I raise my head to look at him, so I catch his gentle smile and his loving eyes as they peer down at me. He stands.
“No, thank you. I’d like to pray some more,” I reply, pressing my hands tighter together so he won’t see them shake.
“Sure, darling,” he says softly. “Find me later?”
I nod, and Atticus places a chaste kiss on the top of my head before he exits the chapel in sure, steady strides.
Sometimes, I wish I were more like him. Sometimes I wish Iwerehim. But if I became Atticus, Atticus would have to become me, and I wouldn’t wish this on him in a million years.
Once I’m sure he’s left the room, I lower my head once again.
Dear Lord, please forgive me for my weak disposition. Grant me mercy in the face of—
“Young Master Atlas?”
My eyes shoot open, but I do not move. I can feel Julian approaching, his feet thudding against the soft carpet laid between the rows of pews.
I am filled with an unfamiliar anxiety.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
My temperature spikes, my heart rate picking up at just the sound of his voice, his nearing presence.Shit, not in the chapel!
“Uh, I’m praying,” I answer softly, my eyes trained on my bent knees, my hands that are going white under the pressure I’m applying to keep them pressed together so tightly.
“What are you praying for?” His voice is so soft, so concerned that I feel the urge to cry.
I want to fall to his feet and cling to his legs, begging him to help me, to forgive me for using him as material in my darkest hour.
“Forgiveness,” I whisper, watching my vision become blurry as my tears build.
Disgusting, sweet little temptress.
“What couldyoupossibly need to ask for forgiveness for, Young Master Atlas?” Julian kneels beside me, but he doesn’t pray.
Instead, I can feel his eyes drilling holes into the side of my face, and I’m far too conscious of how close his body is to mine. Almost touching.
“There is a lot about me you do not know,” I admit. “Things I won’t confess to outside of this room. Outside of my head.”
Like enjoying the release this condition gives me.
“You’d feel better if you confided in someone,” he informs me.
I finally raise my head, looking to my left to see him sitting there, watching me with curiosity and pity. His brown eyes search my face, a soft blush coating his cheeks as I stare back.
He’s so beautiful in a rugged, manly way. I want him to lick every inch of my skin and then swallow me whole, which is rare, as I’m normally only so sick with desire right before and during a flare-up. Afterward, I’m just resentful and guilty.
I blink rapidly as more tears build, dropping my head back down again.
Dear Lord, please forgive me for my weak disposition. Grant—
“Hey,” Julian says, interrupting my silent prayer. “You’re crying.”
I freeze as I feel his fingertips slide underneath my chin, turning my face to the side so he can take a better look at me. A few tears successfully fall, and he frowns, wiping at them with his calloused fingers.
“I know I’m not supposed to touch you without permission,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
But I’m leaning into his touch, his warm affection, feeling the hot tears as they escape me rapidly and silently.
