“I’m not sure I have much of a choice.” She ground her jaw so hard this time her teeth skittered, barely registering the reveal that she’d slept for two days, her irritation was so strong. “Considering that I’ve been kidnapped.”
Instead of responding, Berab glanced at the ceiling, his lips moving slightly, though he made no sound.
Rebecca stared. Perhaps she’d finally done it, actually felled someone with mere words. And here she’d once believed him a worthy opponent. Inconvenient, as she was stuck in his home, and he was responsible for replacing hers.
The silence lagged on, and his eyes remained fixed above until she could take it no more.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Conjugating,” he said, before yet another long pause. “Despite your lurid imagination, which apparently causes you to make baseless accusations, I don’t harm people.” He stopped, his lip curling. “At least not with fists. I’m much more skilled with verbal insults when crossed, and while it’s tempting now, it is most improper as a host. Thus, as you are not inclined to credit basic facts when I’m the source, perhaps matters would be more fruitful if you read this instead.” He reached into his pocket before offering an envelope to her.
Rebecca goggled at the thing for a moment before accepting the paper.
“What is it?” she asked, rubbing the parchment with her good hand.
“A letter from our mutual friend. It was delivered this morning.”
“Our mutual friend? And who might that be?” She only had one friend. Rebecca scrunched her nose. “Isabelle?” she asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice.
“She’s a friend.” Berab’s tone and posture were rather defensive.
“Of yours?” she inquired pointedly.
“Our families are close,” he responded with a huff.
“You attempted to marry her against her will.” Yes, reminding him was a touch childish, but he had so many advantages, especially compared to her. For once, she just wanted the upper hand.
After all, she wasliterallydown to one working hand.
“I did no such thing.” He straightened his already perfectly postured shoulders, reminding her of the peacock she’d once seen when accompanying Isabelle to a gentile garden party as a child. “I merely made an offer for our potential mutual benefit, which she declined. I did not press the matter.” His voice was now formal and superior. “Might I remind you that Solomon Weiss offered for her as well?” Narrowing his eyes at her, he asked, “Are you this hostile to him? Or am I special?”
It took everything in her not to sock him. But she controlled herself. Violence in such circumstances was wrong. Besides, she needed to keep that single hand in working order.
“Sol Weiss has never kidnapped me,” she returned.
“I…” He raised a finger, a strange expression crossing his face, and he dropped his hand to the side. He glanced again at the ceiling, the silence returning as he continued to do whatever—allegedly conjugating—in his head.
“Are you quite finished?” she asked after more than a minute of uncomfortable silence.
However, he did not respond immediately. No, he forced her towait even longer, with no choice but to stew. She balled her fists, willing herself not to cede any more power.
“For now,” he said finally.
Curiosity itched at her, and she couldn’t help but ask, “What tense?”
He eyed her for a moment.
“Passé composé,” he said. “That’s the French for—”
“It’s informal past indicative,” she finished. “You’d use it for conversation.”
“You are correct, Miss Adler,” he said softly after another pause.
“You sound surprised.” She sniffed, then, catching the odd expression on his face, she asked, “What?”
“Now you’re incorrect,” he said. “I’m not surprised in the slightest. Most people speak quite highly of your facility for knowledge. You’re not good at reading tone apparently.” The smirk returned.
“I read it just fine,” she snapped. “Perhaps you’re the one who’s not good at conveying. Or that your range is rather limited, falling primarily somewhere between self-satisfied and arrogant?”
