Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance (Beautiful Series)
Beautiful Sinner: Chapter 13

BRIDGET LETS me have the rest of the day off. I didn’t even tell her anything about what happened, but I also haven’t taken a proper day off since I arrived, so after a long hot shower and a fresh pair of clothes, I start to feel refreshed, like the rain and a good cry were enough to cleanse the heavy emotions dragging me down.

The weather clears up by the time I get dressed, and I start walking around town with nowhere in mind. I walk to think about Callum. I think about how badly his words hurt last night. How talking to him feels too much like looking in a mirror, the kind I don’t want to see. I think about how cold and harsh he can be.

Then I think about how it felt to be engulfed in his arms, even while I bawled my eyes out. He smelled like tobacco and cotton. And him. He smelled like him.

Less than twenty-four hours after I was naked with Taron, and I’m thinking about another man. But in my defense, I was thinking about Callum before, during, and after every moment with Taron. And I knew he was a drifter, only in my life for a quick moment, and unlike the rest of the guys I replace myself with, I didn’t picture a future with Taron. I pictured sex, and while we had the sex, I pictured it was someone else towering over me. Someone else’s breath in my ear and hands on my body.

When I cried out the loudest, it was because my mind would deceive my body and I would believe for a moment that he was really there, inside me.

After a long, aimless walk, I replace myself at the church again. There are voices coming from inside, but it’s not a service. As I walk in, I’m met with the vision of Callum holding a baby dressed in white, cradled in his arms. The woman who I presume is the baby’s mother snaps pictures while the father stands next to Callum.

My heart swells at the sight. His rough, large hands holding the infant with such tenderness does something to my insides. When he looks up, his eyes meet mine. I’m mixed with warmth and regret as I watch him pass the baby back to its mother. It’s like I’m reminded that Callum is a religious man; he doesn’t just play the part. He is a man with values, family values, and if he knew the things I’d done in my past…

I know myself well enough to know my aimless walk wasn’t for nothing. I came here to be near him in any capacity. But even if he wasn’t a priest, he and I would never work. We’re too different.

He walks the family to the door and I make a quiet, polite greeting to them as they pass. Then, I make my way into the church, soaking up the calming presence it promises.

Walking down the aisle toward the altar, I stare up at the art and stained glass windows. I wonder what it feels like to be like Callum, to have so much faith in something bigger than yourself. To believe with your whole heart that everything is in God’s hands.

I could stand here in this peace and quiet all day, but suddenly, I hear oncoming footsteps, and I freeze when he enters the room. He’s in his black button-up and slacks. The white collar around his neck reminds me what I said to him this morning. That he hides behind it because it’s the only way he avoids being alone. The regret I feel for saying that is real, but I didn’t take it back because it was true.

There’s something different about Callum here. He seems more at peace and more comfortable. Less miserable. This truly is where he belongs.

Further proof that I need to just move on and forget about him.

“It’s relaxing in here, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

Solemnly, I nod. “Mind if I hang out here for a while?”

He answers my question with a question. “Want some tea?”

“Sure,” I reply even though I don’t even like tea. I just don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m drawn to him, and I don’t understand why. I could be at Yeager’s or in my room bingeing something on Netflix, but I’d rather be here. In a church with the guy who has been nothing but mean to me.

I follow him back to his office. “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the velvet chaise against the wall. It’s soft, like really soft, and so inviting. I can’t help but rest my head against the arm and sink into the deep blue pillows. When he walks back in, I jolt upright.

“No, relax. I’ve slept on that thing so many times. It’s like a cloud.”

He takes a seat at his desk across the small room, and I let the chaise swallow me up again as I lay back down. The room grows silent as he works and I watch him. My eyes travel around every inch of the room, wondering if he inherited this office with its golden bronze statue of Mary or if he chose it. Pretty soon, it starts to feel comfortable, just being alone and silent together. The only sound is the click-clacking of his keyboard as he types. I notice the way he chews on his bottom lip as he writes, and how the bright computer screen brings out the emerald in his eyes.

After just one yawn, I feel myself drifting. This is the most relaxed I’ve been since I got here—or possibly ever.

“Cadence?” Callum’s voice seeps through my dark and empty dream, but his tone is softer and more gentle than usual. When I peel my eyes open, he’s standing over me, all in black covered in warm light.

“We should head back for dinner.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Almost two hours.” He reaches a hand down to help me up, and as I slide my palm against his, I register how good it feels to touch him. My mind can’t process anything more than that: not the cruel man from last night, or the comforting friend this morning. Just that touching him feels nice.

As we walk back together, I feel like there’s a tether between us. The peaceful feeling I felt in the church stays with us. We don’t talk, and it’s a comfortable silence.

Bridget is busy in the kitchen when we come in. Daisy is setting the table. There are guests today, but they’re not joining us for dinner.

Callum goes upstairs, and I help out in the dining room. When he comes back down, he’s not in black anymore, and I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. He still looks pretty hot in his tight-fitting T-shirt and jeans, but I like the look of him in black and that collar around his neck.

Then he does something he never does at home. He makes himself a drink. I hear the ice clinking in the parlor and a moment later he emerges with a short glass of ice and amber liquid.

I’m looking too much into it. I know I am. Like maybe he’s trying to loosen his own rules. Maybe he wants to relax enough to do something stupid. Liquid courage.

I shake my head at him with a smile pressed between my tight lips. He gives me absolutely no response which is the typical Callum response. And it’s not good enough for me. Walking over to him, I take the glass and raise it to my lips, keeping my eyes on him as the whiskey attacks my tastebuds.

He almost laughs when I react with a pained expression. The alcohol burns my throat.

As Bridget comes out of the kitchen, I realize we’re standing toe-to-toe, and she’s looking at us with suspicion, so I step away.

Callum clears his throat. “I’ll fix you one, but I’ll water it down.” Then, he swiftly turns away and walks back to the parlor where the liquor is kept. I still feel Bridget’s eyes on me as I help her bring dinner out.

I manage to drink half during dinner, and by the time we’re clearing the table, I’m feeling warm and buzzed. Callum is too. I can tell by the fact that he nearly laughs, not once, but twice. It’s a low-pitched and gravelly chuckle that comes deep from his chest.

Daisy rolls her eyes at us and goes to her room after everything is cleaned up and put away. Bridget is not far behind her. I’m not ready to go to bed yet. The night feels full of promise. Promise of what, I don’t know.

Callum replaces me in the parlor alone, and I’m sitting on the floor in front of the large coffee table. They keep a stack of board games in the bookshelf, and I pull out an old version of Battleship and put it on the table.

“Play with me, preacher man.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and sits on the couch opposite me. He keeps his knees spread and props his elbows on his legs, leaning forward with his glass.

“Need some more?” He gestures to my glass, and I pretend to consider it for a moment before finally nodding. We’re playing with fire right now.

I set up the game while he goes to the bar. There’s a reflection of him in the dark glass with the rolling waves on the other side. I watch him, the muscles in his back and strands of gray in his light curls. I want to run my fingers along his scalp. I want all the things I can’t have.

When he sits back down, he looks down at me with narrowed eyes. There’s something on his mind.

“What?”

“Every time I get a hit, you have to drink,” he says.

“That sounds like a drinking game.” I can’t help but laugh. My legs are folded up beneath me, and I realize that I’m feeling nervous. What is happening to me? Just last night I was with Taron, but Callum is acting weird.

“It is a drinking game,” he answers.

“Priests can’t play drinking games.” I have to bite my lip to ease the smile that’s threatening to stretch from ear-to-ear.

He leans forward, grabbing his battleships from the box and leveling me with his stare. “Watch me.”

Naturally, he kicks my ass in the game. My throat is actually getting used to the whiskey, but the room is starting to sway and I lose the game easily because I keep forgetting what spots I already called. He finishes his drink anyway and laughs at me as I rest against the chair behind me.

“What a lightweight,” he mutters with a hint of a smile. I like what the whiskey does to him. For a moment I get lost in the dimples piercing his cheeks and the way his gentle accent attacks my gut with warm sparks. I stare at him from the floor, and I realize that in some sort of way, Callum is already mine.

Not like a sexual, boyfriend way, but he doesn’t talk to anyone like he talks to me. Outside of the church, he doesn’t talk to anyone at all, and I wonder if anyone else gets the real version of him like I do.

I made a mistake sleeping with Taron. I know that now. Sure, Callum has no ownership over me, but I blatantly disregarded what we have, even if it’s not a romantic relationship, and I rubbed it in his face. I don’t blame him for his anger now. I still hate that he called me a slut, but what would I have called him if he took another woman home in front of me?

It’s only been a month, and already, it feels like there is a tether holding us together. Even if we can’t do anything about it.

A month.

Something dawns on me, so I grab my phone and check the time and date.

Holy shit. It’s the 23rd.

“Hey Callum…”

“Yes, Cadence…” he mocks.

“Do I still work here?”

His brow knots as he stares down at me, waiting for me to clarify.

“Of course you do.”

I jump to my feet with a squeal and raise my arms over my head. “Yes!”

“What the bloody hell has gotten into you?”

“It’s over thirty days. My trial is over and I still work here. I did it!”

The sudden pride is overwhelming, and I almost want to cry. In these six weeks, I’ve learned to care for a horse, drive a stick shift, and fix a toilet. I got a work visa in a foreign country and I haven’t seen a pedicure or a shopping center in over a month. I feel like a new person.

Callum shakes his head. “Okay, I guess you got me there. You did it.”

I can’t help myself, and I throw my arms around his neck. He stands a good head taller than me, so I’m pressed against his body, my face close to his neck. Slowly, I feel his hands wrap around my waist. He squeezes me closer, and something in me breaks.

God may have earned his vows, but I feel what’s in this hug, and he’s not entirely loyal to the one he gave his life to. He’s mine.