Page 107 of Sinister

“They’re still men,” I say quietly, the truth bitter. “Maybe not openly, but things happen. Even in our community.”

And yet the thought of him, my Sin, with someone like the woman from before, with her full curves, her confidence, her worldliness . . . it crushes something inside me. Something tender and unsure.

He sees it. I turn my face away, blinking hard.

“Petra,” he says softly. “Look at me.”

He touches my chin and gently turns my face toward his. I meet his eyes.

“Would you care?” he asks. “If I had?”

I shake my head faintly. “I don’t have a say in what you do. Or what you’ve done before. Women are supposed to be chaste, pure, for their husbands. But no one expects the same of men. I know that. Even my brother’s been to brothels. I’ve heard him brag about it to his friends.”

“Eavesdropping again, huh?” he says gently.

“I’m good at it,” I mutter.

“You didn’t answer my question. Would you care?”

“Uhm.” I swallow. “Can we talk about something else?”

But the thought of him with another woman still echoes inside me. I can’t silence it. I picture him kissing her like he kissed me, touching her with the same hands. A sob slips out before I can stop it.

I look away, blinking repeatedly and hoping I won’t devolve into a mass of sobs, though I can tell I’m very close to doing so.

Not only have I somehow found my way to a forbidden tunnel where God knows what pagan rituals were performed, but I also witnessed something that will perhaps forever be engraved on my retina. Then to think of Sin doing that, too . . .

“Petra,” he says, reaching for me again. “Look at me.”

“Please,” I beg, eyes shut tight. “Can we talk about anything else?”

“I’ve never done it,” he swears.

I look up slowly. “What?”

“I’ve never paid for sex. I’ve never been with a prostitute.”

The tightness in my chest eases. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never been with another woman. Ever.”

He holds my gaze.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? That’s the truth. Until you I’d never even looked at anyone else.”

31

PETRA

I stare at him in confusion, his words looping in my mind.

“But why me?”

“Why not you?” he counters without hesitation.

I take a deep breath, trying to piece it all together.

“I’m trying to understand you, Sin. To understand this.” I gesture vaguely between us. “Why would you suddenly take an interest in me? Before the bookstore, we’d never met. You said you’d been watching me. But . . . when? How? What could I possibly have done to deserve that kind of attention? What made you interested in me?”