The Orphan Girl gasped in surprise. The Thief closed the distance between them, pulling her under the conference table with him. “What about Sister Catherine?” the Orphan Girl asked.
“I think if anyone manages to break in, they’ll assume she’s dead,” the Thief returned, and they both laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.
It was only then the Orphan Girl realized how close they were to one another. The Thief had positioned them so his back was up against one of the table’s thick legs, his body between hers and the doorway. She was half in his lap, pressed flush against him, their faces only a few inches apart. She felt the moment he registered this, too, in the way that his heart began hammering against hers.
“Agnes,” he murmured. The way he said the name sounded so reverent. She wished it was really hers.
She thought he might kiss her; but then there were more shouts, sounding very near the door. The Orphan Girl jumped, and the Thief tightened his hold on her with one arm. His other hand came up to cup the back of her head protectively, like she was precious. “You’re safe,” he told her. “I’ll keep you safe, I swear.”
Somehow, she believed him. The Orphan Girl couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt the security of knowing someone was looking after her. She ought to be terrified; but how could she be, wrapped in the Thief’s arms, her ear pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thrumming of his heart?
Shewas the one to turn her face up to him.Shewas the one who broke her vows, seeking the warmth of his lips with her own. Later, the Orphan Girl would remind herself of this, remind herself of how weak and sinful she was. But in that moment, it didn’t feel wrong. He was so gentle, so reverent with her, as he cradled her face in his hands and stroked her chin with his thumb. She lost herself in his touch, yes, but she found herself there, too, her heart and her spiritand her body in perfect, vivid harmony together, lost in his patient, reverent embrace.
They kissed. They only kissed. But that was enough to mean she could not continue being a postulant. The Orphan Girl might have done many, many things wrong, but she couldn’t live a lie. She couldn’t pretend her vows hadn’t been broken. She couldn’t pretend to be the same girl she’d been when she walked into the prison that morning.
Even as she was kissing the Thief, she knew it, but in that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. This would be the end of their story, of course. He was in prison, and she would have no other choice but to go back to her family. There was just no other way this story could go. But they could have this for now, this one stolen moment of time, just for them.
That was what she told herself. But when it came time to leave, it was still agony. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him she wouldn’t be coming back. Even though he had never truly been hers, she felt the loss so keenly. And even though an ending with the two of them together could have never been, she knew a part of her would always be longing for it. Her heart was his now. That was all there was to it.
That’s the thing about thieves, though. They take what doesn’t belong to them, and even if they give it back, it no longer feels like it’s yours anymore.
Chapter 10
Wes
Shit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.Shit.
The rest of the photoshoot, I’m half out of my head. My face is smiling, I’m tilting my head and moving my limbs as instructed by the photographer, but my mind is miles away. Or, more accurately, years away. It’s Sister Agnes. She’s here, somehow. I don’t understand it. I can’t wrap my mind around it.
I tell myself not to look at her, but in every break between shots, my eyes find her in the room. I don’t have to search for her. My body is aware of her in ways I don’t totally understand. There’s attraction, sure, but I’ve been attracted to plenty of women before. It’s something more visceral than that, this recognition, thiscognizanceof her, like she is some part of me that’s been missing. A phantom limb, reminding me of its existence in the most inconvenient ways.
The last time I saw her, I was in prison, pretending to be someone else but somehow still falling desperately in love with her. It wasn’t my first undercover mission, but it was the first time I’d been left in such a high-stakes environment on my own. At the time, I’d been so sure that I would be able to stay focused, get what information I needed quickly, and be extracted within a month.
Then I met Agnes. Agnes, with those incredible dark eyes and that shy smile. Agnes, who always held herself so carefully, so still, who looked like she had an infinite universe of secrets she kept locked inside of her. She was sobeautiful, even in the shapeless clothes, with her hair mostly covered. But that wasn’t why I was drawn to her. It was because she looked like someone who was in the middle of her own story. I don’t know how else to describe it. She was clearly a heroine in the making, but it was like she hadn’t yet realized her own power.
What was supposed to be a month of undercover work bled into two, then longer. I needed more time. Not on the case, mind you; Big Tom, who I’d gone into prison to befriend and retrieve information from, already trusted me like a son. I could have asked him anything, but I didn’t, because I wanted the excuse to spend more time with her.
On the day of the prison riot, I should have been at Big Tom’s side, sealing my place as his confidant. Instead, all I could think about was what would happen to Agnes if someone found her in the library on her own. So I went to Bible study, even though everyone else stayed behind to be in place for what was about to go down. When the chaos started, I held her in my arms and promised to protect her. I kissed her, and felt the warmth of her small, soft body against mine. I cracked open that day, knowing I had lost something I would never get back.
And I never saw her again. She never did come back to the prison. Never sent a letter, never gave me any explanation. Once I was extracted, I tried to look her up, but the convent wouldn’t release her information, and I had nothing to go off but a first name. Agnes. I told myself then that I had to move on, that I wasn’t going to see her again, that she clearly didn’t want to see me. She was a ghost now. Nothing more than a memory.
Except here she is. Looking at me with big, terrified eyes, like I’m the one who left her without so much as a word. Like I’m the one who brokeherheart.
So many strings were pulled to get me onMountain Manso I could get close to Harmony Miller, and by extension, Aaron Miller. I have to stay focused; I can’t allow for even the smallest distraction.
And yet, even knowing all of that ... I see Sister Agnes and my heart clenches. I can’t look away. When her eyes meet mine, it’s earth-shattering.
So. Yeah.
Shit.
The photoshoot stretches on for what feels like an eternity. God, how many pictures do they need, anyway? When I’m not zeroing in on Agnes, wherever she is in the room, I’m trying to make meaningful eye contact with Morrie to let himknow there’s a problem. Alas, Morrie has discovered the craft services table and is happily noshing away at finger sandwiches, completely oblivious to my distress. The man does love a good finger food.
Finally, the production staff calls for a break. One of the producers instructs us to eat, grab some water, and use the restroom while they pull a few of the men aside for one-on-one interviews.
Luckily, I’m not among the chosen few. As the other men amble over toward craft services, I find Agnes in the crowd. She’s carrying a tub full of the prop sunglasses and hats they had us wear for some of the “silly” poses, and is heading toward the back corridor.
This is it—my chance. After ascertaining that no one is paying attention to me, I follow after her. The bathrooms are on the other side of the building, but I figure I’ll just claim I got turned around if anyone acts suspicious. I really ought to tell Morrie before I duck out of the room, but he’s busy yucking it up with one of the other producers, and I might not get another shot to be with Agnes alone before she can blow my cover.
