Page 136 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“You are still afraid, but you don’t need to be.” I take her hands, already cold with anxiety, and envelop them in mine. Then I bring them to my lips and blow warm air to help boost her circulation. Against her knuckles, I murmur, “Mercy, it doesn’t have to be an engagement ring. It can be whatever you want it to be.”

“Wha—wha—” She tries to say. Gulps. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Then be sick,” I say. “I will love you anyway.”

Her face crumples. Tears glimmer in her eyes.

“Piccola!” I cup her face. “It was a joke.”

“A joke?” She screws up her nose and punches me—actually punches my shoulder.

“Not that kind of joke.” I yank her to me, hold her tight, and school my expression into something serious. When I speak, my words are soft, and I look deeply into her eyes so she doesn’t misread my meaning. “With or without a wedding . . .” I kiss the palm of her hand. “Sei il mio amore.” You are my love. “Sei la mia vita.” You are my life.

Mercy

I am floating and sinking at the same time. Delirious. Speechless. To my complete and utter shame, my lips won’t form words to give Cisco an answer. Even though technically, he didn’t ask a question, it’s not the point. He knows me so well. He knows exactly what I need. He knows he doesn’t need an answer, which is why he doesn’t wait for one and finishes dishing out the picnic.

We eat the cold meat, nip on the grapes, drink some wine, and make small talk. He tells me about his day, and I tell him about mine. When there’s nothing left on the plate, no wine, and it’s all packed away, I still can’t find the words, start to panic again, and I don’t know why.

Until Cisco pulls out the letter from the Vatican, still sealed with the Pope’s emblem, and my heart leaps into my throat. My hand flies out to slam on top of his as he’s setting it on the rug.

“Stop.” I stare at the twinkling ring on my finger, the same hand that’s covering his. I realize now why I can’t find the words to accept his proposal. I don’t want him to have to choose between me and what he loves to do. If I haven’t said yes, then we can still be together, but just not like that.

Cisco reads my face like a book and reminds me, “This is why opening this letter is last.”

“But—”

His stern look silences me. It says not to call him a liar, not to believe his feelings for me aren’t real. It’s so Cisco, so the man I love, that every single last part of me holding on to the past shatters.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” I whisper as I draw my hand back to my lap. “Us?”

His eyes soften. He tugs me onto his lap and then positions me so we can open the letter together.

“This has already happened, piccola.” He gives the louvers a pointed look. “It happened the day I first saw you there. What is inside this letter won’t change that.”

I don’t even look when he opens it because I’m too busy planting a kiss on his stubbled jaw. Then on his cheek. Then I’m nibbling his earlobe, getting hot and needy as his scent washes over me.

“This is . . . unexpected,” he murmurs.

I quickly cast my eyes over the letter to get the gist.

“Yep, unexpected.” I return to nibbling his ear.

“What do you think?”

“About declaring us Saints?” I slide my hand down his stomach. “Or the part where he invites the entire Hildegard Sisterhood to the ceremony?” I start unbuckling his belt. “Or the part where he invites you to continue your work as the Pope’s Exorcist in these important coming days?”

“All of it.”

The breathlessness of his answer draws my attention to his face, but it’s not what I expect. He’s gone pale, tense, and keeps blinking.

“Mm.” I nod solemnly. “I was afraid this might happen.”

“What might happen?”

“You’re afraid. But you don’t need to be.” I smirk and unzip his fly, then dig into his trousers and grab his cock. I rub it to help his blood flow, and he groans.

“Mercy—”