He didn’t know why he thought of that in this moment; maybe it was that there was something broken in Sasha’s gaze as it met his that morning. When that registered with him, he forgot all concern for his equanimity and touched her arm. She started, and he dropped his hand.
They had still said nothing, but he felt as though they’d spoken for an hour. It was cruel, really, that they were so in tune. Some real Old Testament shit. He felt like Eve. She was the apple. The sensual, juicy apple that would be healthy for someone else to love. Not for him. He just had to keep repeating that to himself. It hadn’t worked before, but he didn’t have any other options.
“You cut your hair. Sorry I didn’t mention it at the wedding.” He might not know much, having grown up with only a brother, but the semiotics of hair were not lost on him. Something had happened, and all Patrick wanted to do was fix it. But it was not his job. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s okay that you noticed.” She bit her lip and rubbed her palm over the ends of her shorn locks. She was still self-conscious about it.
He cleared his throat. “I like it.”
Something changed in her face then, like it closed down for a split second and then came back online. She’d just successfully put distance between them even though neither of them had physically moved.
“Thank you.” Her words echoed through the sanctuary, and he noticed then that it was empty. They were alone.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” If they were outside and he was wearing his collar, he probably wouldn’t try to touch her again. It might be enough to keep him from kissing her again.
“Can we sit in here?” She motioned to the back pew.
It was probably a great idea to be looking straight at an image of Jesus dying on the cross while he was with her, so he nodded and extended his arm.
The bench creaked when he sat down, and that was the only sound either of them made for a long beat. An awkward beat. It had Patrick bracing for bad news.
* * *
—
SASHA FLINCHED WHEN PATRICK looked at her. There was so much hope in his gaze. It was really too bad that she was going to have to dash both of their hopes. She’d shown up at St. Bart’s that morning fully intending to beg Patrick to leave the church and be with her. After Friday night with Nathan, she knew that there was no one else for her.
Pam was right. A relationship wasn’t worth anything unless it was totally naked. She had just been a little off on the kind of naked that Sasha needed. Well, she needed both kinds of naked, but the spiritual nudity that Sasha felt whenever Patrick looked at her clothed her skin in gold threads. Chills had gone up and down her spine when he’d looked at her the first time during Mass. And she’d felt herself dim as soon as he looked away.
She would have to get used to that feeling—the one of having stood in the light of his attention and then having that attention taken away forever. Because, although she had come here to beg him to be with her, something stopped her from wanting that.
She’d seen him say Mass plenty of times, mostly at weddings. But it wasn’t until this morning—a totally ordinary Sunday—that she’d really seen how integral him being a priest was to the fact that she was totally in love with him.
Ironic and cruel it was that he was perfect saying the words and doing the things that had totally lost meaning for her years before. She might be lost and still searching, but Patrick was not. He was still on the path to a good and righteous life. And wanting him so much, loving him so much, was just a sign of how lost she truly was. Being a priest was so much a part of him that he totally got lost in it. She got totally lost in it even though she’d come here this morning to tell him how she felt.
And right now, sitting here, she didn’t have an excuse to be here anymore. Everything for the carnival was set up. There was nothing left to do, and Nathan’s team was still helping. Mostly because she’d threatened to tell his wife that he was seriously dating other women while they were still married. And he didn’t want to disappoint God even more. She’d really laid it on thick.
Patrick would never think to be that devious or manipulative. He was too good. Too thoughtful.
It was too bad that he set her entire body on fire. Maybe it was him, but she had to start thinking that it was perhaps Jesus looking down at them, reminding her of how hot the fires of hell would be for eternity if she didn’t stop this madness of an almost-affair with Patrick right now.
They looked at each other simultaneously. Patrick leaned down as though he were about to kiss her. Somehow—probably the little bit of grace from God she had left—she put a hand to his shoulder and turned her body away. He stiffened. Sasha allowed her palm to linger against his muscled shoulder. She would never, ever allow herself to touch him again, and the bad seed inside her—the one that had grown into an entire Venus flytrap just waiting to pull him in—needed to savor this last contact.
She breathed him in, the scent of incense mingling with the old-fashioned way he smelled. If she was never going to have him again, she needed to have him in her mind forever. If she was going to shut the door on what was between them, forever and ever, she was going to really milk her sacrifice for all it was worth.
“Thank you.” That was the last thing she was expecting him to say. All these men in her life that she didn’t want or couldn’t have were out here surprising her. They had to stop doing that.
She dropped her hand, and they both looked forward. “No problem.”
“What are you doing here?” He didn’t sound angry or accusatory, but the words hit her like bullets to the heart all the same. Confusing, confounding man whom she understood perfectly all the same. He was hers in this way, and she would hoard that understanding all her life even if she couldn’t touch him, smell him, even hold him for one night.
That thought filled her eyes with tears, and she looked down to her hands to try to blink them away. “I think it’s best if I don’t—don’t see you again.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she took in the way that Patrick’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He didn’t like what she’d just said, but he wasn’t going to contradict her. “Why?”
She shouldn’t tell him how she felt about him, and it was time to do the right thing. “They need you.”
“More than you?”
Her need for him was bottomless and without end. But he couldn’t know that. He needed to be of service, to be a conduit for God. He needed more than just her—her small life, the parties, and the perfect place settings. It was her turn to nod. Only she hoped he wasn’t noticing how weak her resolve was.
She tried to pull herself together. It wouldn’t do for him to know how difficult this was for her. He would give his whole life up to make it so that she was okay. He wanted her now because she’d tempted him. She was Jezebel, but she had enough of a soul left to stop herself from causing him to fall.