Blessed: A Bad Priest Romance

by Alexis Angel

  Following after my father, I start walking back to our limo. I stop for a few seconds as the driver holds the door for me, and I look back over my shoulder to see Connor standing in the rain, all by himself. His eyes are downcast, but there’s a kind of serenity and poise in the way with which he’s standing.

  When I finally get inside the limo, I realize that I was holding my breath. There’s something about Connor, and it’s definitely more than him being eye-candy. No, he’s so much more than that. In a sense, it almost feels like he has the wisdom of his father and the confidence of a young man… And that in addition to his good looks, of course.

  Oh, now I definitely want him.

  5

  Clarise

  "If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask," I tell Connor, bowing my heads slightly as I offer him a sad smile. I’m still reeling from what I felt an hour ago, his eyes on my cleavage unleashing a boiling sensation inside my body, but I do my best to push it to the back of my mind. After all, this is his father’s funeral; I have to keep it together. For now, at least.

  "Thank you," he replies, looking straight into my eyes, and I find my heart picking up the pace. I have to take a deep breath to stop myself from running my tongue between my lips and, somehow, I manage to restrain myself. Jesus, why the hell am I behaving like this? Sure, I’ve decided that I want him… But do I really need to be acting like a teenager right now?

  Pull it together, Clarise, I think to myself, looking around the room and trying to think of something that’ll steer the conversation somewhere safe.

  "It feels good to be back in the States," he sighs then, looking out one of the windows wistfully. "I just never thought it’d be… Well, I just never thought this would be the reason I came back."

  "I know," I breath out softly, and then I place one of my hands on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "And I’m here for you," I whisper. "We all are."

  "Thank you, Clarise," he replies, but then he looks straight into my eyes and a serious expression washes over his face. "But I’m the one who’s here for you, you and your family," he adds, that confidence and poise making him like a giant of a man.

  "I’m glad you’re here for me," I tell him, not resisting with being just a little bit flirty. So what? Sue me. If me being a little flirty takes his mind off of everything that happened, is there any harm in it?

  He doesn’t say anything, though. He just takes his eyes off mine and looks out the window again; I let my hand fall from his shoulder and slide down his arm, feeling the rugged muscles hiding underneath his suit. Jesus, how does the Church train the Order of the Temple? Is there a hidden gym under the Vatican, one where all the Order trains in order to become ripped gods?

  "Connor, you know --" I start to say, but then I feel a hand on my shoulder and someone pushes me to the side. I spin around to face the man grabbing me and, surprise-surprise, it’s my brother. He has his hair slicked back from the rain, but even the rain doesn’t help to hide the smell of vodka on his breath. I’m not sure when it started, but shortly after he began working for my father, Earl developed a taste for the hard stuff.

  "So, Connor, are you up to it?" Earl asks, staring him down as if this were one of those press conferences before a boxing match. "You seem too young to be able to help in here, you know?" he continues defiantly, a smirk on his lips.

  "Age has nothing to do with it, Earl," Connor replies noncommittally, his tone of voice calm and steady.

  "Yeah? Is that so?" Earl continues, slurring his speech more and more. "I think it does. And I don’t think you’ll be able to measure up to your father, Connor."

  The moment the words leave Earl’s mouth, I wince by instinct, ready to see Connor’s fist flying toward my brother’s face. But that doesn’t happen; my eyes dart to Connor’s hands, but he hasn’t even balled them into fists.

  "Maybe I won’t. Or maybe I will," Connor replies, not a trace of emotion in his voice. Even though Earl is acting like a complete bastard, Connor doesn’t even seem to be registering it. I’ve never seen anyone so in control of his emotions like this; it’s almost inhuman. "Either way, Earl, I’ll do my best to serve your family."

  "Your best," Earl scoffs, placing one finger in Connor’s chest. "This family doesn’t need your best. What this family needs is someone with a strong pulse, someone capable of making the family even more powerful, someone --"

  "Someone like you?" Connor asks him, and Earl just falls silent, his eyes narrowing into two evil slits.

  "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? D’ya think I can’t handle this family? D’ya think I can’t run the company?" Earl continues, specks of spit jumping out from his mouth and onto Connor’s shirt.

  "I’m not saying anything, Earl. You’re drunk, and this has been a long day," Connor continues, still keeping in control of the situation, almost as if Earl was a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. "Why don’t we call it a day? If you still want to talk about it, we can talk tomorrow."

  "Fuck you, man! I don’t need to talk it out like a fuckin’ pussy! That’s what… That’s what pussies do." As he speaks, Earl’s cheeks flush, and now he’s the one who has balled his hands into fists. Connor’s patient and calm demeanor is affecting him, and not in the best way. But it’s not like Connor could do any differently; Earl strode in looking for an argument, and I guess he won’t let go until he has what he wants.

  "No, Earl. Real men talk about whatever needs to be talked about," Connor replies, his tone becoming ice-cold. Even Earl seems surprised by it, and he takes one step back, almost as if he expects Connor to punch him straight in the face.

  "What the hell are you doing, Earl?" my father hisses, walking between both Earl and Connor. "Are you out of your mind? This is a funeral, not a goddamn bar! And Connor just got here, why are you in his face like this?"

  "It’s not a problem," Connor tries to say, but my father just waves Earl away, a vein in his temple throbbing hard.

  "I’m sorry, Connor. I don’t want to cheapen what you’re going through, but losing Edward took a toll on all of us," my father continues to say, and Connor just nods respectfully, acting as if nothing happened.

  For a moment, I just keep my eyes focused on Connor, taking in the serenity in his face. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of people inside the ceremony room of our mansion, and this situation could've turned into quite the scene… But Connor kept it together, and even though no one would’ve blamed him if he KO’d my brother right away.

  Also, just between you and I … seeing Connor verbally dominate my brother kinda made me wet.

  6

  Connor

  I’ve always loved New York. There’s a certain flamboyance to the city, like a tapestry made of strings from different fabrics. There’s also a certain rush that seems to permeate everything and everyone, and that just adds to that energetic boldness of the city that never sleeps.

  Back when I started working in Rome, as a newly annointed member of the Order, I always relished my time off (which, really, didn’t happen that much). I’d grab the first plane out of Italy and spend the whole flight in a state of semi-anxiety, waiting to see the tall buildings of New York City rising in the distance.

  After months in Europe, New York was like a warm drink on the coldest of the nights. But now, the city seems grey and desolate. Its bold character now seems harsh and indifferent, and I can’t help but feel more lonely than ever.

  Pull yourself together, I think to myself as I look out the window of my bedroom in the Ritz, hundreds of people going about their lives in the street below. Even though I was more than ready to start working for the Donovans, Jonathan forbade me of doing so.

  "No way, Connor," he told me sternly. "Take some time for yourself. It’s an order." And so, even though I protested against it, he booked me one of the most expensives rooms in the Ritz.

  I’ve been here for a week now and, to be honest, all this time off is driving me crazy. After handling all the legal paperwork surroundin
g my father’s death, I now have nothing better to do than wander through the streets of New York aimlessly. Still, even though it doesn’t calm my restless mind, that’s what I’ve been doing every single day: I’ve been walking and walking, the gears inside my head turning endlessly.

  Working as the Donovan’s adviser is a big responsibility, and not to mention, following in my father’s shoes. They are big shoes to fill, indeed. And, of course, it doesn’t help that I already see trouble brewing on the horizon. Hurricane Earl is picking up speed and, sooner or later, that storm will be threatening the Donovans.

  It’s only natural that Jonathan’s looking to groom his heir, but I can’t help to wonder if he didn’t bet on the wrong horse. Sure, Earl might be bold and smart, but he also seems completely unhinged… And being unhinged isn’t exactly a good trait to possess when you have a multi-billion dollar fortune to manage.

  Whenever I talked to my father on the phone, he always sounded concerned with the way Earl had turned out, but only now I seem to grasp how worrying that is. It isn’t going to be easy to steer someone like him, especially when his own father seems blind to what’s happening.

  On the other hand, my father showed some optimism about Clarise. Even though she wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue in college, she somehow managed to graduate from Wharton with flying colors, and she was showing some interest in the business before my father passed away. Even though I can only guess at what my father was planning, I think he was trying to balance Earl with Clarise, if not replacing Earl altogether with his younger sister.

  Of course, whenever I start thinking of Clarise my mind drifts off. I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at the funeral. She seemed to glow, almost as if her own soul was on fire.

  A few years ago, she was nothing more than a skinny teenager with an easy laugh, and now… Now she’s the kind of woman that makes heads turn whenever she enters a room. And, more than being beautiful, she’s also smart and ambitious. Which sounds good, but also puts her on a collision course with her own brother. And I’m right in the middle of what looks like an inevitable civil war between siblings.

  Still, even though it might seem like an impossible task, I’m determined to do my best. After all, my father spent almost half of his life trying to help the Donovans - the least I can do is do my best to live up to his legacy.

  Pacing around the room, my gaze wanders over and over again to my cellphone, sitting on the desk in front of the bed. It’s time, I think to myself, to call Jonathan. I’ve had some time off, just like he proposed (or, rather, ordered), and I’m already aching to get down to business. After all, sitting here in this room by myself is just making my mind race in circles around itself. I need to do something - anything.

  I already have the cell phone in my hand when the phone on my bedstand starts to ring. I make my way toward it and, picking it up, press it against my ear. "Yes?" I ask whoever’s on the other side, and a polite female voice greets me, happily chirping my name.

  "There’s someone here to see you," that smooth disembodied voice continues, and I arch my eyebrows in surprise. Someone to see me? It’s not like I have any friends in New York City. Well, that’s not entirely true - I have a lot of female friends from my party years, but all those friends are long gone.

  "Who is it?" I ask and, the moment that question leaves my lips, my heart skips a beat as I realize I already know the answer.

  "Clarise Donovan," the Ritz’s receptionist replies, and my heart goes from skipping a beat to racing inside my chest. What the hell is Clarise doing here?

  "Tell her I’ll be right down," I say, and then hang up.

  As I head out the door, my mind is abuzz with anticipation. Even though Clarise’s just part of my job, I can’t help but feel happy about the opportunity to see her again. After all, the memory of her smile has been the only thing keeping me warm at night.

  7

  Clarise

  When my father told me to check up on Connor, he probably didn’t mean for me to travel all the way to New York City. But that’s exactly what I did and, now that I’m shifting my weight from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for Connor in the lobby of the Ritz, I can’t help but think that maybe I should have just called him on the phone.

  In fact, now that I think of it, that’s what my father intended me to do. "Can you please call Connor?" He asked me over dinner. "Ask him if he’s comfortable at the Ritz, and if there’s anything else we can do for him."

  Of course, the moment I heard my father’s words, the gears inside my head started turning fast. Before I knew it, I was already excited with the prospect of seeing Connor again. Even though I had that crush on him when I was younger, seeing him again after so many years kinda short-circuited my brain. I remembered him as someone fun, someone I could be rebellious with, but now… Now he has shed all the immaturity, and all that’s left is a man that seems more than ready to take on the world without flinching once.

  Every night, right before I drift off into sleep, my mind wanders back to the funeral. When Edward’s casket was being lowered into its final destination, my gaze was focused on Connor, and I simply couldn’t take my eyes off him. He stood tall, as tall as a giant, and the lines in his face seemed so hard and full of poise. It was in that moment that I understood the true meaning behind the word gravitas.

  Anyone else would be reduced to tears or, at least, they’d allow a few kinks in their armor to show. But not Connor - even though his father was being buried right in front of him, he seemed determined to stand tall through the whole ordeal.

  That made me kinda sad. I can’t exactly explain why but, in that moment, all I wanted was to rush toward him and wrap my arms around him. I wanted to tell him that it was okay to be sad, to feel hurt. I wanted to cut through these hard layers of his and take a look into his soul.

  "Clarise?"

  I turn around slowly, a wave of embarrassment washing over me as I look straight at Connor. I was excited and anxious about seeing him again that I hadn’t even considered what I would say.

  "Connor," I simply say, hurriedly trying to work on something else to say. "How are you?" I ask him, and I immediately regret the tone of my voice. It sounds awfully condescending and, more than that, it’s a stupid question. His father just died, why the hell am I asking how he’s doing?

  "I’m doing fine," he replies, and the lines around his eyes soften up as he smiles at me. It’s almost as if he knows what I’m thinking and wants to put me at ease.

  "Good," I find myself smiling back at him, suddenly feeling more relaxed than I expected to. Despite the sobriety of his character, there’s something about him that’s truly disarming. "My father wanted me to check up on you. He wanted me to ask if there’s anything else we can do for you."

  "Your family has already done enough, Clarise," he tells me, taking one step toward me. "I only have to thank you, really. None of this was necessary," he continues, waving one hand at the building around us.

  "Of course it was," I tell him, and then we just look into each other’s eyes for a long time, a deep silence around us.

  "Come, let’s walk," he says then, that maddening smile still on his lips. Without waiting for my reply, he starts walking toward the exit door and I follow after him, stepping outside as the warm glow of the morning sun laps at my skin.

  My driver is waiting by the limo, parked right in front of the hotel; expecting me to head toward the car, he’s about to open the door for me when I nod at him. No need, my gesture says, and he just nods right back.

  I cross the street side-by-side with Connor and, a few minutes later, we’re walking under the shade in Central Park. We walk in silence for a long while, neither of us daring to say a word. It’s unnerving at first, but then I realize that it’s exactly the opposite - with one deep breath, I calm myself and realize that I feel comfortable around him in complete silence. That says something, doesn’t it? With most people there’s always that urge to fill these moments of silence, t
o small-talk your way through everything; but with some special people, silence is all it takes.

  "I’m worried," he finally says, and I have to take a moment to understand what he’s saying. Central Park feels so peaceful right now that something like worry just seems out of place.

  "What about?"

  "Guiding your family is going to be hard," he admits, stopping dead in his tracks as his gaze wanders into the distance.

  "Of course," I smile, closing the distance between us and laying one hand on his shoulder. "We’re the Donovans - nothing about us is easy."

  "I’ve been doing some research, Clarise. Your financials are sound, but lately…"

  "You should have been resting, not doing research," I chide him, but then I sigh. "I know. My brother has been making some risky bets, and they’re not paying off."

  "No, they aren’t. And Earl doesn’t seem the kind of guy that listens to advice."

  "He isn’t," I agree. "When he started working under my father, he was pretty receptive to his guidance, but as time passed… He became confident - too confident. And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing."

  "What about you?" He asks, turning around to face me. "My father told me you were interested in being part of your family business."

  "That’s right," I nod. "I know I haven’t exactly lived up to the Donovan name but… I want that to change. I know my father has pretty much given up on me, and I really can’t blame him. But I refuse to sit on the sidelines, twiddling my thumbs while Earl slowly takes control over everything. I’m as good as he is, and I know it."

  "You’ll have to be patient," he whispers, his gaze once more wandering far into the distance. "But, with time, I think Jonathan will allow you to prove yourself."