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“An atheist.”
“Ah, excellent. I do love a challenge.” He cracks his knuckles. “But I was actually asking about your name.”
“Oh, it’s Georgina. Georgina Fisher. But everyone calls me George.”
“George. I love it. A nice British name. Well, George Fisher, if you ever need to talk about this harrowing experience, you know where to find me.” He grins as he slides his feet into a pair of immaculately-shined dress shoes. “I mean, I’ll be at the church, not usually in this fountain.”
I swallow. “Right.”
Silence stretches between us. He seems utterly comfortable with it, but I’m desperate to fill it so I don’t keep picturing his body. “What do you teach?”
“History of Religion.” He fixes the collar around his neck. With his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, I notice the tattoos on his arm depict figures from Greek mythology – Theseus slaying the minotaur, Cassandra witnessing the fall of Troy. He sees me staring at his ink. “Not just Catholicism. All the religions, new and old and everything in between. I’m only picky when it comes to the salvation of my own soul. Are you lost? Would you like me to walk you to the dining hall?”
I shake my head. “Not lost. I…I guess I was feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
“It’s hard being away from home, especially if your home is across the ocean.” He makes it sound as though I’ve come on some epic quest, like Odysseus making his way over the seas from Troy, instead of drowning my nerves in daiquiris on the ten-hour flight. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll show you to your room and then you’ll have a bit of time to get used to the campus at your own pace.”
Sebastian walks me back through the secret garden to St. Benedict’s Quad. It’s no longer empty of people, and it takes us forever to navigate to the other side because he’s stopped every few feet by senior students or fellow dons. Sebastian has a heart-melting smile and friendly words for every one of them.
We finally reach the opposite corner and head through another gothic archway into a quieter quad with another immaculate lawn and an ancient-looking stone well in the center. “This is Cavendish Quad. There are four staircases, and each one has its own scout, who cleans the rooms and looks after the students.”
In the far corner of the quad, Sebastian introduces me to a stony-faced woman named Sally, who is my scout. “You’re supposed to be at orientation,” she snaps at me.
“George’s train arrived late. She’ll catch up on the details from the other students. You know what those lectures are like – most of it is self-explanatory. Dining hall hours, library usage, instructions for the laundry machines, how not to get recruited by a secret society with designs on taking over the world.” Sebastian asks Sally about her new border collie puppy, and the woman’s sour expression dissolves into smiles. Sebastian Pearce has that effect on people. I drag my suitcase up the wheelchair ramp, my cheeks flushing with heat. I can feel strands of hair whipping around my face and yup, my pits could knock out an elephant.
He’s a priest. It doesn’t matter what you look like or smell like because he’s not interested in anything except your immortal soul.
“Goodbye, George Fisher.” Sebastian’s eyes twinkle as he takes my hand in his. My fingers tingle with the warmth of his touch. “I hope Blackfriars is everything you wished for.”
Me too.
I stand awkwardly at the foot of the staircase, waiting for the scout to return from her office to give me the key to my room. As I watch Sebastian’s perfect ass stroll back across the quad, I’m seized by an overwhelming and uncharacteristic urge to be reckless.
Before I have time to think about what I’m doing, I pull out my phone and navigate to the Blackfriars app, which lists my class schedule. I slide my finger across the screen, deleting ‘Gender and Social History of Popular Music’ from my schedule. I click another button to enroll in the ‘History of Religion.’
Yup. Booked my one-way ticket to eternal damnation.
