He released me and showed me his open mouth, proving he didn’t waste a bit.
Darcy approaches me, but falters a moment, unsure whether to kneel at the altar or curtsy before the prince. I crouch to her instead.
“I’m not the prince here, little lamb. We kneel before God alone in this place.”
She smiles the sweetest little girl grin and drops a knee to the floor. I place a hand on her head and mutter a quick blessing before tracing a bit of ash on her forehead. She draws her eyebrows together in perfect toddler consternation.
“For purification, dearest,” says the voice that has been ringing in my head for days, more so after our last talk.
Contrary to Miles’s hope, my quick tryst with Cyril has done nothing to tamp down my desire for this woman. In fact, I’m more convinced than ever that I can pursue her simply for the fun that could be had while compartmentalizing whatever feelings might try to creep in. As I place my hand on her head, I imagine twisting my fingers up in the auburn hair in the same way I had Cyril’s dark locks an hour before.
She hisses a barely audible whisper. “This is strictly for appearances for the children. I’m not asking for a blessing.”
“Meet Brenton at the hotel bar at nine,” I murmur back. “He’ll bring you upstairs.”
She closes her eyes and gives an almost imperceptible nod.
I give little Liam a quick pat on the head, and they move off as the line continues behind them.
For the final blessing, Lord Bertram is called to the front of the sanctuary. He kneels in the center before the crucifix and myself and the two priests surround him, gold for the Father, red for the Son, and white for the Holy Ghost. His head is anointed with holy oil, and the three of us place hands on his head as I pray aloud.
“May his heart be pure, his days be peaceful, and his deeds guided by the lamp of Your Word, almighty God. And may You bless the works of his hands in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
Bertram makes the sign of the cross as I speak the last line.
I gaze out at the congregation, arms outstretched, and confer a blessing on them as well. They chorus an ‘Amen’ and then the din of hundreds fills the cathedral as they gather themselves to leave. I catch a glimpse of Aurelia, still holding baby Liam and pulling young Darcy along as she all but flees the church.
Cyril finds me in the sacristy after the other priests had divested themselves of their robes and left. I’m not ready to rush out yet. The ritual of the night had felt comfortable and safe, even if I was a bit distracted. Butthe haze of lust I’ve been wallowing in since first laying eyes on Aurelia Tuesday morning has abated enough that I can mostly think straight. I feel a bit boorish sending Cyril off without returning any sort of favor, but he had served his purpose, and my post-nut clarity can’t be disturbed.
