Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance

by Sosie Frost

  “We needed that money.”

  “Well, if you must know…” She flipped her sandwich too late and burned it. “I’m planning a surprise.”

  I didn’t like that. “Surprises that cost this much money?”

  Or a surprise that would account for just enough to hide a bottle of cheap whiskey under the sink and a handful of pills in her purse?

  “Okay, Honor. You caught me.”

  I held my breath.

  Mom plated the crispy grilled cheese with a dollop of ketchup on the side. She pushed it to me.

  Close, but it was Dad who had liked the ketchup. I preferred pickles on mine. I ate it anyway.

  “I had this great idea,” Mom said. “You’re so involved in the church, and it’s wonderful. The woman’s group and the festival and this special Battle of the Choirs.”

  I peeled a bit of cheese from the bread and ate it to avoid speaking.

  “I wanted to get that sense of community too. Really thank the people who have been so kind. So…” Mom held her arms out. “I’m going to host a dinner party here for all those lovely people at St. Cecilia’s who have helped us.”

  I dropped the sandwich. “You what?”

  “I want to invite some people over. Judy, Ruthie, a few other ladies in the women’s club. We could even invite Father Rafe. He’d love a home-cooked meal.”

  “Mom, you’ve never cooked a meal like that in your life.”

  “Nonsense.” Mom frowned as she remembered. “I’m sure I have.”

  “Not in the past sixteen years,” I said. “I don’t think you know how to cook.”

  “We’ll learn.”

  “You don’t just learn this stuff.”

  “Of course you do. Everyone does.”

  Maybe when they were younger. Maybe before the drugs addled their minds. Maybe before they became a woman who couldn’t remember that she put the bread in the freezer and the peanut butter in the cabinet.

  “Mom, I don’t think we should do this. Money is…really hard to come by. And we’re behind on the bills—”

  “The Lord will provide, Honor. He did in the past.”

  “No, He really didn’t.” I tossed the statement on the table. “Dad was the one who provided. Dad shifted his schedules and took harder hours and did everything he could to make ends meet. But now he’s dead, and I’m here trying my hardest. I gave up my school, my job, everything to come here, and we don’t have enough money to—”

  Mom crossed her arms. “Honor Maria Thomas, you tell me right now what this is really about.”

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to have them come…here.”

  Mom looked over our apartment, her mouth drawing into a thin line. “I spent half a year confined to a space smaller than this. I am proud of this home we have. I am proud that I can walk out that door anytime I want without a guard on the other side. I can wear my Sunday best and not an orange jumpsuit. I can go to church and talk with those nice God-fearing people.” She shook her head. “And I’m not going to be ashamed if I invite them into my home.”

  “But this isn’t home!” I couldn’t hide the bitterness in my voice. “Home was across town. With Dad. In the house he built with his bare hands for us. A house we don’t have anymore.”

  “Home is where your family is, Honor.”

  “If that’s true, half of our home is buried six feet under.” I pitched the bank statement onto the table. “Dad’s dead. This family is broken.”

  “Don’t you say such things.”

  “I hope that money is going to a dinner, Mom. I really, really do.”

  “Honor—”

  I stood. “I gotta get to the church. We’re doing the festival prep later.”

  Mom stood in silence, watching as I grabbed my purse. I hated myself for leaving, for the words I said and the bitterness in my voice when I spoke of family.

  But she had never acted like a mother.

  And, God help me, I wasn’t acting like the daughter she needed.

  The door closed behind me, and I nearly wept.

  I didn’t believe her story. A dinner party? With all that cash missing?

  She had been clean for an entire year. Why was she throwing it away now? After all the confessions? The jail time?

  Dad’s funeral?

  She wasn’t the woman I remembered, but I couldn’t allow the mother from my past to return. How was I supposed to help her if I couldn’t face her?

  If I hadn’t forgiven her for everything in the past?

  I drove to the church, hating how Father Raphael’s voice haunted me. His words repeated in my mind.

  Do you resent your mother?

  Lately, he was a bad priest, but I knew so much good existed in him. First he lost himself in sin, and now Mom destroyed herself in vice. Two good souls depended on me to make things right. The easiest way to heal Father Raphael was to remind him why he became a priest.

  To protect his flock.

  I slipped into the church and greeted the few parishioners still lingering in the halls. His office door was closed. I stared at the handle.

  I hadn’t come to experience the thrill of his state. I wasn’t there for a kiss or a touch. I wouldn’t even return the rosaries I wore around my neck.

  I came to talk to him. My heart ached, and I longed to hear his voice whisper a kind word. Advice. Maybe see his smile and accept a compliment or two.

  Was it a sin to imagine a life without guilt?

  Probably, if only because it led to my most dangerous temptation. If I let myself imagine that life, I’d fantasize about something deeper than lust and desire. A moment without vows or collars.

  But I had enough sins to atone for. I wouldn’t tempt myself to steal more of Father Raphael than I already had. For that reason, I turned from his office and meant to escape back into the church.

  I nearly collided with him.

  And the warmth and joy that shuddered through me was worse than any sin.

  “Hi,” I said.

  Father Raphael gave me a knowing and twisted smirk, like he’d read through my intentions. “My angel.”

  “I…” I pointed past him. “I was going.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not important.”

  He took my hand, squeezing over my palm with a burning authority and firm grip. He tugged me into his office, closing the door behind us.

  I breathed deep as he passed. He was richly drenched in the sandalwood incense from today’s Mass. So regal and sensual. How could a man smell so important?

  He guided me to the chair before his desk, but I didn’t sit. I stared at him—his lips, his eyes, the way his collar shone so bright.

  “You, above all others, know my office is always open.”

  “I know, Father.”

  “You’re nervous.”

  I licked my lip, a twitch more than an invitation, but he leaned in for a kiss. I closed my eyes as his tongue flicked over mine.

  Wine.

  He tasted of wine.

  Or was it my imagination? My guilt?

  His hand brushed my cheek. How could the world and all its mysteries make sense during a kiss but shatter as soon as our lips parted?

  “I haven’t seen you since that night,” he whispered. “I was worried.”

  “Why?”

  Father Raphael moved the collar of my shirt to the side, touching the rosaries. I’d slept in them. Held them. Kept them as close to my heart as I could.

  “I thought I frightened you away,” he said.

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  He hummed, low. “We’ll see, won’t we, my angel?”

  It pained me to hear the defeat in his voice. He carried a burden of sorrow, so secret inside him. I wished he’d explain it, but that aspect of his life was truly forbidden. It existed in his obsession with me—fierce and intense. Why did he punish himself so much?

  “You know you didn’t hurt me, right?” I said. “Just the opposite.”

/>   “Not all wounds are physical.”

  He released me, and I couldn’t imagine what he saw with his stare. He looked at me as if I really were an angel. He was wrong. I wasn’t even that good of a person.

  But he told me I’d be his salvation.

  What was I saving him from?

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  He averted his eyes, studying the crucifix on his wall. “That night…you helped me to indulge in something dark and dangerous. It was a terrible desire, and I let myself fall. I explored a part of me I usually suppressed because I knew you wouldn’t run away when I revealed it.” He sucked in a breath. “But you should have run, Honor.”

  Never. “It wasn’t frightening, Father. Yes, it was very wrong, but it connected us—”

  “It corrupted you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I dominated you.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And I surrendered to you.”

  He didn’t listen. “I used you. I lost myself that night. When I thought I controlled my lust, I suffered from pride. You tried to warn me, but I thought I could contain it. Then…I faltered.”

  “We both did.”

  “I think I meant to do it,” he admitted. “I sinned because I wanted to destroy myself.” His gaze fell over me, just as stoic and strong as ever. “I won’t have you defend me or any of the pain I caused you.”

  “I’m not in pain, Father,” I said. “Not physically. Not emotionally. I don’t know what to do about my spirit, but that’s my sin to bear, not yours.”

  “I was supposed to protect you.”

  “Stop—”

  “The thoughts I had of you…the things I wanted to do.” His smile turned cold. “I pinned you beneath me and plunged into you, and if my body hadn’t betrayed me in exhaustion, I’d still be rutting you. You wouldn’t have left that altar. I’d have taken my fill of your innocence and left you…broken.”

  “You can’t break me.”

  He snorted. “I sacrificed your virtue.”

  “I gave it willingly.”

  “I desecrated your body.”

  “We took our pleasure, Father.”

  “I fucked you like a whore!”

  I flinched, but he wouldn’t win this fight.

  “That night meant more to me than you realize,” I said. “Not all sin is born of hatred or because we turned on the Lord. Sometimes we think we’re unforgiveable, but we’re forced to look past the shame to see why we led ourselves into darkness. You taught me that, Father. You’ve preached that one simple truth. Look deeper. Confess the cause, not just the sin.”

  “I told you my reasons,” he said.

  “And they’re wrong. We sinned together, but not because we wanted to fall from grace. We were together because we’re looking for something beautiful.”

  “It wasn’t beautiful, Honor. I see that now.”

  He turned from me, frustrated. His desk cleared of clutter, and that was good. The tension straining his arms might have cast anything within arm’s reach to the floor.

  He grunted. “What I did to you was horrific. I made you kneel. I made you take me in your mouth. I had you beneath me because, in my mind, that’s where you belonged. On your knees. On your back. You were the object of my pleasure, and I meant to take you that night in every way that would have satisfied me.”

  “Good thing I liked it then.”

  “It wasn’t my intent.”

  He lied, and he knew it. That was why he fell into silence. It must have been. He didn’t know what he believed anymore, about his faith or about himself. It was the first time I saw him truly frustrated.

  Or was he frightened?

  “That night wasn’t about desecrating my church,” he said. “I wanted to control you. That’s what sex is. Not the pleasure we feel but the power we take from another’s body. I took you because it made me feel powerful. Now do you understand?”

  The implication hurt. “Was that all you think it was? Just a way for you to be cruel to me?”

  “That’s the world, Honor. I would have protected you from it…if I hadn’t proven how vile I could be.”

  “Stop it.” I met his gaze, but I didn’t recognize the man behind the self-inflicted darkness. “Father. Rafe. Don’t you understand what you’re saying? You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt yourself. Nothing is unforgivable. You preach that. You taught me that—”

  “You don’t know the thoughts in my mind.”

  “And you don’t know what I feel in my heart. What does yours say, Father? What do you feel in your soul?”

  “I’ve lost my soul. I’ve destroyed myself. I’ve destroyed everything I loved. My faith. My willpower. My honor. And what remains is a demon of a man who wants nothing more than to violate you again, prove my power with every groan of my name upon your lips.”

  I wished he had told me the night meant nothing to him. That I was an excuse for a man to explore his sexuality and get off, easy and quick.

  But Father Rafael had done all he could to make that night something dark and beautiful. The candles. The altar. The oils. The gifted rosaries. He meant to explore that wicked sin with me.

  And I had felt something then. Him. The real Raphael. A man, gentle and loving and hurting. Hurting so much. Hiding that pain and struggling every day with the reality of the burdens he carried. Something happened to him that perverted his view of sex and desire. Something that prevented him from understanding why I offered my body and soul.

  I would have helped him. I would have healed him.

  But he didn’t want that redemption.

  He didn’t even try.

  “You aren’t a monster, Father,” I whispered. “You’re broken. Let me in, and I’ll help you.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask for your help or forgiveness.”

  “Ever?”

  “No.”

  But I would have given it if he would have let me care for him.

  I turned without a word. I never thought anything would hurt more than the fear of losing my soul.

  This was worse.

  I lost him. And I couldn’t save us both.

  I couldn’t save us at all.

  Father Raphael didn’t try to stop me as I left his office, and he didn’t emerge during the festival preparations. Hours passed in useless discussion about foods, vendors, and setting the stage for the choirs, but I didn’t remember a word that was spoken. After night fell, and after a quick choir practice with Alyssa and Samantha that I requested just so I didn’t have to return home, I finally left.

  I drove slowly and cleared Mom’s recent call from my phone. I’d have to face her tonight. She deserved an explanation. I had no idea how to begin or if it was worth opening old wounds, but sitting outside the apartment wouldn’t help. The prayer didn’t work either, but I gripped Father Raphael’s rosaries anyway.

  My key stuck in the apartment door, and I groaned. I jiggled the handle. It didn’t move. I knocked. Twice. Three times. Mom didn’t answer. I knew she went to bed early these days, but it wasn’t even ten.

  I pounded louder. Nothing. I gritted my teeth, slamming a hand against the key lodged in the knob. The door finally yielded. The lights were out, and I groped my way inside.

  “Mom?” My voice echoed, even in the small space. “I’m back.”

  She didn’t answer. Probably asleep. I turned the corner and tripped over her slipper.

  My mother lay collapsed upon the hallway floor.

  Chapter Eighteen – Raphael

  Benjamin died at seven-thirty in the evening.

  I made it to the hospice at seven forty-five.

  His skin wasn’t even cold when I’d kissed his forehead. The nurses said it happened quickly. That was a lie. The cancer had been eating through him for the past six months.

  Now he was gone. Welcomed into Heaven and into the loving embrace of our Lord.

  I had come to confess to Benjamin, but I arrived too late to say
goodbye.

  And my sins would die with him.

  No other man would understand what I had done. No one would see through the sins and recognize the pain beneath. Only Benjamin would know I hadn’t acted in defiance. I fell because I had no other way to rationalize the darkness inside me.

  A darkness that split, cracked, and faded in the light of Honor’s touch.

  She’d kissed me, and I’d felt whole.

  She’d touched me, and I’d felt healed.

  She’d offered herself to me, and I’d felt…

  Something more damning to a priest than just the temptation of lust. Something that would ruin us both. I could confess away the filth of sex, but what stirred deep in me wasn’t so easily cleansed.

  My first, only, and primary concern had to be to the church. To Christ. To my parish.

  Anything more, even something as pure and natural as the wrong feeling for the right woman, was a greater betrayal to my collar than what happened on that altar.

  Even Benjamin would have warned against those feelings.

  I stayed with him for a while, but without his voice, without his guidance, it only pained me. I’d lost my mentor. My spiritual and surrogate father.

  The only man I’d trusted with the truth of my past.

  I left the hospice and let the nurses and funeral directors handle him. The diocese would arrange the funeral Mass. At least I’d be there. I couldn’t let him go without offering my own final prayer. Benjamin deserved that.

  He’d tried so hard to help me.

  It wasn’t his failure. It was mine.

  I returned home to sit in the dark and quiet. I’d cleaned the house, but I still smelled candied apples. Still saw her outline in my sheets. Imagined her in my kitchen. The forbidden fruit that conquered me wasn’t plucked from a tree, it had been baked in the oven. And before I tossed the chocolate cake away, I had a piece.

  It was the best cake I’d ever had.

  And in another world, another time, another life, I might have been able to enjoy it. That slice. More slices. Maybe we always would have had cake after dinner.

  I had whiskey to drink, but the glass stayed half full as the ice melted. My phone rang after a few hours, close to midnight.

  The damn phone tree. I imagined they heard the news. Except the phone number wasn’t Judy heralding a charge.