by Pam Godwin
LESSONS IN SIN
PAM GODWIN
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
About Midnight Dynasty
About the Author
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
TINSLEY
One measly blow job, and it all came crashing down.
My social calendar, my high school, my designer clothes… Even my silk pillowcases were taken away, my entire world downgraded in the blink of an eye.
My life was over.
The end.
There was no coming back from this.
Dramatic? Maybe. But I felt a very real sense of dread about my circumstances. It was one thing to be ripped away from my friends and family. But to be sent to an all-girls Catholic boarding school?
I didn’t know anyone here. The air reeked of damp wood and misery. Crucifixes hung on the walls like grisly omens. And the green plaid uniforms? Ew. The color was all wrong for my complexion. I wasn’t even Catholic.
This can’t be happening.
The sound of my footsteps echoed through the old, empty classroom as I paced along the wall of windows. Beyond the glass, the sun descended into the mountains, casting the school grounds in shades of lavender. It would’ve been a majestic view if not for the bars.
Iron bars on third-story windows.
“This isn’t a school. It’s a prison. Or hell. I’m in hell.” Resentment snarled through me as I whirled toward my mother. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. It was just a blow job. You can’t lock me away for that.”
“This is hardly a prison.” Perched on a wooden seat in the front row, she didn’t look up from her phone. “Sion Academy inspires respect and admiration, two qualities you severely lack as of late.”
“Because I messed around with a guy? The Queen of England has done more than that at least four times. What’s the big deal?”
“The Queen of England is the longest-serving female head of state in world history. She didn’t achieve that status by engaging in oral sex with a Burger King employee. She earned it through duty, respect, and marrying appropriately.” Her chin snapped up, eyes blazing. “It’s your role as a Constantine heiress to do the same.”
Vomit. Literally, I puked in my mouth.
Caroline Constantine was all about arranged marriages. She wasn’t just the matriarch of our rich and powerful family. When my father died, she became the reigning head, the supreme authority of the Constantine dynasty, and the final word. Who was I to question her?
I was merely the baby. The youngest of six children. Also known as the precious princess. The belle of every ball. Teeny Tinsley, the nicest Constantine.
In other words, no one thought I had a backbone.
Well, fuck them. I could be just as ruthless as my mother, despite her overbearing efforts to portray me as sweet and innocent in the press.
“I’m eighteen.” I clenched my hands at my sides. “I can put my mouth wherever—”
“You’re a Constantine. Your mouth represents this family, and I decide what you do with it.”
I hated her for this. It was hard enough to maintain real friendships in Bishop’s Landing. But here? Hours away from home? I was doomed to spend my last year of high school alone.
Leave it to my mother to find a prestigious, high-status, all-girls school in the middle of nowhere. Sion Academy of the Sacred Heart was in an old New England village hidden in the foothills of the White Mountains. In fucking Maine.
As we waited to meet the headteacher, the isolation closed in around me.
A large tower projected vertically from the rear of the classroom, where auditorium-style seating stacked in tiers, overlooking the teacher’s desk and massive chalkboard.
The soaring domed ceiling made it all so very grand and open, but the heavy wooden desks and tarnished brass railings added darkness and gloom to the old-fashioned ambiance.
The first day of school officially began tomorrow. When I arrived moments ago, I caught glimpses of the residents in the corridors. Their aversion to newcomers rang loud and clear. For every unwelcome glare, I flung one right back, refusing to show weakness.
I couldn’t fathom sitting in this room among rows of prissy girls, wearing identical pleated plaid skirts, eager to learn and pray and conform.
Just…no.
I wanted to crush on boys, wear my own clothes, and live a normal life. Why was that too much to ask?
The blow job with Robby Howard hadn’t been my first. He was just another new guy in town, a college freshman attending the nearby university. He didn’t know he wasn’t allowed to touch me.
I would’ve given him my virginity, but just like with the others, my babysitting bodyguard had put a stop to that.
Maybe it was because Robby didn’t have a trust fund and had to work at Burger King to pay his tuition, but he was the final straw with my mother.
And here I was, facing the fallout.
Regrets?
Oh, I should have them. I should have a handwritten, tattered-around-the-edges journal full of them. Most eighteen-year-old girls did. But I wasn’t like other girls. I wasn’t allowed to make mistakes or have regrets.
Somehow, I was supposed to learn life’s lessons by being perfect.
What a load of shit.
“You think I can’t get into trouble here?” I stormed toward her, fuming. “I’ll find a way, Mother. I’ll find another Robby Howard—”
“Mention his name again, and you’ll be writing to him in prison.”
“Writing to him?” I screwed up my face, incredulous. “I don’t want a relationship with the guy. I just want—”
“Don’t—”
“—sex. For once in my life, I want a little fun and excitement.” Desperation drove me to my knees at her feet. I clutched her hand on the armrest, my tone taking on a pleading edge. “I want to experience normal girl stuff, explore things, experiment, and stretch my wings. I want to live.”
“Stand up.” She yanked her hand away, her blue eyes crystallizing with ice. “On your feet.”
“Please. You can’t leave me here. I’m begging you.”
“Constantines do not beg or kneel. Get. Up.”
“I’ll stop begging when you listen to me.” I pressed closer, my chest pushing against her rigid legs. “Can’t you feel the weird darkness in this place? The oppression?”
“Don’t confuse oppression with structure and discipline. You need a strict environment.”
“Fine. Send me to Pembroke. Keaton loved it there. Or another co-ed prep school. Anywhere but here. This school feels all wrong. It’s creepy and sad.” I shivered, hating the quiver in my voice, but I needed her to believe me. “It’s in the wood, th
e bricks. It’s the chill in the air. Cruelty lives in these walls.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. That’s all in your head.”
“Is that what you told Elaine?”
Her face paled, and for a fraction of a second, I swore I saw an emotion I’d never seen in her flawless features.
Remorse.
I didn’t know what happened to my sister, but when she was sent away for religious schooling, she didn’t come back the same. My mother knew what had driven Elaine into depression and drug use. Elaine had gone to her multiple times, begging for help.
“She confided in you. Whatever she told you about Reverend Lynch’s school, I know it was terrible.” My chest tightened. “And what did you do? Did you tell her it was in her head?”
“Enough.” She stood abruptly, pushing me away as she stepped back. “Get up.”
“You can stop this.” I scrambled toward her on my knees and gripped the hem of her pencil skirt. “You can prevent the same thing from happening to me.”
“Spoiled, melodramatic child.” She captured my wrist, pulling, squeezing the bones too hard. “Stand up before you embarrass—”
The door opened, and a dark, imposing figure filled the gap.
My mother released me, and I fell back on the wooden floor, my breath caught in my throat.
A man stepped in, dressed head to toe in black. His shoes, slacks, and button-up shirt absorbed the shadows in the hall, the somberness of his attire serving only to accentuate the stark white collar at his throat.
He was a jarring shock to the senses.
I’d never seen a Catholic priest in person, but I had a mental picture of what one ought to look like. Scrawny, old, unattractive, bitter, prudish…
Good Lord, this man decimated every stereotype in my mind.
The starched black clothes failed to conceal his hard physique. He was well-built without being bulky, entrancing without camera filters. Lean muscle flexed at the seams, the threads molding around toned limbs. His shirtsleeves were pushed to his elbows, revealing sculpted forearms, and the definition continued through his legs, trim waist, flat stomach, and broad chest.
Okay, so he loved Jesus and worked out. Not a crazy notion. What scrambled my brain, however, was the outrageous perfection of his face. He had that chiseled jawline that women loved about my brothers. The blunt angles, square shape, and hint of shadow that the sharpest blade couldn’t quite scrape away.
He wore his brown hair in finger-raked dishevelment, short on the sides with the longer strands on top, arranged to look messy. A trendy style. Youthful. Not that he was young.
Maturity lined his features. No wrinkles. But there was a distinguished air of authority in his glare. A hardened glare that could only be attained with life experience. He was closer to my brother Winston’s age. Mid-thirties, maybe. Way too old to catch my eye.
Way too intimidating.
Except I couldn’t look away. With his feet braced shoulder-width apart and his hands resting on his hips, his bearing commanded attention. I didn’t know where to fix my gaze. Every part of him conjured indecent thoughts. And danger.
His gorgeous looks didn’t diminish the warning that iced the air around him. There was something off about him, something in his expression that triggered alarms in my head.
His eyes, a deep, rich shade of blue, sharpened into slits as he took in my unladylike sprawl on the floor. Thank God I wore pants. But he didn’t just look at me. He shouted with those eyes, criticizing and reprimanding everything he saw with unsettling silence. His cold stare punched through my chest and paralyzed my heart, sending my pulse into a tailspin.
I wasn’t the only one affected. My mother hadn’t moved since he’d opened the door. I wasn’t sure she was breathing.
Until she cleared her throat. “You must be Father Magnus Falke.”
He gave a sharp nod without releasing me from his gaze. No empathy, no warmth, not a hint of reassurance in his body language.
If this was the headteacher who would be controlling my life for the next year, I was in deeper shit than I’d thought.
CHAPTER 2
TINSLEY
I scrambled to my feet and brushed off my pants while inching closer to my mother. I wanted to grab her and beg her not to leave me here with this priest. But something told me I shouldn’t show fear or weakness in his presence.
His gaze fed upon the trembling in my hands. The twitch of his lips said he liked it. He enjoyed my distress. God, I hoped I was wrong. Maybe his frosty greeting was nothing more than a scare tactic to keep new students in line.
“Caroline Constantine.” My mother extended a manicured hand, her voice silky smooth. “You spoke to my assistant and agreed to my requirements for Tinsley’s instruction.”
“I’m aware.” He grasped her fingers.
She smiled, tightening her grip. He gave no reaction, and the handshake lingered long after the two-second rule.
Celibate or not, no man could resist my mother. She was a portrait of gilded beauty. With her golden hair and glowing skin, she could be mistaken for my older sister, and she knew it. Her confidence was one of her greatest weapons, and God help the poor souls who fell into her trap.
She slowly withdrew her hand, maintaining eye contact. “You have a reputation, Father Falke.”
“Magnus.”
“Father Magnus.” She cocked her head, wearing a pleasant expression. “I’ve chosen your school for my youngest because you have a history of success in reforming troubled girls and transforming them into respectable young ladies.”
“Wait. What?” My stomach clenched. “This is a boarding school, not a reform school.” A buzzing sound thrashed in my ears. “Right?”
She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I understand that you will personally take over Tinsley’s education and discipline.”
“Yes.” His detached tone chilled me.
“Are you serious?” My mouth hung open. “I’m not troubled, and I sure as hell don’t need special treatment. What is this? What are you not telling me?”
She tossed me an irritated glance. “Father Magnus offers a unique training program for girls like you.”
“Girls like me? You mean girls who exist only as pawns for their parents in business negotiations?”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Oh, right, so you’re referring to the girls whose mothers are too busy, too important to deal with insignificant tasks like parenting.” Rancor burned in my throat. “You’re a monster.”
“If I were a monster, I would sit back and watch you ruin your life.”
“Instead, you’ll happily ruin it for me.” Disgusted, I looked away, forcing my attention to Father Magnus. “What’s the arrangement that was made for me?”
“Most students come in as freshmen.” Rich, deep, and startlingly seductive, his voice curled into my belly, tightening it. “Since you’re a senior, your situation is different. Tomorrow, you’ll take a series of aptitude tests. Once I know your academic skill level, I’ll determine your class schedule. You may have some classes with your peers. But in the courses where you’re struggling—”
“I’m not struggling. My grades are stellar.”
“The elite curriculum at Sion Academy is leagues ahead of other private schools. I’ll work with you one-on-one to bring you up to speed on your lessons and religious training, as well as correcting your behavior.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my behavior.”
His hand lowered to his side, drawing my attention to the motion of his thumb rubbing against his forefinger. God only knew what that subtle gesture meant, but it made me wonder if he were fighting the impulse to reach out and strangle me.
Did he think I was disrespectful? Mouthy? Slutty? Ignorant? What had he been told about me? And how much of it was true?
“What do you mean by correcting my behavior?” I stood taller, trying to appear as unflappable as he was.
“It can mean many things.”
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Vague. Never a good sign.
Hollywood liked to portray Catholic school priests as tyrannical and heartless. But that couldn’t be accurate. Godly people were supposed to be compassionate.
Except I didn’t detect an ounce of compassion in his stony eyes. Instead, they promised insufferable rules and swift punishment.
A creeping sense of dread settled over me. “What are the punishments here?”
“For minor misdeeds, you’ll pray the rosary. Other penances may include an early curfew, manual labor, or social isolation.” His low, velvety baritone was a taunt in my ears. “In extreme cases, corporal punishment is employed.”
“That’s…” My mouth dried. “You mean abuse?”
“Physical pain and psychological humiliation.”
“Oh my God.” I wasn’t aware of my feet moving backward until I bumped into my mother. “You hit your students? Like…with a paddle? A yardstick?”
“Strap and cane.”
“What?” I froze, certain I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“It’s not a common practice at Sion Academy, but sometimes, a heavy hand is required.”
“Are you hearing this?” I spun toward my mother.
“Do as you’re told,” she said in a bored tone, “and your schooling will be painless.”
“Beating students is illegal!”
“There are no federal or state laws against corporal punishment in private schools.” She smiled, and that hurt more than anything.
“If I come home with bruises, you won’t care, will you? Unless someone notices them in public?”
“When I see you again, I expect you to have grown out of this childish behavior and be long past physical punishment.”
“What do you mean? I’ll see you in a week. Parents visit on the weekends and—”
“Out of the question. If I receive a satisfactory report from Father Magnus in a few months, I’ll allow you a visit home during the holidays.”
“Why are you doing this?” My voice bled cold fury. “Because I broke your rules? Fine. Send me to another school. Uprooting my life is punishment enough. But to turn me over to a stranger who admittedly beats his students? You must truly despise me.”