Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance (Beautiful Series)
Beautiful Sinner: Chapter 3

I SPEND the rest of the day in bed, sleeping off a physical and emotional hangover.

The next morning, I come downstairs to replace a few of the other guests gathering around the parlor for breakfast.

“Oh, there you are,” the red-head hotel owner says as she meets me in the lobby. “We tried to send dinner up to you last night, but I think you were sleeping.”

My stomach growls at the sound. The truth is, I’m starving. I didn’t eat a thing all day yesterday, and the smell of eggs and ham from the kitchen has my body screaming with hunger pangs.

The woman is quick to the kitchen to dish me up a plate of food, and I can barely force out a smile as I sit down and dig in.

“I got your sister’s Venmo last night too.”

My face lights up. Thank God for Sunny.

“It’s enough for at least a two week’s stay, plus extra for food and clothes. Well, that’s what she said. I can give you the extra in Euros after breakfast.”

“Thank you,” I mumble with my mouth full.

“I’m Bridget, by the way. My brother, Callum, has Mass today, but if you want to wait for him, he can take you into Shannon to get anything you can’t get here. But maybe you’d like to explore Ennis a bit.”

Her brother.

I don’t know why that piece of information interests me, but I’m not exactly surprised he’s at church while she’s here. He seems exactly like the stick-up-the-ass church-goer I’d expected him to be.

This breakfast is probably the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten, and along with a cup of sugared-up coffee, it’s almost enough to knock off the cobwebs of yesterday’s drama.

After my belly is full, Bridget takes me by the hand to the back of the house where her room is. She’s being so nice to me, and I’m mortified. My best guess is she’s about ten years older than me, but she’s gorgeous with wild red hair and green eyes, exactly the kind of woman you’d expect to meet in Ireland.

She gives me a clean change of clothes; thankfully we wear the same size. Then, she pulls out the extra money Sunny transferred over in cash and hands it to me with a sad smile.

“It’s a short walk to town. I’m afraid there’s not a lot there, but there’s a store there where you can at least get something of your own.”

“Thank you,” I mutter.

“Alright, take this road up about a kilometer and when you get to the end, turn right and head straight for the church. When you see the church, turn left. Then you’ll be at the row of shops and grocers.”

Looking down at the black leggings and tank top, I search for any semblance of myself. I’m not the kind of girl who throws pity parties for herself, and I throw lots of parties. But right now, even I’m having a hard time not feeling sorry for myself. I fall in love too easily…is that such a bad thing?

As I step out of the house, I’m faced with the breathtaking view of the beach again. Just out the front door of the B&B, there is a grassy yard met with a short drop to the long gray beach. For a moment, I can do nothing but stare at it. I bet Sunny would love this. She’d sketch it in one of her notebooks.

As for me, I just keep reaching for my phone that I no longer own, and it’s making me shake with how much I miss it. On any other occasion, I’d snap a pic, upload it to Instagram with some vanity hashtag meant to appear humble and gracious.

With my sister’s money folded up in the pocket of someone else’s pants, I turn and follow Bridget’s directions, walking along the coast. When the road ends, I make the right turn and see the church far ahead.

Probably wouldn’t hurt for me to stop in there. That’s if I don’t burst into flames when I pass the doorway. I’m not a religious person. I don’t even know if I believe in God, but I bet it’s nice to have faith in something. Maybe if I had unwavering belief that God was by my side, I wouldn’t feel so fucking alone all the time.

When I turn left at the church, I see the row of stores ahead, and like a beacon from God himself, the golden arches at the end of the street shine like the pearly gates of St. Peter. Ireland could have the most delicious food in the world, but right now I want to stuff my face with something that tastes like home.

Yeah, I guess you could call it stress eating, and honestly, I deserve that Big Mac and fries. And while I’m sitting down devouring it without an ounce of guilt, I let my conversation with Sunny replay through my head.

I need to focus on myself for a while, and she pretty strictly said that no guys should be involved. It’s not like I’m listening to my twenty-one year old sister like she’s my mother, but she’s right. That’s what I need. A break from men. A break from constantly trying to replace love.

I guess that also means a break from sex, which is the thought coursing through my head as I devour all twelve hundred calories of this lunch. It’s the closest thing I’m going to get to a good orgasm anytime soon.

It really is time to focus on myself.

I laugh quietly to myself and look up just in time to see a young group of guys looking my way. They’re rugged looking, maybe fisherman, but with those strong jawlines and broad shoulders, I could get down with a little ruggedness.

One of the guys waves at me and sends me a smile that could charm a nun.

This is going to be harder than I thought. Quickly, I toss my garbage in the bin and hightail it out of the restaurant.

I replace some basic jeans and cheap T-shirts at a little boutique off a side road. Taking my shopping bags, I start to realize just how much more I actually notice when I’m not buried in my phone while I walk. There are birds chirping and ocean waves. Straight ahead, I can hear the simple sounds of hymns coming from the church. The buildings are all different, some looking a hundred years older than the one right next to it, and they’re all squeezed together like someone shoved them into one giant building.

Once I get to the church, where I’m supposed to turn right toward the main road, I stop on the corner and listen to the music for a moment. I can’t understand a word of what they’re singing, as it’s accompanied by an organ, which overpowers the voices.

It’s calming as fuck. And right now, I need calming, so instead of going back to the hotel where I have absolutely nothing to do, I take a seat on the low stone wall around the church.

Once the song stops, there is silence. A long silence. And finally a man says something, and the small crowd repeats something back to him. It sounds like a prayer.

A deep voice says something low and flat. At this point, I almost get up to leave. It sounds boring and I can’t understand his muffled voice anyway, but then his words catch my attention.

“Sir, Son of David, take pity on me. My daughter is tormented by a devil.”

My ears perk up. This just got interesting. As he continues on, it becomes clear that he’s reading a story from the Bible, and I step closer to hear the rest. I’m just inside the front door but out of anyone’s view. As I step into the church, the first thing I notice is the way it smells, like old wood and stone.

The second thing I notice is the way the priest’s voice echoes through the space, bouncing off of every surface inch and pane of stained glass to land directly at my ears.

“But the woman had come up and was kneeling at his feet. ‘Lord,’ she said ‘help me.’ He replied, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the house dogs.’”

Damn, Jesus. A smile stretches across my face as I listen to the story.

“She retorted, ‘Ah yes, sir; but even house dogs can eat the scraps that fall from their master’s table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, you have great faith. Let your wish be granted.’ And from that moment her daughter was well again.”

A low chuckle slips out through my lips just as the priest’s voice cuts out. It’s a tiny church, and I’m quite sure someone heard me judging by the long silence, so I press myself against the wall and out of sight.

Finally the priest starts talking again, going on and on about this passage and how it can be interpreted, and I wait for my opportunity to step out without being seen.

Then, his voice takes on a deeper tone, and the hair on my neck stands. I know that voice. Peeling myself away from the wall, I peer into the church, past the barely filled pews, and I stare in shock at the man speaking behind a podium.

He’s in a heavy green robe draped over his broad shoulders that hangs down to his wrists. He’s no longer wearing the cold expression he shared with me all day yesterday, but it’s still the same man. Those ashy blond waves and full lips. I feel a fluttering in my belly as he stares at me from the end of the long aisle.

He doesn’t take his eyes away for a long time, and I feel as if I’m the only person in the room. At the very least, I become the most important person in the room. The most interesting. The most special.

With a twitch in his eye that even I can spot from here, he flicks his hand toward the pews as if to tell me to sit, and had he not done that, I would have left. Instead, I walk quietly to the back row and rest against the hardwood. You’d really think after a thousand years of Christianity, they’d accommodate their believers a little better with softer seats.

But I’m too captivated by the man at the front with the charm and charisma in his speech from a man I’ve only known so far to show, at best, cold indifference. How the hell is this the same man who sat at the bar two nights ago? Who delivered me my shitty news yesterday?

I didn’t know a priest could have a life outside the church. Drink at a pub. What the hell do I know? I haven’t set foot in a church since my aunt’s wedding when I was thirteen, and I was too busy ogling my hot soon-to-be-step-cousin to pay any attention to anything spiritual going on.

“Let us think about the woman in this verse. The foreigner. Tortured by a devil. Desperate for salvation, begging for help from our Savior.”

My cheeks burn as his gaze keeps landing back on my face, but I am tied to his words like the string of a kite. As he continues about the woman in the scripture, I feel like I can’t move.

Everytime he lifts an arm, that heavy robe draped from his arm like a sail, I inhale for a desperate breath. And I feel every word, every lilt and sound in his words run down my spine like fire. I could listen to him speak up there for hours.

My thighs clench when his gaze lands on me again, and I wonder what those robes would feel like between my fingers. Between my legs.

I replace myself picturing him without the robes, how it would feel to peel them away, revealing the man beneath. It makes me wonder if a man in his position could resist the allure of a woman, the promise of sex.

Jesus. I need to get out of here.

It’s about that time that everyone starts standing up and walking toward the front. They kneel in front of him, and he says something to each of them that I can’t understand, but I quickly sneak out the door I came in. I don’t know if he saw me leave or not.

It felt like I was imposing on something intimate and private. And now he’s going to think I’m a Catholic and invite me to their Sunday service or whatever it’s called.

But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my shoulders do feel a little lighter after being in there. Fuck, who knows. Maybe I need a little Jesus in me, and I’ll stop being such a fuck up.

Once outside, I set my bags down to readjust them on my arms. There’s a community bulletin board by the stairs leading down to the street, and I swear I don’t believe in fate and signs, but after today, I just might.

Just as I look up, I see a piece of paper:

Help Wanted at Ennis Beach Bed & Breakfast. Front desk and maintenance skills required.

It’s one of those crazy ideas that doesn’t really have an argument against it other than it’s crazy.

No.

That’s my initial reaction. I pick up my bags and head back down the main street toward the hotel. I’m getting my replacement passport this week. I’ll get a flight home next week and life will be back to normal.

I’ll move back in with Mom. Maybe get a new job in Pineridge. Something fun and easy like a server at the sports bar. I don’t need the money, but it would get me out of the house. Maybe there’s a hotel in Pineridge that would hire me.

I can’t work here at this hotel.

I can’t.

That’s fucking insane.

And yet, when I walk into the house, Bridget smiles at me from behind the counter.

“Got yourself a little something, then?”

I don’t answer her. Instead, I blurt out, “You’re hiring?”

The words just fall out of my mouth, and I don’t even mean them to, but I guess my mouth knows what my brain can’t accept. I don’t want to go back to Pineridge. I don’t want to go back to my life.

There is absolutely no reason I can’t work here at this hotel.

“Ummm…” Bridget is shocked to silence. “Yes, we are.”

“What about a room available? Somewhere I could stay longer than a week?”

I’m shocked her eyebrows can even go higher than they already are, but somehow she pulls it off. “Actually…there is.”

My heart is beating so fast, I have to swallow down this ball of nerves building in my throat. I’ve lost my goddamn mind. I haven’t even put my fucking bags down.

“Can I apply?” I say, squaring my shoulders.

“You want to work here?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t you want to know about the position?” she asks, looking almost hopeful.

“I guess. Yeah.” My mouth is moving at a speed twenty times faster than my brain.

“We need someone to help clean the rooms, tidy up after breakfast, and help Callum out in the barn.”

“The barn?” My heart drops at that mention. I can clean a hotel room. This place is tidy anyway. But working in a barn? I can’t do that…

Sunny’s words echo back like a defense. You are stronger than you think.

Fuck.

“I can do that,” I answer with far less confidence than she probably wants to see.

“Wonderful,” she says, clapping her hands together. I don’t know if she’s excited that she’s getting interest in the job or because it’s me, but her excitement is contagious.

Too bad her next words make me want to take it all back.

“You’ll have to do an interview with Callum since he does the hiring.”

I want to tell her that I’m supposed to be staying away from men, especially charmers who are too hot to be priests and have already seen me blackout drunk. I can’t sit through an interview with him, not after I just snuck out of his speech at the church where I basically imagined what he looked like naked through the whole thing.

I’m supposed to be focusing on me, but how can I do that when he’s everywhere I turn?