Page 2 of Dearest Beast
He raised a single brow at her silence. “You appear surprised. Not the reply you were expecting?”
No, I’m surprised you knew my name, as your late wife referred to me as “that one who minds Isabelle,” despite being introduced dozens of times.The retort sat on the tip of her tongue.
Not that he’d understand. Nor would he comprehend how, after Isabelle grew into an adult, Rebecca transformed into her, if not friend, companion, or perhaps confidante, not minder, despite their differences in upbringing and stations in life.
“No,” she said instead, rubbing her arms again. “I’m surprised you didn’t require smelling salts because I didn’t swoon at your mere presence.”
The man had the nerve to appear confused. “People have done that?” he asked. “God willing they weren’t injured.” His tone was almost thoughtful.
“It was a figure of speech,” she told him. Though likely he knew the same. Unless, again, he was truly foolish.
To be fair, most people, especially those of his ilk, were. Or if they weren’t originally, their brain had atrophied enough that the result was the same.
“Ah,” he said with a quick nod. “You were merely suggesting that people have reactions to my person that are overly favorable in your opinion, then?” he asked, his tone almost curious now.
Rebecca squinted up at him, attempting to glean more information from his blandly handsome face.
“Yes,” she returned, pressing her lips together.
“Right.” Another nod. “And is your objection to the substance oftheir opinions or to the form?” A gleam of cunning shimmered in his light brown eyes. Rebecca’s stomach dropped.
Apparently, he was not quite so dim. Nor was he above toying with her, despite their clear differences in status.
Momzer.
Blasted momzer who thought he was so superior. Who everyone treated as superior due to a few bits of luck at birth and nothing more.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t.
Especially not on that night of all nights.
“Both,” she snapped, unable to control herself.
“Even if there are a great deal more of them than you?” He had the nerve to ask in that same, now suddenly quite obnoxious, almost certainly mocking calm tone. His lip twitched. Probably because he believed he’d won.
Like always.
Rebecca glared at him.
“Only because they’re fucking schmucks,” she grumbled before she could devise a more perspicacious phrase.
“Such shocking language.” Berab had the nerve to chide, literally clucking his tongue as he sauntered deeper into the room. “Though not surprising given your background,” he added, his lips settling in a self-satisfied smirk.
If she were a lesser person, she’d have slapped him in the face. However, violence was for the feebleminded, and she was anything but—no. She was as good as him. Probably better, even if no one saw it.
Impotent frustration surged in Rebecca. She was a worthy opponent in every way. She glared at the man. He was going to acknowledge it, damn it. Somehow, someway. That night.
“I’m surprised you can define either. Or that you’re able to speakat all, given how much shit you must have swallowed kissing the ton’s tuchases,” she countered, with a smirk of her own at the wide-eyed expression the vulgarity elicited. Good. She knew all the words and had no problem using each well.
Drawing closer, as she’d not be cowed, she raised her chin. “As for mybackground, not so long ago, the community valued scholarship and learning, instead of venerating luck with capital and calling it intelligence, or worse, being guided by the gentiles’ current definition of virtuousness. If those were still the standards, I doubt you’d have been the one to come out on top.”
Berab had the nerve to roll his regrettably fine, light brown eyes at her. “But we live in the now, and I’ll take my chances with what and who I am.”
Oy, the arrogance. How could anyone in their community stand to be in a room with him? Money and prominence must truly be aphrodisiacs for the unenlightened. Luckily, they had the opposite effect on her. Especially in this particular package.
“Lamentable as what you are is not enough for Isabelle,” she jabbed in return. “It must really scald your innards that your own business partner was won by one of us.” She smiled, thinking what this man must think of the now future groom. An orphaned synagogue custodian with not a halfpenny to his name. Like her, an Ashkenazi—the Jews who the gentiles considered inferior to their Sephardi counterparts—something most Sephardis, themselves believed. Something Berab certainly believed.
