Eleanor leaned into her hands and breathed. She had no idea how to react to this news.
“So you know how to waltz because of her?”
“I tried to distract her from her painful attempts at seducing me by asking her about ballet, about dance, about anything that interested her.”
“You never had sex with her?”
“The marriage was unconsummated.”
“Your own wife.”
“I barely knew her when we married. And she was the sister of my closest friend.”
“Still, it was legal Catholic f**king. And you said she was beautiful, right?”
“When I realized how strong her feelings were for me, I considered it. I didn’t want to, but she was my wife for better or worse. I felt duty bound to make her happy. I failed. And it’s for the best. I’m not the sort of person who can engage in sex simply to pass the time. The one person I was intimate with as a teenager loved me deeply and made sacrifices to be with me. I exact a certain toll on a person.”
“I’m almost eighteen, Søren. You got married at eighteen. Stop acting like I’m too young for you.”
“My reticence has little to do with your age and everything to do with me being a priest who has no desire to drag you into a relationship that will dangerously complicate your life.”
“I want you so much.”
“Eleanor, I could barely breathe watching you walk down the aisle today. Do you know how much it hurt knowing you will never walk down that aisle to me?”
Tears burned her eyes.
“It hurt me, too,” she confessed, and blinked the tears away.
He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to meet his eyes. When she looked in them she saw no mercy, no compassion, no love, no kindness—only the cold, bitter truth.
“Little One, to be with me is to hurt.”
“To be without you would hurt more. It did hurt more. You won’t scare me off. I’m not afraid of you.”
He released her chin and Eleanor took a deep breath. Learning the truth about Søren was like fighting the Hydra. Every question he answered spawned three more questions. The more she learned the less she understood, the harder she had to fight.
“I’ll let you get back to your cleaning.” He stood up and Eleanor, still sitting, reached for his hand.
“Don’t go,” she said. “Please. We don’t have to talk. Stay a while. It’s been so long and I missed you so much….”
He threaded his fingers through her hair and she rested her head against his stomach.
“I missed you, too. Every day. But I can’t stay, Little One.” He caressed the back of her neck. “I have company.”
She turned her face up to him and tried to smile.
“Hot date waiting for you?”
“He wishes.”
“Don’t we all?”
“We’ll talk again soon. Once I’ve sobered up and recovered enough self-control to be alone in a room with you without thinking the things I’m thinking.”
“Do they involve us breaking the gift table?”
“It never stood a chance.”
Eleanor heaved a melodramatic sigh and stood on top of a chair.
“What are you doing, Eleanor?”
“I wanted to look down on you. This works.” She slid her hands over his broad back and wrapped her arms around him. She rested her chin against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
“You owe me this,” she said. “You dumped me. Now you owe me.”
“I’ll make it up to you in time,” he promised. His arms tightened around her, tight enough she knew he meant it.
She started to release him, but he wouldn’t let her go. Smiling, she clung to him even harder, relishing the feel of his large, strong hands on her back and his arms holding her so close to him not even God could slide between the cracks. Her body temperature spiked from the heat of him against her. A thousand dark and beautiful images flashed through her mind—him pressing her against the wall, capturing her mouth in a kiss, clothes coming off seemingly of their own will and him on top of her, inside her, claiming her as his own all night long.
“Why are you a priest?” She dug her hands in the back of his hair. Such soft hair and pale as spun gold.
“I love being a priest. It’s who I am. And it’s who I am because God wants me to be a priest.”
“Are you sure?”
“If I had any doubt in my mind, do you think you’d still be a virgin?”
“Who said I was?”
Søren pulled back long enough to give her a dirty look.
“Oh, stop glaring and hug me, Blondie.”
Laughing, he pulled her close again.
“You promised me everything,” she whispered.
“And I will keep my promise. But not yet.”
“Don’t worry about it. I told you I can wait, and I’ll wait. I know this is a big deal.”
“What you want from me, what we want from each other … it’s forbidden, Little One. If I’m caught, if we’re caught….”
The warning tone in his voice gave her a chill.
“How bad would it be?” she asked.
“Best-case scenario? A transfer, therapy, public ridicule, private ridicule. Worst-case scenario? Laicization. Most people would consider me a sexual predator if you and I were found to be involved.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m the one trying to get you into bed. And I’m seventeen. I can donate blood and get the death penalty if I murder someone, but I’m not allowed to have sex at seventeen? Jesus, it’s my body,” she said. “Mine, not theirs. And it’s your body. Why do they get to tell us what we can do with our bodies?”
“So you know how to waltz because of her?”
“I tried to distract her from her painful attempts at seducing me by asking her about ballet, about dance, about anything that interested her.”
“You never had sex with her?”
“The marriage was unconsummated.”
“Your own wife.”
“I barely knew her when we married. And she was the sister of my closest friend.”
“Still, it was legal Catholic f**king. And you said she was beautiful, right?”
“When I realized how strong her feelings were for me, I considered it. I didn’t want to, but she was my wife for better or worse. I felt duty bound to make her happy. I failed. And it’s for the best. I’m not the sort of person who can engage in sex simply to pass the time. The one person I was intimate with as a teenager loved me deeply and made sacrifices to be with me. I exact a certain toll on a person.”
“I’m almost eighteen, Søren. You got married at eighteen. Stop acting like I’m too young for you.”
“My reticence has little to do with your age and everything to do with me being a priest who has no desire to drag you into a relationship that will dangerously complicate your life.”
“I want you so much.”
“Eleanor, I could barely breathe watching you walk down the aisle today. Do you know how much it hurt knowing you will never walk down that aisle to me?”
Tears burned her eyes.
“It hurt me, too,” she confessed, and blinked the tears away.
He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to meet his eyes. When she looked in them she saw no mercy, no compassion, no love, no kindness—only the cold, bitter truth.
“Little One, to be with me is to hurt.”
“To be without you would hurt more. It did hurt more. You won’t scare me off. I’m not afraid of you.”
He released her chin and Eleanor took a deep breath. Learning the truth about Søren was like fighting the Hydra. Every question he answered spawned three more questions. The more she learned the less she understood, the harder she had to fight.
“I’ll let you get back to your cleaning.” He stood up and Eleanor, still sitting, reached for his hand.
“Don’t go,” she said. “Please. We don’t have to talk. Stay a while. It’s been so long and I missed you so much….”
He threaded his fingers through her hair and she rested her head against his stomach.
“I missed you, too. Every day. But I can’t stay, Little One.” He caressed the back of her neck. “I have company.”
She turned her face up to him and tried to smile.
“Hot date waiting for you?”
“He wishes.”
“Don’t we all?”
“We’ll talk again soon. Once I’ve sobered up and recovered enough self-control to be alone in a room with you without thinking the things I’m thinking.”
“Do they involve us breaking the gift table?”
“It never stood a chance.”
Eleanor heaved a melodramatic sigh and stood on top of a chair.
“What are you doing, Eleanor?”
“I wanted to look down on you. This works.” She slid her hands over his broad back and wrapped her arms around him. She rested her chin against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
“You owe me this,” she said. “You dumped me. Now you owe me.”
“I’ll make it up to you in time,” he promised. His arms tightened around her, tight enough she knew he meant it.
She started to release him, but he wouldn’t let her go. Smiling, she clung to him even harder, relishing the feel of his large, strong hands on her back and his arms holding her so close to him not even God could slide between the cracks. Her body temperature spiked from the heat of him against her. A thousand dark and beautiful images flashed through her mind—him pressing her against the wall, capturing her mouth in a kiss, clothes coming off seemingly of their own will and him on top of her, inside her, claiming her as his own all night long.
“Why are you a priest?” She dug her hands in the back of his hair. Such soft hair and pale as spun gold.
“I love being a priest. It’s who I am. And it’s who I am because God wants me to be a priest.”
“Are you sure?”
“If I had any doubt in my mind, do you think you’d still be a virgin?”
“Who said I was?”
Søren pulled back long enough to give her a dirty look.
“Oh, stop glaring and hug me, Blondie.”
Laughing, he pulled her close again.
“You promised me everything,” she whispered.
“And I will keep my promise. But not yet.”
“Don’t worry about it. I told you I can wait, and I’ll wait. I know this is a big deal.”
“What you want from me, what we want from each other … it’s forbidden, Little One. If I’m caught, if we’re caught….”
The warning tone in his voice gave her a chill.
“How bad would it be?” she asked.
“Best-case scenario? A transfer, therapy, public ridicule, private ridicule. Worst-case scenario? Laicization. Most people would consider me a sexual predator if you and I were found to be involved.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m the one trying to get you into bed. And I’m seventeen. I can donate blood and get the death penalty if I murder someone, but I’m not allowed to have sex at seventeen? Jesus, it’s my body,” she said. “Mine, not theirs. And it’s your body. Why do they get to tell us what we can do with our bodies?”
