Sweetest Sin(80)

“Father—”

“I wouldn’t have you bear my pain, Honor. There’s no reason a soul as lovely as yours should be tarnished with something that vulgar.”

“Even if I want to carry it?” I whispered. “Even if I could help?”

“You can’t, my angel.”

“Because you won’t let me in.”

He didn’t answer. I knew he wouldn’t. Somehow we could strip each other bare, kiss, touch, take each other in the most animalistic and primal ways, and yet we couldn’t trust each other with the truth aching our hearts.

He hadn’t moved, and I reached for him, brushing my fingers along the hard line of his jaw.

Lower.

To his collar.

He stiffened in more ways than one as I touched it.

“Why did you become a priest, Rafe?”

The words pulled from him, reluctantly. Heavy.

“I was looking for reason in the world. A way to heal. Some hope.”

“Did you find it?”

“Now I did.”

My chest tightened as he kissed my hand. But he released me almost as soon as his lips graced my skin. It wasn’t fair. Every beat of my heart separated me from him.

“What are you afraid of?” I asked.

“Things that have already happened.”

“What things?”

He shook his head. “Too many to count. The world is a vicious, repetitive cycle, Honor. And it’s claimed you because of me. I fear too much what I’ve done to you.”

“And I’m blessed that it happened.” I leaned forward, hoping for a kiss. Praying that he’d just listen to me. “I’m blessed that I found you, Rafe.”

He stood. It was the first time he pushed me away. The first time he ran. He didn’t trust his pride, his faith, or his ability to deny me.

“I’m not the right man for you.”

“What if you’re the one I need? What if I’m the one—”

He silenced me with a glance. “There is a temptation greater than lust, my angel. And I would not challenge it. Not now. Not ever.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not strong enough to fight it.” He shook his head. “And I’m not the man who can explore it with you.”

The broken parts of me ached. He looked away, his expression drawn in the same remorse and somber pain that beat in my chest.

“I should go,” he said.

“Don’t.”

“Honor.”

“Please. Can you stay? Just for a little longer?” Was it selfish to admit this weakness? “I don’t want to be alone.”

Not now.

Not ever again.

But even I wasn’t foolish enough to dream of the possibilities of what I asked.

I lost my innocence to a priest. I lost my state of grace in the wicked games we played and desires we tempted.

But I also lost my heart to him.

And that was the one gift I couldn’t reclaim. No confessions would heal it. No prayers would save it. And no love would warm it.

Father Raphael hesitated at the door. After a long moment, he nodded.

He returned to the couch and welcomed me into his arms as I cradled against the warmth of his body and strength of his chest.

And he held me there. Protected. Safe.

Honored.

I never should have asked for such a wonderful and beautiful moment, but it was mine, and it was all I would ever have of us.

We didn’t kiss. We didn’t make love.

But still I sinned. I dared to hope for a man who didn’t belong to me, and I imagined a life he couldn’t offer.

But I slept in his arms, safe and comforted.

And loving him became my greatest sin.





Chapter Twenty – Raphael




Benjamin’s funeral was a joyous event, celebrated ten days after his death.

Priests from our area and the adjoining dioceses helped to honor him. We traveled to the cathedral in the city where the pews packed were with those he’ d helped during his ministry. Standing room only. Benjamin had blessed so many, and the faithful came to welcome him into the arms of the Lord.

But I couldn’t pray with them. I couldn’t speak any words. Forty of my brother priests circled his casket and the altar, and I’d never felt more alone.

I suffered a new and terrible type of pain. I’d surrounded myself in the church. I’d given my life to help the thriving community. And when I preached, I spoke the same prayers which had graced the lips of men for centuries. And yet loneliness chained me to the same altar at which I worshiped.

Prayer for the soul was good and just. Prayer for the touch of a woman was forbidden. I was meant to imagine a life of eternity and glory when I died, but first I had to suffer through long nights of still silences, alone in an empty house.

We laid Benjamin to rest, and he was surrounded by hundreds of his faithful friends.