Page 29 of Sinfully His

Still, that wasn’t the worst of it. If people also found out that the priest I had let defile me was my sort of my brother-in-law, I’d be done. I’d be a social pariah. There would be no telling what would happen to me. I would probably be shipped off to some convent, or Mother would find some mental health spa that still believed in diagnosing hysteria. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to have me lobotomized.

Since I would have “brought it on myself,” no one would damn her for it. They would support her by saying that she did the best that she could with such a spiteful, horrible, immoral daughter.

I hated the confines that living in this class placed on me. I hated being in this gilded cage my entire life and having people tell me how privileged and entitled I was, but never understanding the price that I had to pay for it. But I knew outside of my cage the world was far colder and far crueler.

So no matter how much I ached for his touch, no matter how often I thought of him and how much I wanted to be his good girl, his angel, it just couldn’t happen.

I contemplated the church, reminding myself of the reasons why this couldn’t happen. I tried to work up the courage to actually walk in the door and face my demon head-on.

Was he my demon, or was I his? Had I somehow made a man of God stray? Had I welcomed or even courted this? He called me his angel, but was I his ruin? Was he mine?

He wouldn’t care about my reasoning, or about my social standing. All he had to do to avoid fall-out was get out of New York, assuming any of this touched him at all. Men were not treated the same way women were, and once he put on that collar, he became practically untouchable.

I, however, was very touchable by the rumors and the scandal.

Since there was no way he’d care, I had come up with other reasons for not becoming involved any further with him. Lesser reasons in my mind, but ones that maybe he could understand. When needing to get a point across, it was best to put it in terms beneficial to the person on the other side of the table. You didn’t tell them why you wanted it a certain way, you told them why they wanted it that way. Years of mind-numbing business classes had at least taught me that much.

With the courage of convictions that I did not feel but drew upon anyway, I walked up to the church, ignoring the way the copper gargoyles stared down at me as if they could sense my sins. They somehow just knew that I was there for unholy reasons, and that I was no longer worthy to walk through those doors.

Taking a deep breath and tightening my stomach, bracing myself for the hand of God himself to smite me, I pushed openthe dark red wooden doors and walked into the brownstone church.

Nothing happened, no lightning bolt struck me dead, the gargoyle did not come to life to eat me. I knew I was being ridiculous. The actual monster was me. The real threat was inside the church already.

“Can I help you, young lady?” A priest with snow white hair and deep lines around his mouth and eyes greeted me as he walked down between the pews.

“Uh, yes, Father,” I said, giving the same polite, serene smile I gave to everyone. “I’m looking for Father Manwarring. My mother asked me to come speak with him about the Christmas bazaar.”

It was an easy enough lie, although lying to a priest like that made my stomach clench with guilt and my heart feel tight.

“Ah, yes. He is around here somewhere. I am sure we can find him,” the older priest said as he led me further into the church.

I couldn’t help but look up at the stained glass windows then follow the paths of multicolored light to the floor, where the intricate patterns danced as sunlight filtered through the leaded panes.

“Ms. Astrid,” a familiar and terrifying voice called. My back straightened and for a moment, just a moment, I considered turning and running out of the church like my life depended on it.

No, I told myself. I came here for a reason. This needed to happen today.

“Father Thomas,” the priest who led me further into the lion’s den said. “I found this young girl just inside the door, looking for you. Something about the Christmas bazaar?”

“Yes, Father Matthew. I was expecting her. Forgive me for not informing you. Thank you for showing her back here.”

“Of course. If there’s nothing else, do you mind if I leave? The nuns a few streets over are having a bingo night, and I said I would help.”

“You have a lovely night. I will hold down the fort,” Father Manwarring said, reaching out and putting his hand at the small of my back, guiding me away from the only other person I could see in the building.

He said nothing. Just led me deeper into the church, and I couldn’t do anything other than follow. I had wanted to have this conversation somewhere private enough that we couldn’t be overheard, but public enough he wouldn’t be able to do anything.

The heavy wooden door closed, its bang echoing through the empty church. Signaling that we were alone.

He turned on me, and his hand immediately wrapped in my hair at the base of my skull, just enough to tip my head back so I was looking into his eyes. It wasn’t fair. Even in the filtered light, their copper and amber flecks were still absolutely mesmerizing. “What is the real reason you’re here?”

“I want to tell you that what happened before can’t happen again.” I was so nervous that my voice shook, my words coming out in a rush of air.

“What?” he said, raising a single eyebrow at me.

I took a deep, steadying breath. His hand tugging the hair at the base of my scalp actually helped center me. I had gone past the point of no return. I had to do this. There was simply no other option. Holding his gaze with my own, I repeated myself, slowly this time, being sure to enunciate my words, adding strength to them I still had to fake.

“What happened before, between us, was wrong. You are a priest, and my brother-in-law, and I have a boyfriend.”

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