”
“He’s a Commission member and a community elder,” Roger told him, though his lip twitched.
“Who you find less qualified than yourself,” Sol reminded him, not inaccurately.
“Touché,” Roger admitted.
Sol’s smile widened into a grin. “Though, I’d remind you that our king would lick the boots of the American president before the ton would extend to me the invitations you receive,” his friend joked, settling back in his chair.
“I’d hoped to perhaps see you at minyan,” Sol nagged. “Your children did not mind it.”
At that Roger raised a brow.
“Much,” his friend conceded. “Perhaps with you, there’d be no exploded houses.”
Roger felt an odd twinge of guilt. While he’d attended daily prayers as a boy—a gift, his father had once explained, as their ancestors had been denied the ability to gather and properly adhere to the commandment lest they be killed—over the years, given his social calendar and demands, he’d attended less frequently.
No, not daily, but on holidays and Saturday mornings. Well, most Saturday mornings.
“I’ll consider it,” Roger told his now-far-too-excited friend, but raising a finger. “Though I’ve been quite busy making sure Miss Adler is tended to and that her home is properly rebuilt, tasks that require quite a lot of attention and care.”
“That’s excellent,” Sol said. “Isabelle and my wife have been concerned about Miss Adler and shall be quite pleased that you’re prioritizing her needs.”
Both Isabelle and Hannah? That was difficult to picture.
Not that the man’s wife wasn’t perfectly lovely—oh, why was he lying in his own head?
The man’s wife was a not-so-former criminal who was not known for her prettier feelings.
And she was not a person who truly seemed to have friends.
Family whom she’d kill for, yes, and associates who were expendable, certainly, but something as frivolous as “friends,” certainly not.
A bit like him, though with less flair. And he’d not kill, merely neutralize socially. Additionally, he had Sol, so unlike her, he was capable of making friends. He was just selective.
Very selective.
Besides, despite the woman’s defects, his friend believed himself madly in love, enough to give up a great deal of future earnings, and thus he understood to be careful when speaking of the same.
“Hannah would be if she weren’t… so queasy,” the man said, shaking his head a touch. “I’m honestly not even sure she truly knows what’s happening around her, as it’s often hard to hear over—”
“What’s wrong with her?” Roger asked, frowning. The woman was not his favorite person, but if she needed a physician, he was already paying quite a bit to Maduro—what was a little more?
Sol opened his mouth, probably to make a marginally amusing joke, but gasped instead. “You really don’t know, do you?” His friend then smiled, though for the life of him, Roger could not understand what he was on about and did not have time for games.
“Does it seem like I know?” he asked, working to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
What was the matter with him? He used to be so patient.
So adroit. So clever. So reliable. This was why he needed to reclaim his life.
He was clearly going mad without the challenge of his usual, pleasing performances.
“She’s with child,” his friend said, regaining his attention. The younger man’s face broke into a large grin. “The baby should arrive before Rosh Hashanah.”
Roger did the maths in his head. That was certainly quick for a couple who’d been married less than eight weeks. Though not surprising, given how ridiculously infatuated the two were.
Sweet, in its own way.
Also prudent, considering Hannah Weiss was past thirty, closer to his age than Sol’s. More of an issue for women than men. He was a perfectly reasonable age for Leone Teres, as he’d been for Isabelle, no matter what people like Miss Adler suggested.
“Congratulations,” Roger said, standing up and reaching across the desk to shake Sol’s hand. “I’m truly happy for you.” And he was. The man would make an excellent father, incident with Fannie notwithstanding.
Sol’s grin became even wider and brighter, and in typical fashion, he reached out and pulled Roger into yet another full embrace.
With a sigh, Roger once again accepted the over-demonstrativeness, patting the man’s shoulder. After all, the warmth was charming in its own way. Not for everyone. Certainly not the circles in which he moved, but pleasant.
“You truly didn’t know?” Sol said after finally releasing Roger and retaking his seat.
The younger man clucked his tongue, as if the state of affairs was obvious.
Or perhaps it would have been if he’d been paying closer attention to his friend’s life instead of his own troubles. Guilt twisted in his gut.
Which was ridiculous. He’d done nothing wrong. He had been attending to important matters. Ones that benefited them both and were thus more valuable.
“My mother-in-law tended to Lucy rather voraciously during her time.” Roger cleared his throat. “I don’t remember my sister or sister-in-law being so ill that her head was in a…”
“Rebecca said that means the pregnancy is strong,” Sol explained, his voice exceedingly bright. It was going to be a long eight months. “I stopped in to see her and inquire if she could give some advice.”
“If you saw Miss Adler already, why are you asking me how she is?” Roger searched his mind for whatever the woman could’ve said to bring about this conversation.
Especially as, at least from his perspective, he and his staff had been quite accommodating.
“Please. Do you think she’s going to divulge anything personal to me?” Sol said with a sniff. “She’s someone people confide in, not the other way around.”
An interesting description. He’d never thought about that, but considering it now, he realized it was accurate.
Tenting his fingers, Roger pressed them to his chin, working to describe the occurrences in the house that confused even him. “My understanding is she’s obviously not happy about the situation but is resigned to it and most grateful for its temporary status.”
“How astounding,” his friend said, his grin softening the sarcasm.
“Thank you for that,” Roger said, though he couldn’t help but smile as well. “Isabelle and your wife should know that I’ve worked quite hard to both make her comfortable and repair what has been lost with alacrity. Which she should appreciate.”
“Does she?” his friend asked.
Did she? The woman was no longer quite as angry—and had been well enough to wander about at all hours baiting him into conversations that, while interesting, were unnecessary and bordered on inappropriate. But still, one could reasonably assume she was not uncomfortable.
“I have no idea,” Roger said.
“Don’t you speak with her?” his friend asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion.
“Oh, certainly.” He waved his hand, his cheeks growing hot from the memory of their last encounter, and what he’d been picturing while she spoke.
He crossed his legs, searching his mind for a way to describe the odd energy between them.
He had no use for her, and she had no use for him, other than the completion of his duties under Jewish law.
And while his initial dislike for her person had begun to dissipate in recent days, she was still… irritating.
Which would usually cause him to ignore a person as a waste of the precious little time he did have, but with her, it somehow made him desire the opposite.
She’d not repelled him but intrigued him.
And piqued a desire to debate he’d forgotten existed, as he’d spent so many years quelling and soothing.
Worse, with her, perversely, the same led to a desire for something else. Which was just… wrong. Absolutely wrong in every way possible.
He was going to marry Leone Teres. He would be faithful to her. As he’d been with Lucy. Because he could control himself.
How to explain that, especially to a young man who saw him as an erudite mentor, not a… fucking schmuck. Roger took another deep breath.
“We’re certainly not friends,” he explained.
“If not for this, we’d truly have no reason to be near each other.
And it is very clear that she finds me…” He bit his lip, searching for the correct description of the woman’s opinion of his person.
“Arrogant, shallow, prejudiced, and overly monied, I suppose.”
Sol’s lip twitched. He cleared his throat. “You’re an asset to the community.”
Roger burst out laughing. “Don’t attempt diplomacy,” he told the other man. “But I thank you for being kind enough not to outright agree.”