Page 110 of Audacity

‘What about Eleanor? And Torty?’ I had precisely one run-in with the latter on Friday, when she came by to drop off some irrelevant folder in the hope of seeing Gabe. She said precisely nothing about the events of the previous night, but the supercilious nature of her smile left her perceived triumph in no doubt whatsoever.

I can handle people like them. I certainly don’t feel sexually threatened by a woman who’s likely oblivious that the termpearl necklacehas more than one meaning. Still, I want to know what I’m dealing with here.

He smirks, and it’s decidedly unpriestly. ‘They will be in precisely zero uncertainty as to where my loyalties lie: to you, and to the foundation. If you come back, my darling, it will be in a blaze of glory. Believe me when I say I have no qualms about you being the person I want by my side through it all.’

The openly adoring look in his eyes tells me he’s not fibbing, and once again, the power of Gabriel Sullivan’s heart to heal and protect and empower hits me with full force.

Once we’ve finished our drinks, he leads me through more double doors into what he tells me is The Playroom, and holy fuck, is it hot. The place seems quiet—I suppose Monday night is not a night to party—but the sights of people naked and fucking instantly have my arousal levels ratcheting up. As he grips my hand tightly, I point at the trio of empty St Andrew’s crosses with my free hand.

‘Five months, and you’ve never brought me here? Please tell me you’re going to string me up on one of those.’

He shudders. ‘A bit above my pay grade, I think.’

I suppose if you’re a priest, crucifixion play might seem a littletootaboo, now I think about it.

We pass through a door and down a staircase to a corridor of closed doors and elegant hurricane lanterns. With a cryptic grimace, Gabe opens one of the doors and gestures for me to precede him.

I stop dead just inside the door. There are thick, creamy candles galore standing on the shelves and around the edges of the room, their flames flickering softly. Red rose petals in their thousands litter the wooden floor. If that all screamsromanceand the large bed, covered in black satin sheets, screamssex, then I have no clue what the fuckingenormouswoodenconfessional, its dark wood carved and gleaming, is supposed to signify. I’ve been to enough Catholic churches on my cultural pilgrimages around Italy to know that this is the real deal.

‘Holy fuck,’ I say, staring at it blankly. ‘How the hell did that thing get in here?’

He shuts and locks the door with a quiet chuckle. ‘Logistically speaking, I have no idea, but its origin story is that my mate Rafe, who’s one of the founders here, had it installed. His wife, Belle, had a pretty full-on Catholic upbringing and apparently it gave her a thing for priests.’

‘I know how she feels.’ I turn to him. His face is watchful. ‘Are we doing a scene?’

‘Kind of. Possibly not the kind you’re thinking of, though.’ He pauses. ‘I didn’t want to assume anything.’

I swear another piece of my heart rips off. ‘I’m so sorry about…’ I trail off.

‘You have nothing to apologise for. You hear me? Now, you ever been inside one of these?’

‘Absolutely not,’ I say with a shudder. ‘I can’t believe Catholics actually go to confession in these things. Isn’t it utterly terrifying?’

He laughs softly and moves around to open the far right of the three doors. ‘Why don’t you find out for yourself?’

I peer in. It’s dark, and tiny, and really foreboding, somehow. I have no clue what Gabe’s game is here, but if he’s aiming to distract me from our issues by activating low-level claustrophobia, then it’s working.

There’s a narrow seat and also a leather-covered kneeler that unhelpfully recalls the prayer room off his office where he’s fucked me so often. ‘Should I sit or kneel?’ I ask him.

‘Whichever you prefer, sweetheart.’ I’m not sure whether the endearment or the gentle smile with which he delivers it slays me more.

‘Where are you going to be?’

‘I’ll be right here, in the middle. You’ll be able to see me through the grille.’ He points. Sure enough, there’s a wooden grille through which I can see the shadows of another little box.

This is getting weirder and weirder.

‘Okay,’ I say, and I allow him to shut the door on me. I opt for kneeling—it feels more on brand for me, and it gets me closer to him.

I wait as he enters the middle chamber, and sure enough, I can see his outline as he sits down. His face is higher than mine and in profile. He doesn’t turn it to look at me when he starts to speak in a low, reassuring tone.

His priest voice.

‘Thank you for being open to this, sweetheart.’ He pauses as if searching for his words. ‘It strikes me that there’s a lot to say, and that you didn’t feel particularly comfortable discussing any of it in my office on Friday. I’ve been thinking about how to create a safe space for you to share your feelings, because I know how vulnerable my family made you feel on Thursday night, and I’m so, so sorry.’

‘They did,’ I admit, because it strikes me as unnecessarily harsh to not only wall up but then pretend I’m not hiding anything. I may want to protect myself, but I never, ever want this man to think I’m not hurting over him. Not when he’s been so intensely vulnerable and generous with me.

‘I know, and I hate that. Believe me when I say nothing could make me more outraged.’ Another pause. ‘The thing is that this whole confessional may seem seriously bizarre to you, but it’s very oddness can be a kind of comfort. My parishioners could confess things to me in here—could bare their souls in a way they certainly never could out in the open. So I wondered if you’d be open to exploring that.’

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