Page 24 of Broken Hearts of Sin

I toss my head, chin up, pretending to take offence. “Well, I am neither dumb nor blonde.”

“That is true.” He lifts his hand and smooths down my hair which is falling straight down my back. “So soft.” He whispers so quietly that I hardly hear.

“Aloe shampoo.” I say practically, just to break the mood. I’m not used to people looking at me like I’m special. It feels awkward.

He seems to get that he’s embarrassing me because he goes along with my change of subject. “Hmm, Maybe I should try some.”

I run my fingers through his luxuriant, soft brown hair, and give him a look like, are you kidding me? He smiles back and then leans in to kiss me.

“When will you speak to your priest about marrying us? We’re running out of time.”

“Soon. Hey, why don’t I tell him to talk to your aunt? Priests are neutral, right?”

“Is he a member of your family?”

“No. Just our parish priest. He doesn’t get involved in the politics except for reminding my dad every now and then that his immortal soul is in danger.” Romano grins.

“Just your dad’s?” I play with the parting in his shirt, just above his collarbone.

His grin widens. “Yeah, I make sure to go for confession regularly.”

“How… devout, of you.” I reach forward and lick his neck.

“See, now this is the kind of behavior that makes me wonder if you’re even listening to me. Am I a human being or your sex toy?” he folds his arms over his chest, as he gives me a sidelong glance.

I bite my lip so as not to laugh. “I promise you… I want both.”

He pretends to screams in pain. I cannot help cracking up – who knew he was so funny? I have an inkling that not many people see this goofy side of him. I’m grateful that he feels safe enough to show it to me.

“Well then if you’re going to use my body for your own pleasure then we must marry at once. I willnotlet you ruin me.” His hand is on his forehead in a most dramatic manner and I’m grinning like a loon.

I sigh with contentment.

This is the life.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Igo to mass early the next morning at St. Francis of Assisi chapel. Father Lorenzo is leading the service and it’s just me and a handful of old ladies in black fishnet veils. I am fond of the ritual of mass – it’s hypnotically soothing. I mouth along to all the call and responses and say “Amen” as needed. There’s a lot of standing, sitting and kneeling and I marvel at all the old ladies.

Once mass is over, Father Lorenzo goes to the door, to meet and bless each congregant individually. I dutifully join the back of the line, and shuffle forward slowly, letting the women have their moment. With how close they all seem to the pearly gates, it’s probably wise to obtain as many blessings as possible.

Not that I really believe in that stuff. My faith is more agnostic than anything. Finally, it’s my turn and instead of offering to bless my forehead with holy water, Father Lorenzo claps me companionably on the back. “Wanna go back to the rectory and have breakfast? I noticed you didn’t come forward for communion.”

I shrugged, “I haven’t been to confession this week.”

“Fair enough. Follow me.”

Despite the fact that I know Father Lorenzo is a friend, my heart is still beating erratically with nerves. There’s a lot riding on this. Father Lorenzo takes me to his kitchen and sits me down as he busies himself with making breakfast. Soon the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs fills the room, and I realize that I’m quite hungry. He puts the food down in front of me and sits opposite me without a word, digging into his food with gusto. With an internal shrug, I do the same. Not a word is spoken until our plates are clean.

Father Lorenzo puts his plate aside and rubs his hands together. “So, tell me. What’s the matter?”

I smile indulgently, “You know me too well, Father.”

“You have the same look on your face that you had when you broke the parish vase.”

I roll my eyes. “I was ten!”

He shrugs, “I’m just saying.”

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