“What’s wrong?” His dark eyes search my face, reading the tension there with unnerving accuracy.
I hand him the letter without speaking. His expression darkens as he reads, his jaw clenching as his hands curl into fists around the paper.
“Mierda,” he breathes. “Someone reported us.”
Elijah appears in the doorway moments later, his golden hair still slightly mussed from our interrupted morning. He’s wearing jeans and a white button-down, the top buttons undone, revealing the hollow of his throat.
“What’s happened?” Elijah’s French accent thickens as he takes in our expressions. His eyes move between Marcus and me, and I watch his usual angelic composure crack.
Marcus hands him the letter. We stand in weighted silence while Elijah reads, the only sound the ticking of the clock on my wall. Each second feels like a countdown to our destruction.
“Two weeks,” Elijah says finally, his voice carefully controlled. “We have two weeks before the Bishop arrives.”
The paranoia sets in immediately, flooding through me like poison. I move to the window, staring out at the church grounds. “Who? Mrs. Delacroix? She’s been bitter since the bake-off, watching Charlie with those calculating eyes.”
“Could be Deacon Paul,” Marcus offers, his tattooed arms still crossed. “He’s resented me since I arrived. Maybe he saw something, put pieces together.”
“Or Victory Life,” Elijah adds quietly. “They have those surveillance photos. What if they sent them to the diocese?”
I turn from the window, my hands gripping my rosary beads until they cut into my palm. “We need to review everything. Every interaction with Charlie. Every moment someone might have witnessed.”
“Adrian.” Marcus’s voice holds a warning. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we need to protect her.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “The Bishop is coming to investigatepastoral conduct. That means me. My behavior. My relationship with a parishioner.”
“Our relationship,” Elijah corrects. “All of us.”
“But I’m the priest.” My voice rises despite my attempt at control. “I’m the one who took vows of celibacy. I’m the one who’s supposed to be above reproach. If the Bishop finds out what we’ve been doing, what we’ve become to each other, it won’t just destroy me. It’ll destroy all of us. And Charlie…” My voice breaks slightly. “She’ll be labeled a seductress who corrupted three men of God.”
Marcus moves closer, his dark eyes burning into mine. “So what? You’re just going to push her away? Pretend she doesn’t exist?”
“I’m going to protect her.” My jaw clenches. “By maintaining appropriate distance. By being Father Cross instead of Adrian. By doing what I should have done from the beginning.”
“That’s bullshit.” Marcus’s voice rises with frustration. “You think suddenly going cold will help? You think she won’t be hurt by that?”
“She’ll be more hurt if the Bishop discovers the truth.” I force the words out. “If the whole parish finds out. If she becomes the scandal that destroys St. Michael’s.”
Elijah moves between us, his hands raised placatingly. “Adrian, Marcus is right. Sudden coldness will raise more questions than it answers. If you start treating Charlie differently now, people will notice the change.”
“Then what do you suggest?” I turn on him, my control fracturing visibly. “That we continue as we have been? That we keep claiming her in confessionals and on kitchen counters while the Bishop investigates us?”
“I suggest we be smart.” Elijah’s voice is calm, reasonable, and infuriating. “We maintain professional distance, yes. But we don’t freeze her out completely. We act like clergy and volunteer, nothing more, nothing less. No sudden changes that draw attention.”
I want to argue, to insist that complete separation is the only way to protect her.
But I’m already mentally cataloging every touch, every word, every sin I need to bury before the Bishop arrives.
The way I watched her during Mass, my gaze finding her in the third pew.
The night in my office when I claimed her on my desk.
The confessional where we turned sacred space into something profane.
Every moment feels like evidence now.
Footsteps echo in the hallway, and we all freeze.
The door opens, and Charlie appears, drawn by our raised voices.
