Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance (28 page)

She made it sound
like my mystery man was married—and he was. To the church. To his calling. To
his ordination and faith.

And yet, I was
glad she thought of me as an adulterer. It was better than the truth.

“He’s a good man
with a good heart and soul,” I said. “If he could…I think he would love me.”

Mom didn’t like
that. “That’s the only type of man worth your while. One who does love you. Who
would care for you. Take you in sickness even if he never sees you healthy. If
he can’t give you that, he’s not good enough for you.”

“It’s
complicated.”

“Love isn’t.
Either it’s there, or it isn’t. It’s
people
that complicate the simplest
gift God gives us.”

“He loves though.
He does. Very much. Everyone and everything.”

Her eyebrow rose.
“Is that right?”

“He gives so much of
himself. Hours upon hours. Even in the depths of his own mourning, he still
makes time for others. He…was there when you were in the hospital. Selflessly.
When I needed him as badly as he might have needed me.”

Mom sipped her
tea, thinking long before she spoke.

“This man…he’s
young?”

“He’s older than
me.”

“Too old?”

“Eight years older.”

Mom scrunched her
nose, but she allowed it. “And he’s respected then? In the community?”

I answered twenty-questions
while tip-toeing around a minefield. “Yes.”

“I see.”

I think she did. I
braced for a lecture, a smiting, anything that might have punished me.

But nothing hurt
more than unrequited feelings.

Except being
alone.

Mom exhaled, long
and slow. “Honor, the heart wants what the heart wants.”

“What about what
God wants?” I looked away. “It’s not fair to the flock if the shepherd is the
one lost.”

“This has only one
answer, but it isn’t what you want to hear.”

I nodded.

“We’re taught that
God sacrificed his only son so we’d be saved,” Mom said. “If you sacrifice
this, he would save others. He has a duty, and he made his commitment.”

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry,
baby.”

“So am I.” I
released a pained breath. “It’s just hard to admit.”

“I wish I could
tell you the hard part is over, but I know better.” Mom pushed the cookie
towards me. “It’s not hardest when you pour out the bottle or flush that last
pill. It’ll be a week from now. Two. When you think you’ve finally beaten that
craving only to let doubt creep in. That’s when it’s hard. When it feels
impossible. When you don’t know why you’re living.”

She brushed the
hair from my face. I took her hand, amazed by the wisdom in a woman I hardly
knew.

Mom continued, her
voice a burst of passion. “That’s when you look around, take stock in what you
have, and accept the help that’s been given. Do you know what you have, Honor?”

I shook my head.

“You have me. I’ll
be here, and I’ll help you. I’ll be the mother you’ve needed.”

I looked away. “I
don’t think I need a mom right now.”

Her smile cracked,
but she hid it, nodding her head. “Of—of course.”

“I think I need a
friend.”

Mom leaned over
the counter, kissing my forehead. “You’ve got that too, baby girl. You’ve got
that too.”

I expected her
confession, but this one wasn’t delivered behind screens or in the darkness.

We met in the
adoration chapel, where it had all began, and where it would have to end.

Honor had come to
me in the darkest hour of my life, only my lovely angel wasn’t able to deliver
me from myself, my thoughts, or my heart.

The church was
empty this late at night. The choir had finished their last practice before the
big competition. The festival preparations were complete, and the grounds
awaited the vendors, games, and stands. The parish should have been excited.

But I told them
during Mass of my departure, and my last days at St. Cecilia’s turned somber
and dark.

Honor closed the
door. It was unnecessary. What was done was done. It wouldn’t happen again. Not
now. Not after our lust became something more.

I finally trusted
my body and desires, but it was my heart that failed me.

“You understand
why I have to go,” I said.

Honor didn’t
speak. She leaned against the door, hands behind her, head bowed. I’d have
thought she was praying or crying or trying to escape. Instead she pushed
forward, taking the few steps to approach me.

“You know why I
want you to stay.”

Her words haunted
me—too sorrowful. They weren’t spoken to convince me to remain in the parish,
to appeal the Bishop’s recommendation. She simply admitted the truth to me, to
herself, to the Lord and all the angels and saints, sinners and demons who
mocked our foolishness.

“I knew the
relocation was a possibility,” I said.

She sat next to
me. Two imaginary Bibles separated us.

“When are you
leaving?” she asked.

“Next week.”

“That quickly?”

“I should have
been moved long ago. They’ve been waiting. I don’t think the diocese trusted
me.” I clenched my jaw. “To them, I was someone young and…”

“Tempting?”

I didn’t answer.
It wasn’t the mark I wished to leave on such a pure soul.

She bit her lip. “Do
you have to go? Is there…anything we can do?”

Such an innocent
angel.

“I’m leaving. It’s
not a curse. It’s a blessing. We should be grateful for this.”

“
Why
?”

“Because we don’t
belong together.” I said it, and it hurt. “I am not the right man for you. For
anyone. It was wrong of me to get involved with you.”

“Even if it helped
us? Even if we…” She looked away. “Healed each other?”

“Still a sin,
Honor. And it’s made worse in how I feel for you.”

Her eyes widened,
that same almond-shaped surprise as the first time I touched her. “What do you
feel, Father?”

That I wished she
would call me
Rafe
.

And that was
reason enough for me to leave.

“We are in a
dangerous place, my angel. What we feel is more damning that the temptation
to…” I shouldn’t have looked at her, watched the quiver of her lip, met the
innocent, fawn-brown of her eyes. “What we feel for each other is more profound
than a single night of inhibition. We can confess our sins, but we can’t pray
to stop our hearts from beating.”

“Do you think it’s
fair?”

“I think it’s wise
that we’re separated.”

“That’s not what I
asked.”

That was the only
answer I could give her. I stared at the altar, the flickering red candle which
signified the divine spirit in the monstrance. It once gave me comfort. A
reason. A way to live.

But now, it felt
like my orders took something from me.

“Do you believe in
God, Honor?” I asked.

She didn’t like
the question. “Yes.” Her voice shifted. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want to
believe anymore.”

That broke my
heart. “Why?”

“Because then…it’d
be easier to want you. I wouldn’t be breaking a covenant with God. I could be
free to…” She bit her lip. “Be selfish. To sin without fear of reprimand for
feelings I can’t deny. I don’t even know if I
should
deny them.” She hesitated.
“If you didn’t believe, you wouldn’t fear the sins either.”

“The sins are my
own, Honor.”

“Not these.”

“Yes, they are.
They are the sweetest sins. And I wouldn’t purge them away for a clean soul or
untouched skin. I will keep this burden, my angel. You are the reason that I am
healed, and that darkness was cast away.”

“Then why can’t we
be—”

I interrupted her
before she said anything foolish. “You healed me, but I don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t believe
that.”

“You gifted me
your virtue, and your touch has meant more to me than any blessing I’ve ever
received. Because of you, I understand passion now. I see why it should be protected
and sanctified. Why it should be a covenant, a sacrament. That…connection is
too precious to give to anyone.”

“You aren’t just
anyone
,
Father.”

“Not anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

She was getting
upset. So was I, but I could hide the pain. I’d pray it away. I’d run laps
around my block or beat the punching bag in the rectory basement to relieve
that strain.

“What happened
between us wasn’t a mistake, Father,” she said. “It wasn’t a lapse in judgment
or a failure of temptation. It was real. What I feel is
real
.”

“And it’s best you
forget it.”

“How can I?”

I exhaled. “The
same way I will. Time. Separation.”

“And if I want to
see you again?”

My chest ached.
“Don’t try, Honor.”

She stood, kicking
away from the pew. I didn’t try to comfort her.

“I’ll leave the
parish,” I said. “And you can go on with your life. We have our own paths, and
they diverge here. It will protect us both.”

“From what? From
our hearts?”

“From each other.”

She shook her
head, the curls falling before her beautiful face. I wished she would have
tucked them behind her ear. I feared this would be the last time I’d see her
this close, this raw, without pretense or shelter.

I’d have brushed
her hair myself, but I didn’t trust where my hand would linger.

“I’m not afraid of
what I feel,” she said. “I just wish—”

“Don’t wish,” I
said. “We’ve already taken too much.”

“So that’s it? We
just…forget what we had? Ignore everything we’ve discovered?”

“No, there’s one
last thing I want you to do.”

She sensed it from
me, and like a raging animal, her hackles rose. Her beautiful face twisted in
pain and she stepped away from me.

“Don’t you dare,
Father.”

“I want you to
confess to me.”

“
No
.”

She was too
stubborn, to hurt to see why this needed to be done. “Why do you fight me on
this?”

“Why take away
what precious memories I have?”

“Why tarnish your
soul with my mistakes?”

“You have your
sweetest
sins
.” She spat the word. “Leave me my
beautiful
mistakes
.”

“You trusted me
with your body. Your innocence.” I extended a hand, calling her over. She
refused. “Trust me now with this.”

“It hurts.”

“Yes. It hurts us
both. But I will not leave you in a state of—”

Her voice rose. “No.
Just stop. Stop making what happened something perverted and terrible. Don’t
make me hate what we did because I
don’t
, Father. I won’t repent a
single minute of it. Not your touch. Not your kiss. Not the way it felt with
you inside me.”

“You’re in mortal
sin, Honor.”

“Then let me sin.”

I couldn’t. I
wouldn’t. Not if I could help her.

Honor stormed
before me, outraged and beautiful and
hating
me with such a furious
passion.

“You once said not
confess our sins. We are supposed to uncover the
reason
we were led into
darkness.”

Honor knelt before
me. I stiffened.

“This is my
confession, Father.”

“Honor.”

“Bless me, Father.
I’ve never been honest with you. My last confession was so long ago, so broken
and defiled, I don’t remember if I was even absolved.”

“Stop this.”

“For the past
summer, I’ve had impure thoughts—I can’t count the number. I’ve engaged in
sexual activity. Kisses. Touches more times than I can count. I’ve had sex with
a man three times, and each encounter was greater and more meaningful than the
last.”

I wouldn’t hear
this. “Honor—”

She spoke over me,
her words twisted in fury. “I don’t know why I did these things. At first I thought
it was a test of faith. I believed it was temptation that darkened my desire
and forced me to commit acts that I never imagined. But now…I understand.”

I tried to stand.
Honor pushed me back into the pew.

“Bless me, Father.
I gave myself to a kind, honest, and moral man. A man who was in pain. A man
who lived a life of self-inflicted punishment for the sins done to him as a
child.”

This was a mockery
of everything in my soul, and yet I stared into her eyes and hated that I hung
on her every word.

“I surrendered
myself to this man,” she said. “And he taught me more about my faith and my
body and the dangers of lust than anything I had ever read in scripture.
Through him, I found the strength to confront my mother, to take a role of
responsibility in the church, and to give of myself to others so that they
might be healed.”

I clenched my jaw.
“Are you done?”

“No. Because I have
one final confession, Father.”

And it would damn
us both.

Honor held my
gaze. “Over the past three months, I thought I suffered from the sin of lust,
but I was wrong. I felt something more. Something holy and pure. Something I’ve
never experienced for any man in my life. My heart had a revelation. You might
try to take this joy from me, but I will fight you for it until the day I die.
It can’t possibly be a sin!”

I said nothing,
waiting as she took a breath wracked with rage and fear and such sorrow I
pleaded for Mary to take some of her pain.

“Do I confess to
this? Yes.” Honor whispered. “Did we touch? Yes. Did we kiss? Yes. Did we have
sex? Yes.”

Enough of this. I
could tolerate her temper, but I couldn’t endure her tears.

“It’s time to
pray, Honor,” I said. “You’re angry now. Don’t blaspheme any more than we
already have.”

I stood, but Honor
was already retreating to the door, brushing away tears.

“I won’t repent for
those sins,” she said.

“They’re
mortal
,
Honor.”

“And I
cherish
them.” She ripped my rosaries from her neck and threw them at my feet. “Falling
in love with you is my only regret.”