Finn hums. “Circumstances change.”
The priest laughs again, clearly assuming this is romantic rather than ominous. “Well. God works in mysterious ways.”
I lower my gaze demurely. He launches into it then—the familiar Catholic script. Commitment. Sacrament. The seriousness of marriage. The importance of unity and patienceand prayer. Finn answers smoothly when prompted. I nod when appropriate. When tea is brought in, I rise immediately.
“Allow me,” I say, reaching for the pot.
The priest looks pleased. Finn watches me with that unreadable intensity again. I pour carefully, hands steady, passing each cup in turn like this is my house and this is my role and nothing inside me is screaming. My movements are precise, graceful, learned young and perfected over years of expectation.
“Thank you, Lady Malloy,” the priest says warmly.
I smile, soft and proper. “Of course, Father.”
I sit back down, hands folded neatly in my lap, necklace cool and inescapable against my skin.Lady Malloy, at your service.The priest finishes his final notes with a satisfied nod, clearly pleased with himself.
“Well,” he says, standing, “I think we’re off to a strong start. A great deal of passion here. That’s a blessing, when properly guided with obedience from the woman.”
Finn rises first. Polite, respectful, the man he knows how to be when it matters.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Father,” he says.
The priest smiles at me. “I look forward to our next meeting, Lady Malloy.”
“So do I,” I reply softly.
A lie delivered perfectly. The priest gathers his coat, offers one last benediction, and lets himself out. The door closes behind him with a gentle click.
Silence. It lasts exactly one second. I stand so fast my chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
“What the fuck was that?” I snap, turning on Finn. “Obedience? Patience? You sat there and let him talk like I’m already yours to manage.”
Finn’s expression hardens instantly. The pleasant host vanishes.
“You behaved,” he says. “Exactly as you were meant to.”
“I am not meant for anything,” I spit. “Especially not this—this performance you keep dragging me through.”
He steps closer, voice dropping. “You wanted to survive the month. That’s what this looks like.”
“I will survive,” I shoot back. “What I won’t do is smile through it while you brand me like cattle.”
His gaze flicks to the necklace at my throat. Dark. Possessive.
“You wore it,” he says.
“Because you threatened me.”
“Because you know what happens if you don’t.”
The air between us crackles, old anger and new heat tangling together again, sharp enough to cut.
“I hate you,” I say, meaning it this time without heat to soften it.
Finn exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight. “Aye,” he says. “I know.”
We stand there—too close, too angry, too aware of everything we are pretending not to feel. The house holds its breath around us and I know, with sickening clarity, that the polite part of the day is over.
The knock comes before either of us can say something we won’t be able to walk back. A sharp, polite rap at the door. Finn doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away from me.
