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“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“That seems like an unintended insult. I’ll watch it tonight so that I can have a proper conversation with you tomorrow. Charlotte it is.”
“It wasn’t an insult. It just doesn’t seem like a show a man would like. I read that most dramas are watched by women anyway.” She toys with the small dessert fork before picking it up and digging into the tart.
“Why did you call me Angel?” she asks between bites.
“Because you look like one.”
“I have dark hair.” She points the fork toward her heavy locks.
“Angels can’t have dark hair?”
“They always are blond in the paintings.”
I wonder what paintings she has seen. Has she gone to the museum to study them? Seen them on the Internet? Looked at some old illustrated Bible? Probably the latter. The foster families had time to read to her from the scriptures but not name her. “Mary was painted with dark hair in the pre-Renaissance era. The Bible has no description of the angel’s hair, only that they wore white robes or were clothed with light.” I run a hand over my own short brown hair. “I don’t think He would have made us with dark hair if that was a determining factor in our entrance into heaven or hell.”
“Okay, I’m convinced.” She scrapes the bottom of the plate and looks surprised to see that she’s eaten all the tart.
“Here, have another.” I push the second piece toward her.
“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping me away from gluttony? Isn't it like one of the seven deadly sins?”
“Two pieces of cake hardly makes a person gluttonous.”
“How many?” she asks as she slides the plate in front of her.
“Probably three.”
“Three? I thought you’d say six or something to make me feel better about eating two.”
“Three whole cakes,” I clarify. She’s fun, this Charlotte. Fun, smart, beautiful, protective. Exactly as an angel should be.
“You’re making that up.”
“It’s not like there are guidelines in the Bible about how many desserts one should limit themselves to.”
“Have you ever eaten three full cakes?” She points her fork at me. “Be honest.”
“I’m never anything but honest. It’s part of the job.” I rub a thumb across my collar. “And no. When I was a boy, I did eat half a cake. My mom whipped me good for that—not because I’d eaten half the cake but because it was for Easter dinner and she didn’t have time to make another one. Father Robertson was coming over, too. My mom played the organ at the church,” I explain.
“So what happened?”
“She served half the cake, and I stood during dinner. My bottom was too sore to sit. Father Robertson ate the cake with a smile and then locked me out of the house while he boned my mother.”
Angel’s jaw drops. “I did not expect that.”
“His vows weren’t serious.” I pluck the fork from her hand and feed myself a large bite.
“Unlike you?”
“Unlike me,” I confirm. I get to my feet. “When I make a promise, I keep it. People all over the world trust me to do that. Here is my promise to you. So long as you stay here at The Chapel, no harm will come to you. You will eat as many cakes as you want, sleep for as many hours as you like, swim, go for walks, read books, watch movies. Whatever you want to do, you may. The moment you leave The Chapel, the protection no longer exists.”
“So I’m some kind of prisoner?” She scrunches her nose. “For how long?”
“For as long as I like.” I dip my head and then leave. She’ll never know how difficult it is for me to walk away, but moving forward is like dragging my feet through hardening cement. I want to stay in the Mary room, bantering with her about how many cakes is considered a sin and whether angels can have brown hair, but it’s too dangerous. The sounds she makes while she eats, the pure smiles as she runs her hands across the soft velvet fabric of her chair, the wonderment in her eyes as she looked out of the windows. I like it all. Too much.
I’ve never been tempted before, not really. There have been women that have come and gone from The Chapel. It’s unfortunate, but women and children are still used as collateral, so there has been opportunity. And not just inside these walls. Outside of them, at dinner parties and social events, there are always those women who think that they can be the one to break your vows. It’s been easy to say no thank you, but for Angel, the easy thing would be to cave, to give in to the desire that is riding me hard. I nod to Lars as I leave. “In the morning, make sure that the tart is served with breakfast.”
