NINE
Tressa
“Today’s liturgy comes to us from St. Thalassios the Libyan. Inveterate wickedness requires long practice of the virtues, for an ingrained habit is not easily uprooted. It’s important for us to remember that virtue is nothing without the trial of temptation, for there is no conflict without an enemy, no victory without strife.
“Many of you know I was raised in a Jesuit school, and the Jesuits have a certain way of talking of physical acts of love. They believe pleasures of the flesh reveal loneliness in the soul. I think that’s applicable in our modern world of handheld gratification. How do we choose to spend our time? Where do we choose to put our value? For if we do not choose it, it will choose us. Succumbing to desire in various forms is the dark night of the soul crying out for help. For love. For togetherness and connection with the Holy Father.” A long, slow sigh escaped his lips, shoulders rounded forward as he avoided the eyes of his parishioners.
I sat enamored as his voice thickened and he continued. “St. Francis of Assisi said ‘We should all realize that no matter where or how a man dies, if he is in the state of mortal sin and does not repent, when he could have done so and did not, the Devil tears his soul from his body with such anguish and distress that only a person who has experienced it can appreciate it.’”
My heart skidded to a halt, breaking with the realization that Bastien held himself to the fire. He wasn’t blaming me for tempting him—not at all. He was cutting himself for being tempted. My thoughts, along with my face, fell, Lucy’s hand patting my knee for a moment, just enough of an emotional outreach that tears welled in my eyes.
What had Bastien been through in his early years to have such a sense of…self-loathing? I tuned out the remainder of Mass, going through the motions as we sang the final hymn, then filed one by one down the steps of the church.
Except, I went out the back door while all eyes were turned elsewhere. Lucy probably hadn’t even noticed I’d disappeared behind her until it was too late and she was shaking hands with Father Bastien.
My first instinct was to track down Bastien and tell him he was out of his mind delivering that particular liturgy during this time, but then I thought it wasn’t my business. None of it was.
We were nothing, after all.
Despite what Bastien might think, we hadn’t gone further and never would.
All of this dancing around each other was only serving to drive me mad.
And I had so many more things I could be doing.
Like organizing some winter community events.
Or taking a few classes.
Maybe getting on with my life.
I bundled the chunky scarf around my neck a little snugger, staggering headfirst into the biting winter wind, when two heavy hands clamped around my elbows, sliding me along the side of the church, back to brick, lips hovering just out of reach of mine.
“You have to stop doing this in public,” I begged.
“But this is acceptable in private?” His hand slipped down my sleeve, twining our fingers and ushering me back into the side door of the church. He pulled me behind him, the broad shoulders enveloping me in his shadow until we stopped in the darkest corner of the sanctuary. Behind the pulpit where he’d just been speaking, a hand-wrought cross enveloped in fresh evergreens shielded us out of view from any other vantage point.
We were suddenly so alone in a space that’d been so full minutes ago.
“I’ve found myself at a bit of an impasse, my dove. See, I can’t lose you, but I can’t keep you either.”
My heart strummed as if his fingers played its heartstrings, adrenaline coursing through my veins when his second hand brushed my thigh, a fresh wave of addiction sending me a little higher.
Lucy was right.
I’d been a horrible fool thinking I could keep myself from falling.
The damage was done, and the only way out would be through the darkness, driven by the promise of tomorrow’s light.
“Bastien.” I sucked in a breath as his fingers tightened at my thighs, pulling me a little closer to him. His lips at my throat singed my nerves, butterfly-light kisses trailing down the hollow and hovering just at the top of my neckline.
“My beautiful Héloïse. You and I destined for discontent from the start, and I your darkest sin.”
His tender words pulled emotion from my eyes. I knew the story he spoke of, Héloïse the French nun, fated to spend a lifetime loving her very own philosopher and holy man, Abelard, from afar. I’d read their love letters in high school, the depths of their devotion and desperation still profoundly haunting to this day.
“You’ve been doing your best to avoid me, and I’m supposed to pretend I don’t notice?” His tone turned firm, commanding. “Are you prepared to repent?”
I swallowed, drugged by this touch. “Are you?”
