Her gaze softened. She wasn't sure what to think about this man now. With a thoughtful frown, she murmured, "To tell you the truth, Signore, I do not know how I will be as a mother to children who aren't at fault for the sins of their father, yet I am frightened they will turn into him and therefor that would make me a bad mother. I do not wish for them to be defined by him, or them to carry on with his sordid legacy. I..."

She watched him gaze at the documents and watched his expression to see what he thought about those numbers. When he said nothing about the correctly placed decimal point, she lifted her chin a little and murmured, "I spent a week going over those books to make sure nothing illegal was involved. It's all legit... legit...a...mate? That is the word, si? His ledgers for other business dealings are at the Carrington house I presume, or in a vault. I am not welcome there for obvious reasons. Although if I had a superb lawyer that could sort this business out for me, he would be paid handsomely and not have to father children that belong to another man."

Sonia paused, making no move to take the documentation just yet. Then she continued, "I am tired, Signore, I do not wish to work on my back anymore to find out the things that I need to know. I am beginning to think that perhaps it is a moot point to try and find out who my family is or who I really am. I do not wish to be a whore... I wish to be free from the gilded cage that is being a courtesan. But I also don't wish to be wife to someone who never wanted me."

There was the slightest easing of tension across stiff shoulders at her words. He set the papers back down on the desk to more fully regard her. Evaluate … her. This, whatever this strange ‘courtship’ of blackmail and coinciding existential threats could be called.

He listened to her plight, pulling the words apart in his mind. Searching for answers – his answer, and path forward.

“That is the word,” he confirmed.

His gaze shifted to her when she again urged him against his current course, though did not interject yet.

Ah. There it was. She was used to being wanted for her looks, and blackmailing a man who was unlikely to be swayed by them was a blow to her ego. But, she was rich. Powerful. He would treat her accordingly.

“You are a smart woman, Sonia,” he said, reaching for her shoulder.

He drew back, as though hesitant to offend her, and clasped his hands before himself in a show of self-restraint. He circled back to the other side of the desk, but pulled the chair to sit next to her instead.

“Here you are, seeking a better life for yourself. You are pregnant,” he acknowledged, then polished his nails with a boyish look. “But you would be pregnant one way or another, no? Just because I might have inquired about my options does not mean I am unswayed by the beauty of women.”

It just … mildly implicated the possibility.

“Your husband, though foul, remains mostly in the theoretical realm to me.”

He avoided him. He was almost as creepy as Chris, and Chris had gotten there first.

“Perhaps you need someone who can see the children for who they are, beyond whom they came from. Who can see that they blossomed from someone beautiful, and never had to meet the ugliness that came before them.”

Honestly, he would probably be imagining Magnus in bed.

Cue music. "I want to know what love is," she countered, probably a surprise to him, she thought. She was being surprisingly honest in what she said. It would be hard to miss the candor, for it reached her eyes. It wasn't about her looks at all. "You wouldn't be able to give me the kind of love I crave. Perhaps the children could... but not you." she gave a sad smile.

Sonia reached over and began to straighten out the papers until they were in order again, movements quick and efficient. "Besides, if I am being honest, and I am, I am frightened that I am going to die giving birth to the children. I'm not well." She looked down.

She wanted to know what love is. The corner of his mouth twitched. She thought she wanted to know what love is! The other corner of his mouth threatened upward. Fool! Silly girl! Idiot! Was that a violin playing frantically in the next room to a villainous monologue?

It stopped abruptly – and so too did his urge to pull in the reins on what could be the worst choice of his life.

“I cannot offer you the love of a child,” he conceded with a shrug of the hand, “but I can offer you the love of a man.”

He doubted she would earn it, and certainly not in the sense a woman like her was used to loving a man. But, if he could love Menachem even as tempting as it was to shoot him whenever he saw him, he could probably love a wife in the same grudging way.

Zechariah frowned. He had wished such a fate on her and every single Ward, including some of the male ones … but he had never expected it to come so close to home. He thought of Alice. How nice he thought her suffering would be, only to come face-to-face with her livid, rotten husband. There was a flicker of unease.

“Then stay with me,” he implored, putting a hand over hers. “There is a spare bedroom upstairs, and I am plenty able to afford a doctor for my soon-to-be wife and children. You could have a comfortable life, here.”

She knew a moment of uncertainty when he put his hand over hers. She looked away and he would know easily enough she was defeated. For the moment. She didn't want this man, though, didn't find any warmth in her heart for wanting him. His touch left her cold, but his earnest attempts to keep her as his Fiancé was wearing on her.

His offer was tempting for the fact she no longer wanted to be at the brothel. Her eyes watched him for the longest moment while she contemplated this new turn of events.

"Signore, I will have a lot to think about..." she murmured.

A glance away, neither confirming nor denying. More indecision, but he wondered if he might find the right chords if he took a page or two from the operas. Kidnapping was romantic, right?

But the change over her seemed strongest at the mention of a life away from the brothel.

“You will never have to step foot in there again, with me,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. “Nor even ride past it – there are roads around it.”

He swept his hands gracefully under hers, taking them in his grasp.

“Think about it,” he whispered, then stood with her hands still in his. “But for now? The guest room is yours, and I can have the servants-” cough servant, singular, “-fix you up something nice to eat. What would you like?”

"It's my duty, Signore, until I find someone who wants to buy the cursed place off of me." She didn't want it, but she had the others to look after, and her belongings were there too. She would not say that much though, she had a feeling that he would bring up the fact that she could buy more things. Her eyes watched him though. She wasn't stupid, she knew something wasn't right about this... but she was tired and the sound of sleeping in a bed outside of the brothel was awfully tempting.

He had not realized she would be such a flight risk after her … bold demands. So be it. He would try the carrot first, and the whip if she continued. There were already a series of people who knew about it who could vouch for him, and that at least had been carried out in good faith.

In sickness and wealth health!

“Some duties are meant to be delegated, dear Sonia,” he reassured, stroking her arm with a smile.

This almost felt like courtship. Hm.

“Let me show you to your room,” he continued, hands under her elbows to help her up. “What would you enjoy for dinner?”

Hopefully Nesah did not leave anything too scandalous laying about.

She gazed at him thoughtfully, not sure what he was doing. She moved to stand up and she murmured, "I am not hungry, Signore Meijer." And that much was true. She wasn't hungry, and she wasn't calling him by his first name. He didn't want to take no for an answer.

Signore. He was unfazed by the formality, but he politely took his hands back once Sonia was steady upon her feet. Slow to warm, then. He could work with this.

He did not plan to take ‘no’ for answer.

“Let me show you to the guestroom, then.”

Not to mention get some time alone with those papers, where Sonia’s pleading eyes could not try their hand at prying into his decisions.

He put his hand between her shoulders, though only briefly, to herd her toward the stairs. It was a nice little summer home, certainly – cozy, kitschy, perhaps a touch too carefully arranged to truly seem lived in. The office had seemed far more ‘occupied’ in that sense, with books left out where they did not originate and pens in mysterious places.