His brightly clad older brother seemed outwardly unfazed by his disbelief … but … did it truly seem so strange that a masked stranger would be engaged? To Sonia herself, he presumed. Had he ended up with another suggestive article about himself? What if Elijah’s strange nemesis had spotted them out together?

… Paranoid. He was being paranoid. As far as he could tell, Sonia was trying to forget she ever forced him into a corner – of course people would be surprised to hear her engaged again! It was his duty to solidify what she had begun.

Zechariah laughed as well (… was it just him, or did they have an awfully similar laugh?) and shook his head.

“Well-accounted expenditures are all it takes,” he assured.

He mentioned the pageantry, and Zechariah took a moment to admire some of the not-in flagrante delicto patrons.

“If it were not for the type of crowd this place attracts,” Zechariah though aloud, “it would be an absolutely splendid gathering.”

He glanced to the bartender, and cleared his throat. He took a hearty swig of his drink.

“I need to work on that,” he admitted. “There was someone before her, with a similar trade on the side, who …” broke his heart “… murdered a …” friend, a friend he felt dirty even thinking of as a friend after what he did “… man I used to work with.”

Should he really be getting into this? Ah, fuck it. They were strangers and masked. Zechariah took another hearty swig – heartier than he tended to take around Menachem, whom he played the picture of self control about. He waved a hand at Menachem’s ‘free drinks’.

“I appreciate the offer, but that will fuck the books,” he said quite plainly.

Zechariah had zero doubts that the marriage would go through, and the brothel be his strange mixed blessing. He took another shameless gulp.

“This is good,” Zechariah said, surprised. “Thank you.”