“No. Not at all.” Pena grimaced before biting his lip. “Well, let me amend that. She’d have more opportunity that way, but I find her rather perfect as she is.”
“I don’t think she appreciates being called perfect.” Aaron stepped forward, following Pena’s gaze. She was lovely, though. Brilliantly so. And clever. And funny. And—
“Yes. Too many expectations with that as well,” Pena cut in. He shook his head. “Though she’s very skilled at meeting them all.”
“But at what price?” Aaron murmured to himself.
“Indeed.” The older man chuckled and gave Aaron a sharp kick in the calf. “Well, this is quite the development.”
“What?” He rubbed his leg.
“You like her. Truly like her. And more, you care for her.” Pena jabbed a finger into his chest. Sharp as well. Did the man not have a soft bone in his body?
“I do neither.” Aaron picked the valet’s hand from his sternum. “I neither like nor care about anyone or anything. I can’t afford such things. I’m a mere custodian.”
“Oh, Mr. Ellenberg, I know that isn’t true.” A sly smile broke out on his face, though his eyes remained narrow and judging. “I have some very good sources that tell me otherwise.” The man clenched his fists. He took a step back. Those fists were probably pretty painful against flesh.
“Well, they’re wrong.” Aaron pursed his lips, glancing back at Isabelle and then at his feet.
“Hmm.” More knowing humming. “Which brings us back to Mr. Weiss.”
“You don’t like him for her.” Aaron nodded.
“Oh, I know how I feel.” Pena sucked in his lips as if he was trying not to smile, his eyes glimmering a little in the chandelier light as he studied Aaron’s face once more. “But I’m interested in knowing what you think.”
“I think . . .” He stuck his hands back in his pockets and stared at the ground for a long while before he could force the appropriate words out. As it was one thing to give the information to Isabelle, but it was quite another to tell this man, whom he didn’t know and didn’t quite trust. “I think there are benefits to that pairing. Weiss’s elevation might not assist with bolstering gentile support of the bill like someone prominent from your part of the community would—but if you look deeper, things might turn out better for her.”
“Really?” The older man stroked his close-cropped beard.
“I believe he could be honest with her and the two could come to an understanding.” Aaron sighed, though at least he’d spoken the truth and pushed what was probably the best, safest result for her. Even if it crushed him. “They’re each ambitious, each clever, and each hungry. If you combine both of their qualities, they could do well together. For the business, the community, and themselves.”
“Or they could encourage each other’s worst inclinations.” Pena cocked his head.
The two stood in silence for another long moment.
“Their motivations are different,” Aaron blurted, instantly regretting the words. What was the matter with him?
“Are they?” The man’s eyebrows were so high they almost disappeared beneath his graying hairline.
“She’s protecting what she has, and he’s searching for something of his own. Even if he won’t admit it to himself.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, she’s of much more use to him than he is to her. Though I suspect that’s the way with most suitable potential husbands.” Which was the rub and left her in more danger. “But I suppose if he’s a good enough man, he could rise to the occasion, become better.” He swallowed. “But she deserves someone . . .”
“Someone who what, Mr. Ellenberg?” Pena was at his ear again.
He stared out at the couple once more as they engaged. They did look so right together, so perfect. Neat, careful, clever, ambitious, and driven. Ready for the mantle of power despite their youth. And yet . . . Aaron turned back to the other man. “Someone who would want her even if she wasn’t useful to them.”
Blast. What was wrong with him tonight? He’d had only one glass of champagne. Perhaps he was getting soft, or his lips were becoming too loose from years of working alone.
“And she deserves to want someone the same way.” Pena gave him a quick shove in the back before strolling away toward Isabelle’s grandmother, leaving him to watch the couple progress, by himself once more.
An hour later, Aaron was back at the synagogue, outside his own room. Pena had insisted he take one of the family carriages. And while part of his pride wanted to refuse, it was rather pleasant not to need to walk alone for hours.
Though . . . he leaned against the stone side of the building, twisting his fingers together, as the horses clopped off in the distance. His mind and body were still sizzling—with a thousand things, but mostly with her.
With Isabelle. And all the dangerous hope the glorious moments alone caused. He smoothed the front of his jacket before tucking the errant tails of his shirt into his trousers and pushing off the wall and into a trot. Puffing his chest, he sprinted past his own door and around the block.
Just three times. That would be enough to release the nervous energy and maybe knock all the budding fantasies—no, stories; no, dreams—out of his mind. Somehow.
The first time around, his fingers were still tingling.
