6. The Penance
CHAPTER SIX
THE PENANCE
Malakai
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
My lips twitch and I lean back in my chair. The office around me is dimly lit, shadows stretching over the dark wood paneling that lines the walls. It’s not the same as my actual office at Saint Helena Academy, but I’d done a good job having the room custom-made for me. I’d managed to replicate each groove of the paneling worn smooth from years of silent witness of everyone’s confessions, each dark smoke shadow from a candle burning for too long.
The thing is, my real office—with its symbols of devotion and unyielding tradition—feels like a cage. The thing about that particular cage is that it’s carved out of expectation, reinforced with obligation. I used to think I could live inside it, let the weight of it mold me into the perfect shape. But lately, that weight has started to shift, pressing in on the wrong places. Places I don’t want to admit are soft.
The crosses, the holy figures in the stained glass—each one stares back at me with a kind of cold, silent reproach. I wonder what they’d say if they could talk.
I wonder what they’d say if they knew about the impulses I’ve stopped trying to contain.
That’s the problem, though. I don’t want to contain them anymore.
Which is why I have an office here. A safe space, in a safe place. Far away from the prying eyes of the children and staff who attend Saint Helena, and also a safe space for the women who act as my submissives.
“May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins. How long has it been since your last confession?”
She gives me a pretty, little smile. “Too long,” she purrs. “Since my last confession, I have defiled this very desk and had lustful thoughts about you, Father.”
“I’m going to assign a penance. You understand what that means, don’t you?”
I stand up, and Vivienne looks at me with wide, brown eyes. “Yes, Father. It’s something to show remorse and renew my commitment to the Lord.”
Walking over to where she’s sitting, I stop a few inches away and place my hands in the pockets of my pants. My already-hard cock is at face level for her.
“Suck.”
Vivienne goes still. “And this will forgive my sins?”
I cock my head as I look down at her. “We’ll see. I might want to assign another penance.”
She moans and reaches for my zipper. “I worship you, Father.”
“Yeah? You want your face fucked like you’re an offering to God himself?”
Humming, she pulls my cock out and wraps her mouth around it. I fist her hair and guide her all the way back until she gags.
She knows the safe words—verbal and nonverbal.
I’m very strict about them, and since she’s been in the lifestyle much longer than me, I trust her to use them.
“Such a good, faithful servant.”
“Yes, Father,” she murmurs around my shaft, using her hand to stroke me.
I groan and let my head fall back. “Fuck.”
“I want your cum, Father. I need it,” she says, gagging when I push myself all the way to the back of her throat.
“I know you do.”
“ Please. ”
It’s so quiet here… something I’ve come to appreciate. I don’t take submissives back to my apartment, and unless I’m here, at Inferno , I can’t chance anyone seeing us out in public.
Like I said… this is my safe space where I can play uninhibited.
Only Orion, the owner and my youngest brother, knows how much time I spend here.
A few years ago—after discovering my ironic worship kink, thanks to a woman I was dating—I decided to keep the experience as authentic as possible and keep all play here, in a room that’s identical to my office at Saint Helena.
No one else knows, and no one ever will. Not with the ironclad NDA all the women sign.
So every few weeks, I cycle in a new submissive who seeks moral guidance from a real-life pastor, confessing her misdeeds and accepting the discipline I deem necessary.
You’d be surprised how many people have religious kinks…
“You want me to come down your throat as a sign of your devotion?”
Tears stream down Vivienne’s face as she nods up at me, her mouth full of my cock.
“Fuck yes,” I tell her, gripping the back of her short, dark hair as I pump into the back of her throat.
My mouth drops open just as my phone starts ringing.
“Keep going,” I growl, feeling my balls start to draw up. “I’m close, and you still need to complete your penance.”
She groans and uses her free hand to cup my balls, and as I sharply inhale, my phone goes off again.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pulling out of Vivienne’s mouth to lean over the desk.
Julian’s name flashes over the screen.
“One second,” I tell her, holding a finger to my lips as I answer the call. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Malakai. Sorry to bother you, but I have a favor to ask,” he says, and there’s an announcement of some kind going off in the background.
I run a hand over my mouth as I look down at Vivienne. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m about to board a five-hour flight to New York. It’s a work thing. I’ll be back tomorrow, but Sophie’s not feeling well. Would you mind going to check on her?”
Alarm bells begin ringing in my mind. “Is she okay?”
“I mean, she’s not going to perish imminently, but it would make me feel a lot better if you kept an eye on her.”
“Now?” I ask, checking my watch. It’s half past six in the evening.
“If you can. She’s not answering my calls, and I’m a nervous wreck. I left her in quite a state.”
There’s something fragile in Julian’s voice. I don’t know if it’s worry for Sophie or hesitation in calling me for help. Maybe both. But I can’t shake the flicker of relief I feel at being the one he turns to, even if it feels like standing on shaky ground.
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll be right over.”
“Thanks.” It sounds like he wants to say something else, but he just clears his throat. “Sophie doesn’t have that many close friends here, and Stella is styling a photo shoot in Santa Barbara, so…”
“Julian. It’s not a problem.”
He sighs. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll call you when I land.”
We hang up, and when I look down at Vivienne, my priorities shift. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I have to go check on a friend.”
Vivienne stands up and straightens her dress. Smirking, she kisses me on the cheek. “I might have more confessions for you next Wednesday. Same time?”
I nod absentmindedly as I tuck my cock away. “Sure. Yeah. Text me.”
She turns to go, and I remember my manners as her Dom. “Wait. Sorry. Fuck. Are you okay?”
Her lips tug to one side. “We barely even got started. I’m fine. I promise.”
I take her hand. “Are you sure?”
She laughs. “Kai, I literally sucked your cock for five minutes. Last week, you held a knife up to my neck while you roughly fucked me on your desk, and the week before that was the blood play. I’m. Fine. Promise,” she adds, batting her lashes and kissing my hand. “Go be a hero.”
I nod and watch her unlock the door and walk out of my private room. I’m in a daze, and right now, all I can think about is Sophie and making sure she’s okay. Grabbing my things, I close the door and walk out of Inferno . It’s a ten-minute walk back to Saint Helena, where I left my car. Just as I pull the passenger door open to set my things down, another car pulls up next to mine. I quickly glance over, groaning internally when Rod Dumplant exits his Escalade and waves me over.
Plastering on a smile, I saunter over to the massive vehicle and wait for Rod to grace me with his presence. There’s something about him that I don’t like. Unfortunately, seeing as he’s a board member for the school, I have to interact with him more than I’d like to.
“Malakai,” he says, his teeth gleaming like he’s trying too hard to appear charming. His navy suit swallows him whole, hanging off his shoulders like he’s playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes, but he wears it with the kind of arrogance that makes it seem deliberate. He looks like he’s just walked out of a boardroom after crushing someone’s career, the kind of guy who’s used to firing people with a smile.
“Rod,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks, frowning.
Not really. “Sure.”
He sighs, shuffling from foot to food. “You know I’m a man of God, just like yourself,” he says, his voice serious.
A man of God? Perhaps if God loved a man who used the money from his church for a luxury yacht.
I wait for him to continue. “I received two more complaints over the weekend from concerned parents regarding Bradleigh Evans.”
Instantly tensing up, I attempt to keep my face neutral. “What about her?” I ask, my voice calm but firm.
Rod looks around as if anyone could overhear us, despite being in a nearly empty parking lot. Leaning in slightly, his voice drops.
“I got two more calls from concerned parents. Bradleigh’s presence is causing confusion among the student body. And discomfort among the parents. You understand.”
I glower at him. “No, I’m not sure I do understand. All of the kids have been great with Bradleigh. There were instances of bullying, but as you remember, those students have been expelled due to our zero-tolerance discrimination policy.”
He nods solemnly, as if he’s about to deliver some divine truth. “Well, the parents are concerned, and one has even threatened to remove their children from Saint Helena Academy. Perhaps the situation would be easier for everyone—Bradleigh included—if she were moved to a different school. Somewhere… more accommodating to her particular needs. I’m not quite sure Saint Helena is the right fit for someone like her.”
Someone like her. What he means is transgender. My fists curl at my sides as I contemplate exactly what he’s insinuating.
Keep the complaints out of the boardroom meetings.
Send Bradleigh away somewhere more “tolerable.”
Except, that solution would never work. It would put Bradleigh, who has attended Saint Helena since she was four, and her mother, who is a hardworking single mother, in an impossible situation. They’d have to trek into Los Angeles, as Crestwood doesn’t have a public school, and I know Bradleigh’s mom would find that difficult with her work schedule.
“Easier for whom?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
Rod’s brows draw together in faux paternal concern. “These situations are always difficult to address within the framework of our institution. I know we have to respect the code of ethics, of course, but this might be best for all parties involved.”
“I disagree. I’ll talk to the other board members and see if we can have a meeting to discuss the situation. From my vantage point as headmaster,” I say slowly, knowing that term is a sore spot for Rod since he wanted the position, “all the children love and respect Bradleigh. If anyone’s parents have an issue with her, they can come to me. But I’m not going to consider asking a single mother to uproot her daughter—her trans daughter, who’s already dealing with enough—to transfer her to another school because it’s inconvenient for us to follow our own policies.”
Rod stiffens, and to his credit, he looks genuinely affronted. “Malakai, I’m sure you can understand my predicament. I harbor no ill will for the girl, for God loves all of his creatures.”
My jaw rolls as I wait for him to continue. He huffs an uncomfortable laugh, rubbing his mouth.
“I’m just trying to consider what’s best for everyone. Perhaps we should hold a board meeting. I fear you might be too close to the situation to see the bigger picture.”
I take a deep breath, attempting not to say something cruel back. “We should be helping her. Educating parents. Be the leaders that children like her need. But I refuse to push her out, because I promise you, I’ll fight that every step of the way.”
Rod’s jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. The silence stretches on as neither of us speaks, and the tension grows taut between us.
“I’ll pray on this,” he says finally, his voice clipped.
“I’ll do the same.”
Without another word, I turn and walk around to the driver’s side of my car, opening the door and pulling out of the parking lot before I say something I’ll regret.
I stew the entire drive to Ashford Palace. People like Rod hide their bigotry behind God, and it pisses me the fuck off. Then again, it doesn’t surprise me. I’ve spent the last seventeen plus years listening to my peers tear down anyone different.
I’d have to call Chase and get this settled with the board before Rod got there first.
Once I arrive at Ashford Palace, I’m ushered in without question by the security guard, and the gate closes as I pull up to the front door. Sophie’s vintage Mini Cooper sits next to the spot where Julian’s Range Rover usually sits, and as I jog to the front door, I shoot a quick text to let Julian know I’m here. Sophie had given me a key last week when I was over doing some work on the crown molding while they were away for the night. I use it as I make my way inside, looking around for any signs of Sophie.
“Hello?” I call out, waiting for her to answer.
She doesn’t, so I walk through the ground floor in search of the captivating woman I’ve been getting to know over the last couple of months. My eyes take in the almost-finished additions, such as the new floors, the massive chandelier in the entryway, and the kitchen that’s only waiting for appliances to be installed. It looks good, and a sense of pride fills me. I helped with this—my own blood, sweat, and tears are baked into this amazing house. Most notably the latter when Sophie and I realized one of the rooms was built at a very slight angle, and we were ten planks of antique wood flooring short.
I managed to sand, stain, and age ten new pieces of wood to look almost identical, and it became an inside joke.
Still, these renovations aren’t for the faint of heart.
But now? I can see the vision Sebastian Hale Whitlock had when he built it. He was a damn genius, and I’m only slightly jealous that Julian and Sophie were able to purchase this obscurely famous house.
“Sophie?” I call out at the bottom of the stairs.
Still no answer.
My pulse spikes at the lack of answer, and I imagine the worst-case scenario—that she’s unconscious, or worse. Julian didn’t elaborate, but I assume that if it were an emergency, he would’ve called an ambulance instead of asking me to check on her. She’s probably sleeping or something.
I take the stairs two at a time, and I make a beeline for their bedroom. “Sophie? It’s Kai,” I say, hoping it’s enough of a warning if she’s indecent.
No answer.
Fuck.
Pushing the bedroom door open, I don’t see her—but the bathroom door is cracked. “Sophie?”
“I’m in here,” she says, her voice weak from inside the en suite.
I stalk to the door and pull it open, and Sophie is curled up in a ball on the floor.
“Fuck,” I murmur.
My pulse jumps. Not from fear, but from the sight of her—so vulnerable, curled up like a delicate thing I shouldn’t touch. I kneel beside her, and every impulse I’ve ever tried to repress slams against the bars of my chest. Not desire, but something more dangerous.
The instinct to protect her.
She’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Her cheeks are wet from crying, and when I reach out to touch her arm, she begins to sob even harder.
“Oh God, I really don’t want you to see me like this,” she says, her voice cracking.
“Hey,” I murmur, pushing the sweaty hair on her forehead out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just—a bad period.”
I arch a brow. “You’re curled up and crying on the floor…”
She huffs a laugh before sniffling. “I get really bad periods.”
“May I pick you up?” I ask.
“Sure. I was just going to run a bath, but the pain got too bad.”
“Do you take medication?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’m allergic to morphine and all other opioids. The other things won’t touch it.”
I scoop her up, adjusting her body weight in my arms as she rests her head against my chest. I swallow through the thick emotions clogging my throat as I carry her to the bed, setting her down gently and pulling the duvet over her body.
Looking down at her with a furrowed brow, I run a hand over my chin as I think of how I can help her. I don’t want to ask her, because her eyes are closed, and she’s already curled up in a ball again, facing away from me, so I take things into my own hands.
“I’ll run you a bath,” I tell her.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice muffled. “Extra hot, please.”
I walk to the bathroom and turn on the tap on the large bathtub. While it fills up, I place a delivery order for Sophie and text Julian again that she’s okay but in pain, and that I’ll stay with her until she’s better or he’s back.
I add some bubble bath and a few of the essential oils scattered along the shelf above the bath, and once it’s halfway full, I walk back into the bedroom.
“Bath’s ready,” I tell her, unsure if she needs help getting out of bed.
“Thanks,” she says, slowly sitting up and walking over to where I’m standing.
“I’ll give you some privacy?—”
“No, it’s okay. Just turn around while I get in.”
My heart races for an entirely different reason, and as she passes by me, her arm brushes mine. A skittering, electric current runs from where we touched straight down to my cock.
Fuck.
Once I’m turned around, I close my eyes, but it doesn’t stop my mind from drifting. It’s not even the thought of her body—it’s the trust in her voice, the ease with which she lets me stay. As if there’s nothing threatening about me, nothing inappropriate about the way I linger on the edge of this intimate moment. I tell myself that’s a good thing. That I should be relieved she doesn’t see me as anything more than Julian’s friend.
But part of me hates that she doesn’t.
The torturous sound of Sophie’s clothes dropping to the ground as she undresses behind me echoes in the bathroom. Sophie is naked right behind me, and I’m imagining what she looks like while she’s in excruciating pain. Not to mention she’s Julian’s wife .
I hear her step into the water, and a few seconds later, she sighs contentedly.
It certainly doesn’t help the situation.
“Okay, you can turn around.”
I do, and fortunately the bubbles cover her completely below the neck. “Better?” I ask.
“Very. The temperature is perfect. Scalding but not unbearable,” she adds, giving me a small smile.
I walk over to the edge of the windowsill and sit down, which gives her a bit of privacy as I’m lower down.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve gotten to know Sophie well. She’s bubbly and fun, and witty as hell. I can see why Julian fell in love with her. We spend our time together doing various projects around the house while she tells me about her horse, Snickers, and how much she enjoys riding. She’s passionate about planning the housewarming party, and she talks about the romance books she enjoys reading. In fact, she’s taken a liking to telling me about the elaborate plots and ridiculous things the characters get up to, but I can’t help but admire how much she seems to enjoy reading, and how much she lights up when she talks about it.
I just enjoy watching her talk, to be honest. I shouldn’t, but I do. And it’s not just the way she talks—it’s the way she looks at Julian, like he’s her whole fucking world. I’ve never envied Julian for his title or his wealth. But for the way she looks at him?
Yeah. I envy that.
Though neither of them talks about it much, I know Julian and Sophie are much happier here than in England. I don’t exactly know what happened, but when I asked how Julian’s family was, they shared a look. It’s almost as though they’ve agreed to communicate a part of their lives in a way that doesn’t need outside validation or permission.
The more I watch them together, the more I notice little signs—fleeting looks, private smiles, subtle touches that linger just a bit too long. It’s not that Sophie doesn’t trust me; in fact, she’s more open and friendly than most people I’ve met. But there’s a part of her that remains inaccessible—a part she’s saved just for Julian. Even when she’s talking about herself, it feels like she’s holding back, as if something essential is just out of reach.
And it’s in the way Julian looks at her too—the way his eyes soften when he thinks no one’s watching, and the way they seem to communicate just by looking at each other. They’re united, but there’s also something else there. It’s like they’ve learned to navigate a unique space in their relationship, an arrangement that needs no explanation beyond what they share with each other.
I get the feeling that there’s something deeply personal between them that they choose to protect.
And I’m not sure if I’m jealous… or curious.
Sophie groans and leans her head against the back of the bathtub. “This feels so fucking incredible,” she murmurs. “Can you do me a favor?”
I perk up. “Sure. What’s up?”
“In the drawer to the left of my dressing table is a silver box and a lighter. Can you please pass them to me?”
I stand up and walk over to the antique-looking dressing table in the small room between the bathroom and the closet. Reaching into the left-hand drawer, I pull the small silver case and matching lighter out, walking them back over to Sophie.
“Thanks.”
To my utter surprise, she pulls a cigarette out and lights it, setting the case and lighter off to the side.
I contain my laughter as Sophie slips both feet out of the bath, crossing them at the ankle, and takes a deep drag of the cigarette.
“I should quit,” she says slowly as she blows smoke out into the air. “Old habits die hard. Now I mix tobacco with marijuana to help with the pain.”
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I tell her, an amusing smile playing at my lips.
“I don’t.”
“Does Julian know?”
She looks over at me and gives me a sharp look. “Of course.” I sit down and lean back against the window. “It’s endometriosis, by the way.”
My lips part, but I don’t ask her to elaborate. I’m scared she’s going to realize she’s sitting naked in the bathtub with someone other than her husband any second now, and yell at me to get out.
By not speaking, it feels like the spell can remain in place for just a few more minutes.
A second later, she tips her head back and squeezes her eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling a few times. “It means my periods are incredibly painful, and it’s not just my periods, either. I get flare-ups periodically, especially right before my period. And since I’m allergic to opioids and I’m of child-bearing age—meaning several doctors have refused a hysterectomy—I can’t do a damn thing about it. Besides this, of course,” she says, holding the spliff up.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her earnestly.
She shrugs, blowing more smoke out. “It’s okay most days until it’s not. Julian and I… we tried having children.” I swallow. Again, I’m not sure what to say, or even if she wants me to say anything. “It was two years of hell, and then… everything with Julian’s family happened, and we decided we didn’t want biological children. In a way, my endometriosis saved us. Not that I don’t want a child… I do. I just don’t want to deal with trying to get pregnant again.”
My brows knit together. “Would you consider adopting?”
She nods, putting the spliff out in the bath water and placing the filter on top of the cigarette case.
“We’d like to adopt, I think.” She sighs and turns to face me. “Julian’s been fixed. It’s… complicated, I suppose. Julian’s title is hereditary and can only be passed down to a biological heir. If we adopt, our children wouldn’t inherit it. They wouldn’t be recognized in that line of succession, so the title would end with him.”
She looks down, almost reflective. “In a way, it’s freeing. The title comes with expectations, responsibilities, and endless judgment from people who think they know us simply because of a name. Julian’s done his duty. He tried to fit the mold, but we both know it’s not what we want for our future children. It’s why we left England. To start over.”
There’s so much vulnerability in her voice, and my hand twitches at my side. I want to touch her, to stroke her hair and make her feel better.
I keep my hands to myself.
“The family, the estate, the legacy—it’s all designed to be inherited by blood. It’s how these things work. There are centuries of tradition. But traditions like that aren’t built to account for love that doesn’t fit into tidy boxes. We’re more interested in giving a child a home where they’re free to be themselves, not bound by outdated rules. Not like we were for so long.”
Her voice is light, but the words carry a heaviness that settles in my chest. I recognize that weight—it’s the sound of someone pretending they’ve come to terms with a wound that hasn’t fully healed.
I wonder if anyone’s ever told her it’s okay to still hurt, to still wish for that life.
I clear my throat. “That’s very brave of both of you. To walk away from everything and start over, like you said.”
She takes another spliff from the box and lights it. “Yes, well, there were things his family would never approve of.”
I cock my head, feeling brave. “Like what?”
A faint smile crosses her lips, and she turns to face me. “Married people things,” she says coyly.
I tell myself she’s in pain, but I can’t help watching her full lips suck on the spliff as she lights it—can’t help but watch her delicate fingers hold it, can’t help but be in awe of how beautiful she is under the soft light of the bathroom.
“What about you? You’re a handsome man. Do you want to get married one day?”
I shrug, leaning forward and placing my elbows on my knees. “Maybe. I’ve never really felt the itch to make anything official, but one day I’d like to settle down, I think.”
“And your job? Do you enjoy the religious aspect?”
I pull my lower lip between my teeth as I study her. Because right now? I don’t feel religious at all. As my eyes skim over her dewy skin and the way her hair curls slightly along her hairline, or the way her bare shoulder is poking out of the water…
“Sometimes. Other times, it feels like God wouldn’t approve of me.”
She arches a brow. “How so?”
My lips tug into a lopsided smile. “Single people things.”
She barks a laugh, a soft, restrained sound that barely escapes her lips, more a controlled exhale than an outright laugh. It’s tinged with that effortless aristocratic composure, polished and measured, as though every ounce of mirth has been delicately refined.
In fact, until today, every part of Sophie has been polished and refined.
I smile as I take in the slightly less refined version of her, and I wonder if this is the side Julian gets to see all the time.
That sneaky jealousy springs up again.
She’s not mine. She’s his.
But I wish, just once, she’d look at me the way she looks at him.
“I feel a lot better. I think the worst of it is over,” she tells me, her face relaxed. “The bath was a dream, so thank you.”
“I have chocolate coming soon,” I tell her, checking on the delivery.
Her lips pull into an easy smile. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Malakai Ravage. Always keeping me on my toes with your little surprises.”
Her praise makes me grin, and I stand. “I’ll let you get out?—”
“Actually,” she says with a playful glint in her eyes, “can you just pass me a towel?” She slowly rises out of the bath, and water cascades down her skin like silk. I’m momentarily frozen—my gaze locked on her. Fuuuuck. She catches me staring, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“Maybe I should have told you to turn around again,” she teases, tilting her head as if reading my thoughts.
I can’t help but feel a rush of heat at being caught in such an unguarded moment.
Or maybe it’s from seeing her naked.
That perfect, petite body… the full breasts that would fit perfectly in my palms, the light brown, puffy nipples, the soft-looking stomach, the dark blonde hair between her legs…
I quickly look around for the towel and hand it to her without looking. “Here.”
She shifts closer, the steam curling around her in my peripheral vision. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, but my pulse betrays me, racing beneath my skin. It’s not desire that trips me up.
It’s the awareness of how easy this feels.
Too easy.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she says, placing a hand on my arm a few seconds later, after she’s wrapped the towel around her body.
Temptation doesn’t start with desire. It starts with comfort. With familiarity. One step closer, then another, until you’re staring over the edge of something too deep to climb out of.
Sophie is the kind of comfort that makes the ground feel steady, even when you’re already halfway off the cliff.
I let myself look down at her, and she’s watching me with concern. “The marijuana helps with the pain, but it makes me feel a bit loopy sometimes.”
I nod. “It’s okay.” I still feel in a daze as she grabs a nearby robe and pulls it on over the towel, letting the towel drop to the floor. She quickly runs a brush through her damp hair, and I drag a hand down my face, trying to think of anything to break the tension. “I’ll go make you something to eat.”
Sophie smiles as she tilts her head. “Sounds perfect. Thanks, Kai.”
I walk out of the bathroom feeling dizzy, and as I quickly jog down the stairs to the garage, I realize I feel dizzy because my heart is racing a thousand miles a minute.
Penance.
The word clangs around my mind.
This is my penance for getting close to Sophie.
As a pastor, I know all too well about temptation. I used to preach about temptation and tell people it’s like standing on the edge of a cliff of the most beautiful beach you’ve ever seen. Crystal-clear water, colorful coral, white sand. Temptation isn’t the beach. It’s the pull of desire beckoning you forward while the voice of reason warns you to step back.
Everyone wants to think they’d back away, but for a select few… the temptation of the water is too great, and they want nothing but to feel the free fall.
This attraction feels like a test. With each moment I spend with her, I can’t help but wonder if I’m being led astray by the beautiful beach. Here I am, captivated by a woman who’s everything I’m not supposed to want.
Plus, it’s not like I’m the saint everyone expects me to be.
I’ve had my moments—thoughts and desires that swirl beneath the surface, hidden in the shadows of my conscience, as well as within the confines of my office, where the burdens of expectation can’t touch me.
This, though… this is different.
This is Julian’s wife.
This is just a minor inconvenience , I think as I heat up some water for pasta.
It has to be.
It’s just a fleeting distraction that will pass with time. It has to be. Nothing else can happen—I can’t think these things about her. She deserves more than a fleeting glance from someone who is supposed to be a moral guide, and the ex-best friend of her husband . But what if this isn’t just a passing storm? What if this is my punishment for everything I’ve done to disgrace God? The thought sends a shiver through me, and a mix of fear and exhilaration—the same one I get before my scenes, or whenever I do something I shouldn’t—pierces through me.
It only deepens my resolve to keep my distance.
From both her and her husband.
But the problem with distance is that it only makes you more aware of the space someone occupies. And right now, Sophie and Julian are starting to feel a little too close, like they’re pressing into corners of my life I didn’t realize were still empty.