Arthur drew a breath but didn’t interrupt.
Rory swallowed. Being unwanted still hurt, fifteen years later. “I cried,” he admitted quietly, “and asked my mom if I was going to hell. And she hugged me and said,‘Tu non sei il frutto del peccato, ma il mio tesoro.’” He blew out a shaky breath. “‘You’re not the fruit of sin, you’re my treasure.’”
“Oh,” Arthur said, voice thick.
Tesoro. Luce dei miei occhi. Cucchiolo. Angelo.Her Italian had been so full of love. “I must’ve made her life so hard. She shouldn’t’ve had to raise me by herself. But she said I was as innocent as any other kid and God knew that.” Rory’s eyes stung hot in the cold room, and he wiped at them with the back of his hand. “So yeah, Ace, I’ve thought about my soul plenty.”
“Teddy—”
“And maybe I hadn’t ever slept with a man, but I knew what I liked before I met you. If my birth didn’t make me a sin, I think my heart shouldn’t either, andyou, Ace, someone good like you could never be any kind of sin. Now shut up and get in the bed.”
Arthur made a half laugh, a bit choked up. And then he was sliding under the blanket behind Rory, who had to bite back a groan at the soft warmth against his skin. “What the heck were you wearing under your clothes?” he whispered.
“Silk. It’s the most appropriate for the weather.” Arthur’s matching whisper sounded like it came through clenched teeth as one of his legs brushed Rory’s. “But I should have left my suit on. This bed means no chance of space.”
“You can put your—”
“Hush. Don’t you dare. You’re going to lie there and not make any offers so I don’t do anything untoward in your precious House of the Lord.”
The corner of Rory’s lips curled up. “I was gonna say that you can put your arm around me if you keep it innocent.”
Arthur snorted. “You have a high opinion of my self-control.” But his arms were already moving, one threading under Rory’s pillow, the other draping over Rory’s waist, welcomingly heavy. “Three days I’ve had to keep my hands to myself and when I finally get you in my arms, we’re cloistered with monks.”
Arthur’s closeness was seeping through him like a warm drink, melting the tense exhaustion and leaving him pleasantly sleepy in its wake. Rory’s eyes were closing on their own. “I’ll take it.”
“I said not to be sweet.” Arthur’s hand found Rory’s, their fingers intertwining. Then he brushed Rory’s fourth finger and stilled. “Why are you wearing the ring?”
“Um...” Rory made a face. “I can’t get it off.”
“You can’t remove a terrifying piece of tempest-starting fifteenth-century Spanish magic and you’re only telling menow?”
Rory hid his face against the pillow. “I’m not real proud of a lotta my decisions today.”
Behind Rory, Arthur thudded his head against the pillow. “Christ, you’re trouble.”
“Arthur James.”
“What?No, uppity twenty-year-old who broke the Hudson River, no sir. You do not get to say my full name in that tone of voice.”
“Stopswearing, then.”
“You have a relic stuck on your finger—”
“In a church, so you don’t get to swear about it.”
Arthur made a loud huff. “Are the wind and snow still your doing?”
“... I hope not?”
“Youhopenot.”
Rory winced. “Is this the part where you’re gonna getapocalyptically cross?”
Arthur sighed and pulled Rory a little closer. “I’d have to unwrap myself from around your pinky finger first.”
Rory bit back a smile. “I’m not sure that’s church talk either,” he said primly.
“Keep it up, darling,” Arthur said, dangerously sweet. “And just hope I don’t remember your teasing the next time we’re alone and monk-free.”
