by Chelle Bliss
Not for me, no, never. But maybe for Cara or the baby. Maybe for our father, who’d never learned the truth of his son’s greatest sin.
I moved, motioning to Angelo when he approached, waving around the rows where she sat, and I knew my man understood.
I wanted silence. I wanted privacy.
Angelo would make sure that happened.
I slipped into the pew behind her, watching her profile, the long, closed lashes as they fell against her high cheekbones. Her perfect, succulent mouth that seemed to be in a perpetual pout, moving now in quick time as she muttered prayers under her breath.
So pious, still. So pure.
“Hail Mary, full of grace…” I heard her pray.
The words pulled a smile from me, the only one I’d had today.
“My sister thanks you,” I told her, looking forward over her head, knowing she heard me.
The prayers stopped, and Sammy tilted her head to the left, an acknowledgment that she knew I was behind her.
“And I thank you for your prayers.”
“Your father was always very kind to me…”
I nodded, remembering how much my father thought of Sammy. How concerned he’d been when she’d chosen not to enter the order. “And my uncle,” she finished, pulling the smile from my face.
I looked at the front of the church, spotting her uncle, thankful his eyesight was too weakened with age that it was likely he could not see me by his niece. It was likely the old man would refuse to perform the service if he knew I dared speak to Sammy.
“My father loved you both very much.” I tightened my grip on the pew and leaned against it. “He thought highly of the work you do with the children and the…”
“What do you want?” Sammy no longer tilted her head toward me.
What did I want? What a loaded fucking question.
In a word? Her.
All of her.
Again.
Always.
I wanted a do-over.
I wanted her to see me and not be disgusted, but I knew that was a dream never to be fulfilled. I’d settle for civility, but I knew even that would likely be a stretch.
“Sammy…”
“Today is a sad day for our community, and I know you must be hurting.” She turned her head, looking toward Cara sitting in the front pew closest to our father’s casket, Kiel next to her, holding their baby. “Your sister will need your guidance and comfort. I would think you’d want to give her that today instead of trying to torment me.”
“Torment?” My voice cracked.
At that, she turned, gaze moving up to look at me. “It’s what you are best at.”
A flood of memories came back to me, a thousand lost seconds I held deep inside my heart when I needed them. Sammy’s head bent in prayer the day I first saw her, wearing a white dress and gloves as she knelt on the prayer bench and black streaks stained her perfect face.
Then later, her breath heavy, her bottom lip wet, plump like a grape on the vine, her scent fresh, hot as I leaned closer, wanting her so much, having her want me, but knowing it was a sin.
God, how I’d wanted to be a sinner that night.
“You should leave,” she said, pulling me from my memories, reminding me where I was and why.
“I will,” I told her, tired of the distance that my guilt and her anger had put between us. Her uncle was old and mean. He’d be dead soon, and Sammy would only be left with her grief and rage. If I didn’t intercede, there would be nothing left of her but bitterness. I knew firsthand she held too much fire for that to happen. “On one condition.”
“I don’t need to meet your conditions,” she said, not bothering to look my way when she answered.
I sent Angelo a grateful smile. It was a blessing to have such diligent staff. “Your lease is up next month on the children’s center, correct?”
Sammy jerked around, finally showing me her full face, more beautiful than I remembered, even more striking than it had been when I saw her screaming at me on the street outside St. Matthew’s.
“What did you do?”
I leaned forward just to get a whiff of her scent. It had been too long. “Trying to make amends.” She stiffened when I reached for her, my courage failing me when Sammy squeezed her eyes shut as though the idea of my touch would be torture. “Believe it or not,” I told her, leaning back against the pew. “I’m trying to help.” I pulled out a card from my jacket pocket, offering it to her as the choir at the front of the church began to sing another hymn, this one calling congregants to their seats. “We have a lot to discuss. When this is over.”
She didn’t take the card, staring down at it.
I placed it on the pew next to her leg. I stood, nodding to my sister when she turned in her seat, her gaze searching. “Thank you again, Sammy, for paying your respects. It’s always good to see you.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
I leaned down, grinning when she looked away from me. “Don’t worry, amore mio. You will one day very soon.”
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About Eden Butler
Eden Butler is an editor and writer of Romance, SciFi and Fantasy novels and the nine-time great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.
When she’s not writing, or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden impatiently awaits her Hogwarts letter, writes, reads and spends too much time watching New Orleans Saints football, and dreaming up plots that will likely keep her on deadline until her hair is white and her teeth are missing.
Currently, she is imprisoned under teenage rule alongside her husband in Southeastern Louisiana. Please send help.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chelle Bliss is the Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author of Men of Inked: Southside Series, Misadventures of a City Girl, the Men of Inked, and ALFA Investigations series.
She hails from the Midwest, but currently lives near the beach even though she hates sand. She's a full-time writer, time-waster extraordinaire, social media addict, coffee fiend, and ex history teacher.
She loves spending time with her two cats, alpha boyfriend, and chatting with readers. To learn more about Chelle, please visit menofinked.com or chellebliss.com.
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