“Then that’s my choice to make.” I meet her eyes steadily. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed three years ago. I’m sorry I can’t be what you need now. But my answer is no.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her dark eyes searching my face for any sign of weakness. Then her expression goes cold, distant. “I hope she’s worth it, Marcus. I hope she’s worth losing everything for. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
She walks out, her heels clicking against the tile floor, leaving me standing in my quarters with ice flooding my veins.
I find Charlie in the parish hall kitchen later, her hands working dough with practiced precision.
Flour dusts her dress, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun.
The domesticity of the scene should calm me, but Isabella’s words echo in my mind.She’ll leave. Girls like that always do.
Charlie looks up, and those hazel eyes immediately fill with concern. “Marcus? What’s wrong?”
Before I can answer, Elijah appears in the doorway, his angel face troubled. “The Bishop is ready to see us. Separate interviews.”
33
CHARLIE
The hallway outside the Bishop’s temporary office feels like a tomb. I sit on the hard wooden bench, my hands twisted together in my lap, trying to control the trembling that’s taken over my entire body.
Sister Margaret stands nearby, her sharp blue eyes tracking every nervous gesture I make, every time I bite my lip or shift my weight.
She knows. They all know.
The only question is how much.
The door opens, and Sister Margaret’s voice cuts through the silence. “Miss Davis. The Bishop will see you now.”
My legs barely support me as I stand. The walk into that office feels like walking to my own execution. Bishop Carmine sits behind a borrowed desk, his steel-gray hair catching the early afternoon light streaming through the window.
His deep-set eyes miss nothing as they track my entrance, cataloging every detail of my appearance, my posture, the way my hands won’t stop shaking.
“Please, sit.” His voice is measured, almost kind, which somehow makes it worse.
I lower myself into the chair across from him, hyperaware of how my dress rides up slightly, how exposed I feel under his scrutiny. Sister Margaret takes a position by the door, her notebook open, pen poised to record everything.
“Miss Davis.” The Bishop folds his hands on the desk, his ruby ring catching the light. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me today.”
“Of course, Your Excellency.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“I understand you’ve been volunteering at St. Michael’s for several months now. Working off a debt to the parish.” His tone is conversational, but there’s steel underneath. “Tell me about that arrangement.”
I explain about the money I took, about Grandma Rose’s medical bills, about Father Cross’s mercy in helping cover some of her bills and allowing me to work off the debit instead of pressing charges for my attempt or kicking me out on my own.
The words come easier than I expected, probably because this part is true, documented, safe.
“And how has that experience been for you?” He leans back slightly, his expression unreadable. “Working so closely with the clergy here?”
“It’s been…good.” I choose my words carefully. “Everyone has been very kind. Very professional.”
“Professional.” He repeats the word slowly, like he’s tasting it. “That’s an interesting choice. Tell me, Miss Davis, why do you spend so much time at St. Michael’s? Beyond your required volunteer hours, I mean.”
My throat tightens. “I…I help where I’m needed. The parish has been good to me.”
“Indeed.” The Bishop pulls a folder from his desk and opens it. I can’t see what’s inside, but my stomach drops anyway. “I’ve been observing the parish for several days now. Speaking with parishioners, reviewing schedules, watching interactions.” His eyes lift to mine. “You seem to be around the clergy quite frequently. Father Cross, Deacon Reyes, and Brother Moreau especially. Always one or more of them nearby.”
“They’re my supervisors.” The words sound weak even to my own ears. “They oversee my volunteer work.”
