Page 170 of The Billionaire's Secret
Edward slaps his book shut, "The answer’s a minute at a time."
"What?" I frown.
He places his book on the seat next to him, then leans forward, "The answer to the question that’s on your mind."
"You a mind reader now, along with being a priest?" I glower.
"If the occasion demands." Edward places his elbows on his knees, "You’re wondering how you’re going to get through the time she’s in there?"
"Fuck off."
Edward winces, "I’ll let that pass, this time." He raises his hand. "Your turn to ask a riddle."
I glare at him, "Fuck that."
"Fine, I’ll go then." He smiles, "A prison you feel safe in, yet never quite happy. Whenever you try to leave, it only grows bigger."
He glances around the space, "Anyone get it?"
"Comfort Zone?" Arpad ventures.
Edward nods, "Very good."
"Here’s another." He taps his fingers together, "If you break me, I do not stop working; if you touch me, I may be snared; if you lose me, nothing will matter. What am I?"
"Your heart?" Damian asks, then stares at Edward, "Shit, there’s a parable hidden somewhere in that, isn’t there?"
"Of course, there is," I growl. "Edward here, is a cheeky bugger. He leverages his status as a priest to get away with sin."
Edward loses some of his color. He straightens, then shakes his finger, "Not gonna distract me there, Saint."
I snarl.
His grin widens. He lowers his hands, "The more you carry it with you, the heavier a burden it becomes. What is it?"
Silence.
He scans the faces of the group assembled, "No one?"
"Go on, Father, tell us," Arpad drums his fingers on his chest.
"A guilty conscience." Edward's lips kick up in a smile.
"Enough," I snarl. "Spit out whatever it is you are trying to say."
"Do you have one?" Edward asks me.
"Mine’s bigger than yours, Father."
"Not getting into that argument with you." Edward’s grin widens, "I mean, do you have a guilty conscience?"
I run a finger under my collar. "Of course, not."
"You could have fooled me," Edward’s eyes twinkle.
"Okay… So I owe her an apology." Fucking more than an apology, actually. "I owe her my life." I rake my fingers through my hair. "I was careless; I panicked when that fucker restrained her. He touched her and I couldn’t do anything about it." I crack my neck from side to side, "I won’t let that bastard live."
"He let her live." Weston enters the room, wearing his surgical garb.
