“Miss Davis,” the Bishop says quietly, “your concern for Brother Moreau is noted. As is the concern all of you seem to share for each other.” His tone suggests he’s seeing far more than we want him to see. “I’ll make my other decision within forty-eight hours, after I investigate Miss Chen. Until then, you’re all dismissed.”
We file out in silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like a physical thing. Sister Margaret’s knowing look follows us down the hallway, and I know she’s already adding this interaction to whatever report she’s building.
The evening passes in a blur of forced normalcy. Dinner with the parish council.
Evening prayers.
Paperwork that needs reviewing.
I go through the motions while my mind spins through worst-case scenarios.
Elijah losing his position.
The investigation expanding to include Marcus and me.
Charlie being questioned more aggressively about her role in all of this.
By the time the church empties and silence settles over St. Michael’s, I’m wound so tight I can barely breathe.
I need to pray, to find some kind of peace in the chaos, to remember why I chose this life in the first place.
The sanctuary is dark except for the votive candles flickering in their red glass holders along the side aisle.
I kneel before the altar, my rosary beads cutting into my palms as I grip them.
The familiar prayers flow from my lips automatically, but my mind can’t focus.
All I can think about is Elijah’s face when the Bishop announced his suspension.
Charlie’s fierce defense despite the risk to herself. Marcus’s fury.
The family we’ve built in the shadows is falling apart.
God, give me strength. Give me wisdom. Show me how to protect them.
The prayer feels hollow, like my words are bouncing off the vaulted ceiling instead of reaching Heaven.
Maybe I’ve fallen too far for God to hear me anymore.
Maybe loving Charlie, loving all of them in this unconventional, forbidden way, has severed whatever connection I once had to the divine.
I hear footsteps behind me, soft and hesitant. I don’t need to turn to know it’s her. Charlie’s presence changes the air, makes it electric, charged with everything we can’t say, can’t do, can’t be.
She doesn’t speak, just moves closer until she’s kneeling beside me on the worn cushion.
Her simple dress rides up slightly as she settles, revealing more of her thighs, and I force my gaze back to the altar. But I’m hyperaware of every detail.
The way her chest rises and falls with each breath. The pulse hammering in her throat. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon that makes my body respond despite everything.
The heat of her body so close makes my breath catch. I want to reach for her, to pull her against me and forget everything else exists.
Want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in until the Bishop’s investigation and Sarah’s lies and Tommy’s threats all fade to nothing.
Want to claim her right here in this sacred space, make her mine so completely that no one could ever question who she belongs to.
Instead, I close my eyes and continue praying while she stays beside me, her presence both torture and comfort.
39
