Page 79 of The Temptation
She said it as if it were a fact, like it was her truth.
Not for show.
Not to prove anything.
Not for Father Flannery’s benefit or mine.
“She’s a keeper, son,” Father Flannery says, turning to me with a knowing smile, but he’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
My throat tightens as my gaze shifts to Lucia. She’s staring down at her wedding ring again, tracing it with her thumb. And that fucking smile curving her lips almost guts me.
The joke’s long gone now. What’s left in its place is something deeper. Something heavier. Something I’m not sure I deserve but crave all the same. And I don’t know what to do with that.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life. Because when the time comes to give her back, to walk away like this meant nothing, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it.
Chapter 17
Romeo
Father Flannery left an hour ago, laden down with more leftovers than one man could possibly eat. Lucia insisted on packing up half the kitchen for him, and he didn’t argue. He just muttered something about divine blessings coming in the form of Tupperware.
We’re currently shoulder to shoulder at the sink, finishing up the dishes before we head to bed. I’m washing, and Lucia is drying. There’s no music, no talking, just the rhythm of us moving around each other like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“We make a good team,” Lucia suddenly says, but instead of answering, I clear my throat and don’t agree or disagree.
The problem is, she’s right; we do make a good team. Too good. We move around each other like it’s second nature, as if we’ve been doing it for years, instead of mere weeks.
To be honest, it spooks me. Things with her are too easy … too natural. I don’t know what to do with that kind of comfort, especially when I know there’s an expiration date hanging over us.
I’m used to doing life solo.
When the last dish is washed, dried, and put away, I turn towards Lucia. “Why don’t you head to bed?” I offer. “I’ll finish up in here.”
As if on cue, she yawns. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I mutter, a bit sharper than I meant to. I need a moment. Some space to wrestle down the panic that’s clawing its way up my chest.
“Are you okay?” she asks as she dries her hands and slides her wedding ring back on. She’s currently staring down at it as she waits for my answer, and there’s that fucking smile again.
“Yes.”
Her gaze shifts from her hand to my face. She studies me for a beat, and the corners of her mouth drop. “Are you sure? You don’t look okay.”
“Yes,” I repeat. “Today was just … a lot.”
“It’s been the best day,” she says gently. “The best day of my life.”
Her words stop me cold. “The best day of your life?”
She nods, her smile blooming again. “I married the man of my dreams. The man I love?—”
“You don’t love me, Lucia.”
She pulls back like I struck her. The air shifts between us, thick and heavy, and her smile vanishes, replaced by something raw.
“What?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“You don’t love me,” I repeat, quieter this time. “Not really. You love the idea of me. You love the version you built in your head.”
