Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance

by Sosie Frost

  The vivacious and grinning woman was thirty pounds heavier, ten decibels louder, and three hundred and ninety days soberer than the mom I remembered just a few years ago. Her skin had cleared, though the dark was still a bit splotchy over her arms and legs. She chose vibrant outfits to cover up instead. Her hair grew back, styled with more enthusiasm than gel. She wore bright red lipstick—so she could smile and our Lord could see it all the way from Heaven, she said.

  The chairs on either side of her remained unclaimed. It didn’t surprise me. The dozen or so other women clustered tightly on the opposite end of the circle, politely nodding as Mom enthralled them with a story from rehab. The radio played a quiet song, and Mom yelled over it, waving with an animated gesture to ninety-year-old Mrs. Ruthie.

  “There she is.” Mom pointed at me.

  Ruthie grunted. “Eh?”

  “There! That’s Honor. That’s my baby.” She frowned and shouted louder, her voice echoing through the small room. “My daughter! All grown up.”

  If Ruthie could see past her cataracts, she was certainly blinded by the brim of her burgundy hat—complete with a lace nest and beads. She nodded just the same.

  “Lovely girl.” Ruthie said. “Just lovely.”

  Mom patted her hand over her heart. “She looks just like her father, God rest his soul.”

  That comment gained the attention of the women in the circle. I should have remembered most of them, though my family had stopped attending most of the public events when I hit high school, when Mom’s addiction got worse.

  They appraised me, murmuring about my curly hair or the polite shade of my lipstick. At least I wore the professional, responsible, knee-length skirt, though it meant nothing. I could just as easily pull up the pleads and shed whatever virtue I had left.

  They murmured something about my father. I knew I looked like him. So did Mom. She mentioned it every day, every time she looked at me. She saw Dad in the mocha shade of my skin, the dramatic arch of my eyebrows, and our shared, silly smile.

  I was better than a picture to her, she said, but I doubted she really remembered Dad towards the end. Most of that time was still a blacked out blur to her. Another life.

  She didn’t even remember the day Dad died.

  I did.

  Mom gave me a kiss on the cheek. I shrugged her away as I nearly tipped the cookies and coffee.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Just dropping this off.”

  “You brought cookies!” Susan, one of the youth group troop moms clapped her hands. “Your mom was right. What a blessing you are, coming home and helping her and us like this!”

  Now I wished I had baked a cake. I offered her a cookie and passed the tray around as she murmured her praise. The leader of the woman’s group, Judy Galbraith, scrunched her nose and gave me a sheperding smile. She loved cookies almost as much as she enjoyed moderating the parish’s drama, and, as head of four separate organizations, she earned plenty of both.

  “Oh, what a sweetheart.” Judy seemed relieved to have another Thomas to address. “Look at you. Getting involved in your community. Just like your…mother.”

  I recognized the tone. I would have thought a redeemed member of the parish would be welcomed home. Mom wanted so much to join the groups and sing the praises and help the community that she sometimes forgot just why she’d left in the first place. St. Cecilia’s didn’t. The collective memory was a little too long.

  They all meant to do the right thing, but their philosophies sometimes did more harm than good. To them, some people belonged in the community. Others were remembered as lying in the gutter when the parish offered a blanket and a few dollars. Mom insisted on giving back, and the women had no idea how to accept her gratitude.

  I set the cookies and coffee on the table, and two women stole me away. I recognized their giggles. One perk of returning home after attending a college across the country was the high-school reunion with old friends.

  Of course, the two giggling women who welcomed me home weren’t the…established members of the church. Last I saw them, they owned the cool kids’ section of the choir. Alyssa and Samantha had stayed in the area after high school, attending the local Catholic college in the city. Neither had changed. Alyssa dyed her hair a brighter shade of blonde, and Samantha still didn’t fasten the top two buttons on her blouse. But it was nice to have friends my age in the church. My generation rarely stayed in the congregation once they were able to order a drink at the bar.

  “We really ought to start making the coffee Irish around here.” Alyssa dumped four sugars into her cup. “Even Jesus brought wine wherever he went.”

  Samantha giggled. “Could you imagine these old bitties drinking on a weeknight—or at all?”

  I said nothing. It was still too easy to remember Mom drinking at all hours of the day. I glanced at her, hooting at her own joke with Judy and Susan. The program’s chip, the year-long declaration of sobriety, hung around her neck.

  “You don’t often come to these meetings, Honor,” Alyssa said. “Don’t tell me you’re bored now that you’re home.”

  “I wish,” I said. “This summer is killing me. I don’t have time to be bored. I’m taking three classes to make up for the credits that didn’t transfer, and I need to do a ton of community service. Plus I’m trying to get a couple extra hours of work in each week. But you know how it is.”

  They didn’t. Both Alyssa and Samantha were endowed with more than what they stuffed into their size-too-small blouses. Their trust funds grew by the hour.

  I nibbled on a cookie. “Besides, Mom wanted me to come. She said it’d be…fun.”

  That wasn’t quite it. Mom asked for me to join her so that we might experience life together. It was part of her programs and therapies, and it was a good way to get to know my new, sober mother. I thought it’d be easier when we were in a group. Less pressure that way. Fewer questions.

  Not as many awkward silences.

  I didn’t trust my friends’ eager giggles and glances to the door. “So…why are you guys helping the woman’s group? I thought you hated most of these church functions?”

  “Oh…” Samantha bit her lip and gave Alyssa a side-long glance. “We have our reasons.”

  “Solemn reasons,” Alyssa agreed.

  Samantha sighed. “And brooding.”

  “Very brooding. And so worth the hour or two a week.”

  “Three if you count Mass.”

  “Six or more if we do the festival.”

  I counted with them but had no idea what they meant. “Well, that’s a lot of church activities…”

  Alyssa twisted her finger in a lock of spiraling blonde hair. “Oh, come on. Like you don’t know.”

  I shrugged.

  “Daddy El?”

  How long had I fallen from grace? Was I missing another new phrase? It was hard enough remembering And with your spirit, but as far as I knew, the Vatican hadn’t changed anything else. All the lessons taught by the church were set in stone—or papyrus—centuries ago.

  “Daddy El?” I asked.

  Samantha rolled her eyes. “Daddy El? Father Raphael? Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed him.”

  Oh.

  I shuddered, wishing my heart would beat steadily instead of flaring to life in a dramatic rush every time his name was mentioned.

  “I don’t know…” I said.

  Alyssa’s smile was wicked and completely unapologetic. “Oh, Daddy El. He brings out the Mary Magdalene in me. Don’t tell me you haven’t looked.”

  “I don’t…we can’t think about him like that.”

  “Why not? He’s absolutely divine,” she teased. “Those dark eyes? His voice. God. I could listen to him preach for hours.”

  Samantha gave a wiggle. “He’s the best thing that’s happened to Mass since Vatican II.”

  They laughed. I forced a smile, but I didn’t dare indulge in speaking of him that way, thinking of his eyes, his commanding voice that had demanded my confession
and so much more.

  It wasn’t harmless fun. I feared my desires had become a dark obsession.

  I couldn’t stop thinking of Father Raphael, and he wasn’t just a danger to my fleeting attention span. Surrendering to any indecent, wicked, or alluring thoughts of him would only unravel me more.

  I was better than this. Stronger. I vowed to fight that attraction.

  So why did my skin pickle as they giggled over his name? I silently chastised them, but the true shame centered solely within me.

  “Yesterday?” Samantha lowered her voice, hiding her lips behind her coffee cup. “He played basketball in the courtyard with the youth group.”

  “In the cassock?” Alyssa’s eyes widened.

  “And sunglasses,” Samantha said.

  “Oh, that man. Nothing is as sexy as the cassock, but under those robes? He’s totally ripped. Who’d have thought a priest would put so much effort into his appearance.”

  Samantha winked. “Our body is a temple.”

  “I’d worship his all night.”

  “What a waste.”

  I bit through the cookie so hard I was lucky I didn’t shatter a tooth. Father Raphael’s cassock symbolized something impenetrable and mysterious and intimidating. It hid what was once the man and presented only the priest.

  And they were right. It was unbelievably sexy.

  I shrugged. “It’s certainly…formal.”

  “He says he likes it that way,” Alyssa whispered. “He’s strict about almost everything, including his presentation.”

  “Wonder if he’s strict in other places besides the church?” Samantha asked.

  “I bet he has other uses for that cincture around his waist.”

  Thoughts blinded me. Desperate, unholy images of silks and bindings, bodies and heat.

  “We really shouldn’t…” I didn’t even want to speak it aloud. “He’s a priest.”

  Alyssa laughed. “So what? Priests are like the Queen’s guards in England. They’re not allowed to react. You can do anything you wanted to Daddy El, and he couldn’t flirt back.”

  “I don’t think that’s true—”

  “You know what she needs?” Samantha winked. “Honor should spend more time at St. Cecilia’s.”

  Oh, I knew what they wanted. I wagged a finger. “I already said I couldn’t.”

  “Come on. The choir was so much more fun in high school. Now everyone’s moved on and gone to college. It’s not the same.” Alyssa pouted. “And you used to love to sing. It’s perfect. You moved home just in time to form our trio.”

  Samantha didn’t let me protest. “It’s settled. You’re in. Auditions are later this week for the competitive group. You have to do that too. During the summer festival, we’re holding a Battle of the Choirs. We thought it was kinda lame at first, but Daddy El is excited about it. He wanted to start a new tradition, and he’s already talked to a bunch of other parishes to participate.”

  Alyssa bit her lip. “It’s a chance to make him proud. He can show us off to the other churches.”

  Yes, exactly what Jesus would do. “I don’t know. My college’s choir wasn’t really formal, and I think the director was just fulfilling some sort of court mandated—”

  “The choir?” Mom spoke loud enough to ensure all the women heard her. “Oh, my baby has the sweetest voice. Absolutely heavenly. Go on, honey. Join the choir. You loved it when you were little.”

  True, but I had also loved the opportunity to leave the house when I was young.

  The women took their seats as Judy cleared her throat with the expectation of quiet. Mom missed the hint. She pulled me into the seat next to her and took my hand, squeezing it with a smile so wide and proud.

  “Your voice is such a blessing. You need to praise Him with it.”

  “I haven’t sung in a long time, Mom,” I said.

  “I know. Not since his funeral.”

  I flinched. Mom had a tendency to over-share, especially since the program encouraged her to expose, reveal, and accept all that had happened prior to her recovery. She gripped my hand. The wedding ring pressed into my knuckle. It wasn’t hers. She’d sold her jewelry to buy the pills she used to make it through his funeral.

  Now she wore Dad’s ring, fitted to her finger by wrapping string around the base. The twine was dirty and tattered, but Dad’s ring shined bright and gold. I’d kept it hidden in my room until Mom was sober enough to realize that it was the last treasure of his we had and couldn’t be pawned.

  “My little Honor couldn’t finish the song during his service.” She explained the situation to the group, though no one had asked about anything so personal. So painful. “But I know her daddy would have been pleased to hear her sing.”

  I doubted she remembered the day. Other people must have told her what happened when I ran from the dais mid-song. Father Falconi tended to me then—cold, informal, and offering platitudes that didn’t ease the pain of watching strangers take my father’s casket away because Mom’s addiction had alienated most of our friends and family. At least Dad had us at the gravesite, even if I couldn’t finish the hymn.

  “Join the choir. It’d be good for you.” Mom stroked a lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s a fresh, new start for both of us here, back home where we belong.”

  “Right,” I whispered.

  I gracefully ducked away as Judy cleared her throat. Again. Alyssa and Samantha took the seats next to me. The older women frowned as they crossed their legs at the knees and adjusted their skirts so just enough of their thighs showed.

  “Well, it is nice to see a new face in our little group.” Judy tilted her head, though the motion was lost amid the waves of her scarlet hair. “Honor, welcome back to the St. Cecilia’s Women’s Group. Second week in a row.”

  Mom beamed, wrapping me in a hug. “She is thrilled to be a permanent member.”

  I nodded, accepting the well-wishing from the others in the group, from the elderly to the newly married and freshly pregnant. They thanked me for the cookies—chocolate chip and shame did pair well together.

  “I do apologize,” Judy said. “We didn’t get to talk to you last time, what with that crisis with the pierogi freezer. We’ll take the opportunity to get to know you now, Honor Thomas.”

  I didn’t speak.

  His voice struck through the meeting room, a low hum of absolute confidence, authority, and warmth. I stiffened, drawing my gaze to the priest poised in the doorway.

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” Father Raphael’s presence filled the room. The women greeted him with beaming smiles. “I know Honor is a woman of many virtues. She should share them with our parish.”

  Did he do it to be cruel?

  To watch me stiffen, shudder, and silence before him?

  Father Raphael didn’t need the white collar or black cassock. When he spoke, he earned respect. When he listened, he honored those speaking.

  And when his dark eyes narrowed upon me and the curl of his lips pressed into a secret smile, he controlled me in a way I should have feared.

  Why was it so exciting?

  And why couldn’t I catch my breath?

  I didn’t look away from him, trapped in the intensity of his gaze—so unrelenting it’d have seemed inappropriate if it weren’t a holy man studying my every quiver. “There’s not much to talk about.”

  “That’s not true.” Mom was the first to rescue me, except she popped me in the spotlight instead of allowing me a graceful escape. “Honor is an absolute dream. She’s a stellar student. Always helps her community. She’s studying to be a social worker, so she can start and manage her own charity one day. I know she’ll bring pride and faith to this parish.”

  “Thanks…Mom.” I gritted my teeth. “That’s good.”

  She wasn’t done yet.

  “When I needed help, Honor came to my aid.”

  “That’s sweet.” I squeezed her hand. “But really, we don’t have to talk about it—”

  “I lost myself in a wor
ld of drugs and alcohol for sixteen years.” Mom spoke even as the women stared with wide eyes. “Sin and vice stole me. I bankrupted my family. I ruined my marriage. And I nearly lost my baby girl twice.”

  I tried to stop her. “You never lost me.”

  “No, literally.” She met the stunned gazes of the women’s group head-on. “My addictions were so bad, CPS nearly took my baby.”

  This was a new—and horrifying—revelation. “What?”

  “You were too young to remember, but you’re old enough now to hear the truth.”

  Obviously not!

  Oh, God. Mom didn’t do benders anymore unless it was spouting family problems that should have stayed within our home. It didn’t matter to her. Through a court-ordered sobriety class—and a renewed faith—she came to terms with her problems…and she ensured everyone else understood them too.

  Alyssa and Samantha covered their mouths, and the older women shifted uncomfortably in their seats. To them, Mom was a Pablo Escabar in a world of Betty Crocker, and nothing I could do would save her reputation. My stomach twisted.

  “But this girl is worth fighting for,” Mom continued. “She will be an asset to this church. Father Rafe, you’ll see. She’s a damn fine Catholic.” She flinched. “Darn. Forgive me.”

  Father Raphael’s smile eased the tension in the room. “Then she is welcomed to my flock.”

  Humiliation and shivers didn’t blend well. I scrunched in my seat as Alyssa and Samantha slowly uncrossed and re-crossed their legs, knowing full-well just what they exposed as they did it.

  Father Raphael didn’t look.

  He only watched me.

  “Well…” Judy stared at her clipboard and awkwardly massaged her temple. “I honestly have no idea where we were in the agenda…so…we’ll get right to the announcements before we do a little bible study.”

  And I had forgotten my Bible at home. Granted, I had the app on my phone, but the last thing I wanted was for Father Raphael to think even less of me. Then again, his opinion couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  It must have been why his gaze sliced through me, trying to discover every secret and sin that tempted us.

  I licked my lip. Why was I breathing so hard?

  Why did I like how intently he stared at me?