Chapter 54 Avalynne
AVALYNNE
My heart beats so loud it drowns out everything else as I rush through empty halls. The papers clutched in my hand crinkle, the edges nipping at my palms, but I barely feel the cuts.
I have to find Xade.
Now.
My family has supported the church for well over a century. Grandpapa says we are the single largest benefactor in North America. Yet, Reverend Mother … she's been stealing from us, from the church, and using the convent to hide her crimes. God only knows what she is doing with the funds.
Resentment curdles inside me, and I shove down a wave of nausea as I push ahead.
The air is heavy, thick with something, as I bolt up the stairs, my shoes tapping against stone. Shadows creep up the cold walls and stretch with each violent strike of lightning. It fuels the sickly feeling I can't shake.
Nothing is right anymore.
When did it all go so terribly wrong?
I hope and pray Xade is working late and not asleep because this can't wait until morning. I stagger to a stop in front of his office, my breath coming in hard, quick bursts from my lungs. The door is closed, and I try the handle, entering the room a moment later.
Thank God.
He looks up from his laptop at me, the blue-tinged screen illuminating the hollows below his cheeks.
Stubble runs the length of his jaw, and his loose hair spills like ink across his shoulders, darkening his unbuttoned white dress shirt.
His tie lies discarded on his desk next to an empty coffee mug. He looks how I feel, exhausted.
"Avalynne." His features slacken in surprise before he straightens in his chair, his open laptop spotlighting his throat. "What are you … Is everything alright?"
"No." I shake my head, and with one hand, I close the door behind me. Words I can't find clog my throat, and I nearly sob with the force of my relief.
Xade is here. My professor is here.
He stands, pushing his chair into the wall, as I rush forward across his office.
We collide in front of his desk, his arms wrapping around me as I land against him, hard.
The hairs on his chest tickle my forehead as I cling to him.
He murmurs my name, his large hands removing the nun's coif and veil, letting them fall to the floor. His fingers thread through my hair.
He is my safety. I draw a full breath for the first time since I stepped foot in Reverend Mother's office.
"What's wrong?" he asks, his chin resting on the crown of my head as his arms hold me tight. The numbing feeling soaking my fingertips reminds me of the papers clasped in my hand.
"I have proof," I tell his chest.
He stills before he pulls me even closer.
"Proof of what?" he asks, still not releasing me.
"That Reverend Mother is stealing," I say, leaning away from him, just enough to look past the underside of his jaw. He still doesn't release me.
"I found ledgers hidden in her office," I explain. "Millions of dollars moving through charities my grandfather funds. It's all here." I wave the papers weakly, still in his arms.
He blinks at me as I pull an arm free and hand him the banded documents.
Frowning, he takes them and, finally, lets me go.
My heart thumps beneath my ribs as I watch him remove the band and flatten the pages on his desk.
He leans across the expanse of mahogany and turns on his desk lamp.
Quickly, he skims the pages before he looks at me.
He says my name, and for the first time I've seen, I think he's actually at a loss for words.
He glances back at the papers and then at me, his frown carving deeper.
He tips forward and brings his hand to the side of my face, his palm flattening there, before his thumb gently runs the curve of my cheekbone.
I lean into his touch as his dark gaze trails my face, pain etching into his features.
He cares so much. My balloon heart nearly bursts.
"Avalynne," the words tumble low and slow out of him, "it's not what you think."
"But," I point at the papers, "look at them again. It's all there. Millions of dollars in transactions, all going in and out of charities my family keeps operational. She's hiding something, Xade! This is proof of that!"
Pain squeezes the corners of his eyes. He doesn't understand.
"Look." My fingertip hits the paper halfway down the page. "A million dollars came out of one of the church's foster homes the same year my grandfather saved it from closing its doors. How is that possible? Where did my family's money go?"
I jab my finger at another line, desperate.
"And here," I say, "two million dollars left this women's shelter, but there's no way they can afford that. My grandfather holds an annual fundraiser for them."
Pity flits across his features. I hate it.
"Don't you see?" I need him to see!
He nods before he draws me close and kisses my forehead, murmuring my name against my skin.
Abruptly, the door to his office opens. I feel him go rigid before I pull away from his arms and look.
Reverend Mother Graves stands in the threshold, glaring at us.
"What is going on here?" she demands, like we're the ones interrupting. "You were supposed to keep tabs on the girl, Mr. Thatcher! Not fornicate with her! Demons breed more demons, not angels."
What did she say?
The air sucks out of my lungs as the world shrinks down to the sound of her voice and the rapid drum of my heart. Next to me, Xade finds the edge of my shirt, grabs hold of the fabric, and murmurs my name.
He was supposed to keep tabs on me.
The floor tilts as everything I thought I knew starts to slip, leaving a gnawing pinch beneath my ribcage.
"This is my convent!" Reverend Mother hisses, stepping closer. "You were given one task, Mr. Thatcher. You've risked everything we've worked toward!"
What. Is. She. Saying?!
The moments we've shared—stolen kisses, verbal sparring matches, nights wrapped up in each other—they weren't real? Xade was … what? Making sure I stayed out of the way?
My knees want to crumble beneath me.
Xade says my name again as I step away from him, out of his grasp. My mind reels. Tears burn my eyes, hot and stinging, but I can't stop them.
This can't be happening.
I press my hand to my mouth, stifling the sob rising in my throat.
Realization crashes over me.
Xade never cared. He never loved me. It was all part of some plan, some dark and twisted thing I now have proof of.
It hurts.
Every touch, every word, every half-cocked smile—it was all a lie.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I choke down the nausea shredding me apart.
How could I be so blind? So foolish?
Make it stop!
Xade repeats my name.
"Was it all fake?" My voice is hoarse as I look over at him.
"Of course not." He shakes his head and steps closer, his fists clenching as tears well in his eyes.
"Don't." I raise a hand and step back from him. "Don't touch me."
The man I thought I could trust, the one person who made me feel like I wasn't completely alone in this place, has lied to me, used me, from the beginning. I stagger back.
Focus, Avalynne. Focus on what matters.
Grandpapa.
He'll know what to do. He'll fix this. He'll make them pay for what they've done.
"You've been stealing from the church … from my family."
Reverend Mother sneers, and my attention snaps to her, anger spearing my chest.
"You're stealing donations meant for the church, for the orphanages, for the shelters!" I spit, each word louder than the last. "You're taking advantage of my family's generosity!"
Condescension contorts Reverend Mother's wrinkled face.
"Your family's generosity?" Spittle flies with her words. "All your family does is take! Take what belongs to others! Take what is not theirs to have!"
I breathe a humorless laugh. "What kind of nun steals from the poor to line her own pockets?"
"Avalynne doesn't know, Georgina," Xade interrupts, raising a hand in her direction.
What don't I know?
Reverend Mother regards me from head to toe. "Then the girl is as ignorant as she is indecent."
"Watch your mouth," Xade snarls. "She is perfect."
He steps toward me, his face pale. "You've been taught to see your grandfather as a savior, Avalynne. That's why this is going to hurt so much."
"What are you saying?"
A grimace tightens his features before Reverend Mother interrupts. "Marcus Immorier sells children, child! You're looking for the villain in the wrong pew!"
"W … what?" I stammer.
"Your ancestors have done so for centuries! Where do you think your family's wealth comes from?"
Ice crystallizes in my veins, and I look between them from Xade to her and back to Xade again.
"It's true," Xade murmurs softly, almost mournfully.
Disbelief slams through my center. Unshed tears clog my throat.
"Lies." The word splinters my voice into pieces.
Reverend Mother dismisses me with a side-long glance. "The girl knows nothing of her history."
"Get out!" Xade shouts at her.
"Thatcher—"
"Out!" His command cracks through the room.
She huffs and shoots me a warning glare sharp enough to flay me in two. As the door shuts behind her, Xade raises his hands, his palms facing me.
"It's true." His words are quiet.
I shake my head. "I don't believe you."
Slowly, he steps forward, his hands still raised in surrender.
"You know of your ancestor, Pierre Immorier?" His words are delicate, even-keeled.
I blow out a breath. "Of course."
"Then you know that in 1810, he arrived in New Orleans, having fled France after the Napoleonic Wars. In America, he began a … What did he begin, Avalynne?"
I don't miss his tone. I know that tone. It's the same one he uses in the classroom when we debate. Only we aren't discussing books. This is my bloodline. Rage shotguns through my chest.
"I'm not debating my family's history with a liar!" I back away from him.
He stops moving.