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In the distance, a grotto lit by spotlights with a series of iron candleholders with white candles along the perimeter comes into view. We walk closer, stopping before the candles, and a small wood carved sign. I read it out loud. “Before us, you.”
Inside the grotto are numerous statues of women. One with basket on her head, another bent as if to gather a harvest. There are soldiers, suffragettes, a scientist with a microscope, a doctor, and an indigenous woman on horseback. There’s a woman carrying a child, with another clinging to her dress.
At the center of these statues is a lone figure on her knees with her arms thrown wide, her head thrown back, as if she’s wailing to the heavens. None of the other statues face her and she seems so alone in her grief.
Justice grabs a long match from a lidded tin, lights it from one candle, then transfers the flame to another candle.
“What is this place?”
She blows out the match and passes the burnt stick through a slot in a small silver box. “The Grotto of Shoulders. I light a candle for my sister, Hope, whenever I pass it.”
“Grotto of Shoulders?”
She gestures at the statues. “A symbolic representation of the women whose shoulders we’ve stood upon. Women who were strong so others could benefit. They weren’t always acknowledged or even recorded in history. We light candles to mark them and to let them know we carry on their light. Can I light one for someone you know?”
My throat grows tight because I saw her this afternoon, but she hadn’t been there, not mentally anyway. “My mother.”
Taking another long match from the tin, she lights the candle. When she’s done, I hold out my arms, and Justice walks into my embrace. I wrap her tightly, securely. “I’m so sorry, Justice. I wish I could spare you even the memory of that pain, that basement, your sister’s death.”
“The memory is my strength. I need it.”
“No.” God, no. “That’s what we tell ourselves, but it’s not the memory of pain we need; it’s the good stuff, like me and you.”
With a bit more force than I expect, she grabs the front of my shirt and fists it in her hands, then leans her forehead against my chest.
Uncertain, I brush back her dark hair for long minutes. “Are you okay?”
She looks up at me, her gaze worried and serious. “Something Tony said to me has been bothering me. I don’t want you to think I’m using you or your charity. Or that you don’t have a choice here.”
“What?”
“You said you were looking for more. But I have my more. Because, more than anything, I want to set people free. I want to tell them—showthem—that they are more than their worst moments, more than the abuse or disregard that scarred them, more than where they’ve been or started from.Weare more. So, if you can’t deal with that, can’t accept that part of me and my life, maybe we should stick to just physical stuff. Just sex. Okay?”
Nope, it’s much too late for that. “Where is this coming from?”
She scrunches up her face and latches onto my shirt again. “If not me, who? Who will rescue the unseen, the neglected, the desperate and broken that so many vilify or ignore rather than protect?”
“Justice? I—”
She releases my shirt, pushes against my chest. “I’m not quitting The Guild. Ever. You have to know that. If you’re thinking to wait this out, wait until this mission is over, and make your escape from The Guild, realize that you’re also making your escape from me. Got it?”
I had thought that before this night, before seeing her with her siblings. But, even if I had had the passing thought, there’s no way I could only be physical with her. If it’s her and The Guild or no her, I know my answer. “Look, Justice, I get it. I think better than I did before coming to dinner. This place, your family, those kids are more than whatever covert activities your family conducts. A lot more. I would never ask you to give that up for me. It would be like asking you to give up part of yourself.”
We’re both breathing heavily now. I realize this has turned into something much more serious than either of us might’ve wanted, but I’m not backing away from what she is really asking me. I cup her face with my hand. “Don’t worry about my commitment. I made my choice when I told you, ‘You go, I go’. I made my choice when I came here tonight. I make that choice every time I look at you. Touch you.”
Her breath hitches and the worry in her eyes eases.
Gently, almost reverently, she turns her face and kisses the palm of my hand. “I bet you’re like some kind of grotto gigolo, making a move on the women as they swoon over the candlelight.”
I laugh. “That’s it exactly. Ready to drop your panties yet?”
Of course, I remember a second too late that I’m dealing with Justice Parish and sexual banter is more like a rowdy pole dance than a slow striptease.
“Maybe I was unclear earlier. Basically, you can take me behind that tree and have me right now.” She pumps her eyebrows, and I’m seriously growing to love that gesture.
Easing closer, she lifts onto her toes and angles her head for a kiss before whispering, “I’m serious.”
God help me.
