She wasn’t wrong, and for a moment, he resented her for that. He wanted to maintain his beliefs that the wealthy held their positions by keeping others out, holding up impossible standards for others while allowing themselves the freedom to live however they wanted. Far easier to resent the people who kept him down than accept them as humans with faults and desires of their own.
Rose fisted her hands and kicked a stone, watched it ricochet off a wall and come to rest against an overflowing can of garbage.
“Utter shit, the lot of it.”
Ben chuckled. “You like that word, don’t you?”
“As I encounter more opportunities to use it, I do find I enjoy the word.” She gave him a half smile, the light from the setting sun catching her irises and turning the green to flame, dancing evergreens and golds framed by thick lashes. “Shit,” she said again with a full grin, the crude word on her full lips lifting a weight from his shoulders.
As they turned to walk towards Brooklyn, the setting sun casting impossibly long shadows in front of them, Ben realized that, against his better wisdom, he was beginning to like Rose Waverly very much.
Ben grabbed her hand, feeling lighter than he had in some time. “Come on, let’s get home.”
Chapter 12
Wigdidnotcomehome that night. Ben resented the little menace for keeping him awake, listening for the telltale scratch on the window that preceded his howling for entry. But it never came.
This was why Ben had not wanted to claim the creature as his own. Naming Wig ashis catgave him responsibility for it, and while he could stomach the need to protect the feline, he couldn’t imagine losing it. He would feed it, shelter it, but he would not love it. Not when a stray cart or loose dog could so violently and callously rip another part of his heart away.
How foolish of him to lose sleep over a cat, a beast that more closely resembled something that dwelled in a sewer than a proper pet. He spent most of the day pacing his living room, unable to hold his focus on any task for longer than a few minutes at a time. When, shortly after he made and then ignored his lunch, he abandoned another attempt to draft an editorial lambasting Linden’s bill, pushing from the table with a growl. He stormed to sit in his favorite leather chair, only to find Wig curled up on the cushion, looking perturbed when Ben grabbed him up and pressed the lout to his chest in gratitude.
He’d forgotten that he had let in his cat. But it was not just the cat; he had forgotten to mail an entire stack of letters and neglected half a dozen minor projects around the building. When he should be working for the suffrage society, working for his tenants, he was letting his thoughts drift to Rose. When he thought of her, the constant static buzzing in his mind faded, replaced by the strange sense of tranquility he’d enjoyed the night before, walking back from Central Park with her by his side. The peace that came from sharing parts of himself with another, giving some of his burden away.
Rose belonged everywhere but here. And yet, why did he suddenly want to impress her with all Brooklyn Heights offered? With whathehad to offer? Ben had done whatever he could to push her away since her arrival, but now he wanted to present the neighborhood to her on a silver platter, as she deserved. Ben knew he would have to reckon with his conflicted feelings toward her eventually, and so he trusted his instincts and did the most logical thing.
He avoided her entirely.
“Mr. North!”
Ben startled, sending Wig flying from his lap in a streak of black fur, and realized he’d fallen asleep. Night was creeping into the edges of the sky, and now he had wasted several hours of the early evening napping in a chair. He pushed to his feet with a grunt and shoved the window sash up, cursing as pain tore up his shoulder. “What is it?”
Bobby Middleton stared up at him with wide eyes and Ben winced, realizing he’d just barked at the boy. “Bobby,” he said, more calmly this time. “What is it?”
“My ma said she seen the Vacarro brothers down in front of Nelly’s and she wanted me to tell you.”
Ben clenched his jaw. The Vacarro brothers were in their late teens and lived farther east in Vinegar Hill. They liked to think of themselves as minor thugs, attempting to intimidate local shopkeepers with their hulking size and vague threats, although their lack of intelligence and follow-through often meant they caused more trouble than they intended. Ben had convinced them to stay out of the Heights with a combination of coercion, bribery, and sheer luck, but apparently he would need to redouble his efforts.
He scowled as he grabbed his jacket and hat, checking to make sure his pocket was still stuffed with bills as he shuffled towards the door.
“Oh, Mr. North!”
Ben turned and looked back through the window at Billy.
“Your English lady were with ’em.”
His apartment blurred around the edges as his blood ran cold. “She–Rose? With the Vacarros?”
Billy shrugged, his nonchalance making the pulse in Ben’s temple pound even harder. “That’s what Ma said.”
Without bothering to put on his sling or jacket, Ben pushed out the door and strode down Willow Street with his heart pounding in his chest, Billy hot on his heels.
“Do you think they’re giving her trouble, Mr. North?”
His chest tightened as he considered the question. The Vacarros were more likely to lift things from shops or knock over a cart than cause harm to a woman, but he couldn’t stop himself from imagining the worst. What if they touched her? What if theyhurther?
By the time he turned onto Poplar Street, Billy was in a dead run and Ben’s back was damp with sweat. Giuseppe Vacarro, the older and wider brother, stood in front of Nelly’s cafe with his arms crossed over his broad chest, scowling at a shopkeeper who skittered past.
Ben skidded to a halt. Giuseppe’s lip curled. “Whatcha want, North?”
