Authors: Tiffany Reisz
Kingsley reached out and found the bed empty. He heard something and turned over. A few feet from the bed in Anya’s large rocking chair sat Søren. In his arms he held Nora wrapped up in a blanket. She barely made a sound but from the shivering of her body, he could tell she sobbed against his chest. Of course she wept after all she’d been through. The breakdown had been inevitable.
He watched them together, watched Søren bending to kiss her forehead, to whisper in her ear, watched her wear herself out with crying until she finally fell asleep.
Sliding out of bed, Kingsley pulled on his pants and came over to them. Søren opened his eyes. Kingsley laid a hand gently on Nora’s head.
“For a split second, I almost considered killing her,” Kingsley confessed in French. “When I thought she might kill you to save herself.”
“But then?”
“Then I remembered who she was. And I remembered who I was.”
“I never forgot who you were,” Søren said, slowly starting to rock again in the chair. Nora slept against his shoulder, her face tearstained but peaceful.
“I’m glad one of us didn’t.” He caressed Nora’s hair before taking a step back. “I’ll leave you alone with her.”
Søren shook his head.
“Stay. Please.”
Kingsley smiled at him through the dark.
“‘Jacob have I loved,’” Kingsley said in English once more. “‘Esau have I hated.’ Romans 9:13. I paid attention in school sometimes.”
“Not nearly enough attention.”
“I was preoccupied.”
“Obviously. You learned all the wrong verses. First Samuel 18:1. ‘And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.’
First Samuel 20:16-17. ‘So Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying, “Let the Lord even require it at the hands of David’s enemies.” And Jonathan caused David to swear again, because he loved him: for he loved as he loved his own soul.’ Second Samuel 1:26. ‘I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan...thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.’”
Kingsley stared at Søren and found he couldn’t speak.
Søren smiled at his sudden muteness.
“Don’t get into a scriptural pissing contest with a Jesuit priest, Kingsley,” Søren chided. “You’ll lose every time.”
“I’m happy to lose this contest.”
“Go back to bed,” Søren said. “Obey me one more night.”
Kingsley knelt down at Søren’s feet and rested his hand on Nora’s hip right under where she’d been kicked. They’d both been wounded for their sins, and both found their healing at his feet and in his arms.
“Every night.”
45
THE QUEEN
T
he next morning Nora woke up and knew she would be all right. It might take a while, might take a few more midnight crying jags in Søren’s arms, but she’d get there. She’d get her spunk back, her spirit. Right now she just felt empty and tired and really fucking hungry.
She took a long shower and dressed in her own clothes that Grace had washed for her. Jeans, a white T-shirt and her boots. Finally she felt almost human again.
That human feeling momentarily faltered when she walked past Wesley’s room. She wanted to talk to him again, make sure he was okay. When she reached his bedroom door, she heard the sound of lascivious laughter, a sigh of pleasure, followed by the unmistakable sound of a teenage girl having an orgasm. It hurt to hear but she made herself listen, anyway. She took it like penance. She’d hurt Wesley...worse, she’d harmed him. Now he found healing with someone else. Good for him. He deserved it.
She kissed her fingertips, and touched the door. She walked away and let Wes and Laila take their comfort in each other.
Grace had taken it upon herself to cook a big breakfast for them all. They assembled in the dining room, she and Søren, Kingsley and Grace. Nora studied Grace for any signs of awkwardness or regret about submitting to Søren last night. But instead Grace appeared radiant. She looked rested and happy and she and Søren acted like old friends and nothing more. She still couldn’t believe Grace had gone through with it, but not many women after getting to know Søren could resist the temptation of a few hours alone with him, even if it meant submitting to pain. And although Grace had been doing Søren and Nora a favor by giving him an outlet for his sadism, Nora had made sure to get something out of the deal herself.
“You get my priest for a night, I get one more night with Zach,” Nora had said last night.
And Grace, who never ceased to surprise her, had only laughed and said, “A night? For one night with your priest, you can have Zachary all week.”
“Bring it,” Nora said, and they’d sealed the deal with a fist bump.
They all gathered around the table for what promised to be a gluttonous full English breakfast. But the peace of the moment shattered when Søren posed a question that left them all quiet.
“Where’s Laila?” he asked. No one answered.
Nora reached for the toast and Søren intercepted her hand. He took it, kissed it and looked at her with quiet determination.
“Eleanor, where is my niece?”
“Still in bed.”
“Her flight leaves in a few hours. I’ll go wake her up.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Nora said, standing up.
“And where is Wesley?”
“Probably sleeping, too.”
“Eleanor, answer me.”
“I’m not one hundred percent certain I know where Laila and Wesley are.”
It was true. After all, a point-one percent chance existed they might have been abducted by aliens in the past five minutes.
Søren rose out of his seat and headed to the entryway. Nora had to run to beat him.
“Don’t.” She braced herself in the doorway barring his exit.
“Eleanor, get out of my way.”
“They’re together right now—Laila and Wes. They spent the night together. They’re still together. And if you don’t want to traumatize your niece for the rest of her life, you’ll leave them alone.”
“Me, traumatize her? She spent the night with someone she barely knows who is in love with someone else.”
“And she had a damn good time doing it from what I overheard.”
“Eleanor...” Søren said in a tone so sharp she could have cut herself on it. “If you don’t get out of my way right now—”
“You’ll what? Beat me up? Or, as we call it, foreplay?”
“I’m not joking. Get out of my way this instant.” He eyed her with barely restrained fury.
“No. You and I have put Wes through enough pain and drama to last a goddamn lifetime. If spending some private time with Laila makes him feel better, then fine. Laila got kidnapped and held at gunpoint. If she wants a few hours’ distraction with a gorgeous, sweet kid like Wes, we’re not going to stop them.”
“You aren’t. I am. So help me God, Eleanor, she is only eighteen—”
“So the fuck what? I was seventeen when you and I fooled around the first time. Remember that night? You didn’t seem to mind I was a seventeen-year-old virgin. And you also didn’t mind you were a thirty-one-year-old Catholic priest. My priest. You remember that?”
“This is an entirely different situation.” Søren took a menacing step forward but Nora stood her ground.
“Why? Because she’s your niece? Fuck you, I’m somebody’s daughter. I know Mom would love to come do what you want to do to Wesley right now.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you.”
Søren started to push past her and Nora put a hand out, grasping the door frame.
“You go another step past me and you will never see me again,” she said, her voice low and menacing. “If you dare interfere with Wes’s chance at happiness, even a few more minutes of it, I will run so fast and so far from you even God and all His angels won’t be able to hunt me down. You and I have been playing this game by our rules for twenty fucking years and it is way too late for you to be pulling this vanilla bullshit on any of us right now. We know who you are. We know what you do. Every single one of us in this room has the bruises to prove it. So unless you want to lose me and lose me for good this time, you will sit your ass down and eat your goddamn breakfast and you will leave Wes and Laila alone. Otherwise, I will disappear from this life and the next life. I will make sure I die first and whether I’m in heaven or hell, I will bar the gates behind me so you can’t even touch me in the afterlife. Say, ‘Yes, Mistress,’ if you understand.”
“Eleanor...”
“Say it. Say it if you ever want to see me again.” Nora felt like a corpse struck by lightning and jerking back to life. “I left you before. By God, I will do it again. This time I won’t come back.”
It was the only hand she had to play and she wasn’t bluffing. She stared at him. He stared at her. Wars had been started with less fury than she felt at him right now. No way in hell would she let him humiliate Laila and Wesley for doing nothing wrong at all. Laila was eighteen, not even fifteen like Michael was. Wes was twenty and a college student, not thirty-three and a Catholic priest like Søren had been their first time. They had nothing to apologize for, nothing to be ashamed of. They’d committed no sins and she wasn’t about to let Søren punish them for one night of pleasure.
“I mean it,” she said when she saw the war raging in Søren’s eyes. “You know I mean it.”
For a few more terrible seconds Søren remained silent. She knew her entire future hung in the balance even more now than it had two days ago when she held her and Søren’s lives both in her hand. She could forgive Søren any hurt he’d ever caused her in her entire life. But she would not, could not, forgive him if he hurt Wesley. That she could not allow.
“Yes, Mistress,” he finally said, and Nora nearly sagged with relief. But she didn’t relax, not yet.
“Good boy. Oh, one more thing.”
“What?”
Nora slapped Søren so hard across the face that he gasped from the pain of it. Søren looked at her in pure unadulterated shock.
“I have wanted to do that for nineteen years, you pretentious, overbearing, self-important hypocrite. You made me water a goddamn stick for six fucking months.”
The last words she almost shouted as years of pent-up rage rose up in her like an army with banners aloft ready to die and ready to kill.
“Kingsley,” she said, looking past Søren, “I’m leaving. If he tries anything before Wes and Laila come up for air, shoot him.”
She couldn’t remember the last time Kingsley looked so delighted.
“With pleasure,
Maîtresse.
”
Nora turned on her heel, leaving everyone—Søren, Kingsley, Grace, Wes, Laila and all the bad memories of the past few days—behind her.
“Nora, are you all right? Where are you going?” Grace called out after her.
“Thirty-six hours is about my upper limit for wallowing. I’ve got places to go, people to beat.”
Nora slammed the front door behind her and the sound jarred her back to reality. She had no car, no keys, no money on her. Nothing. That’s okay. Never stopped her before.
Wesley’s Mustang was parked out front and Kingsley’s Jag. She was rather fond of Wes and King today. Only one option remained.
Nora found the keys waiting in the ignition of Søren’s motorcycle.
“Arrogant prick. Maybe you’ll finally listen to me now. Told you to get a fucking disc lock for your bike.” She started the priceless vintage Ducati and let her guts lead the way out of the driveway. Instead of heading home, her guts aimed her straight at Manhattan. Fine. So be it. New York, it is. Kingsley said Griffin was watching the Empire while they were gone. A little afternoon delight with Griffin and Michael would do her nicely today. And if not, surely Sheridan could be persuaded to come over and play awhile. She’d be elbow-deep in that little girl before dinner. And tonight, she was getting shit-faced. Now that was what the doctor ordered.
As the miles flew past her, the realization that she’d actually slapped Søren in the face started to sink in. Not only had she hit him, she’d hit him harder than he’d ever hit her. That slap was one for the record books. He’d be lucky to not have a black eye from that bitch of a slap she laid on him. On top of that, she’d done it in front of Kingsley and Grace. No doubt Søren would beat the holy living hell out of her for this. The various punishments and tortures he’d lay on her danced in front of her face. He’d probably have to invent some new form of sadism to punish her latest crimes. Or he’d choose the worst possible punishment for her of all—enforced and prolonged celibacy.
Whatever it was it would hurt. It would be brutal. It would be torture. It would be pure Søren at his most sadistic.
She couldn’t wait.
Part Seven
CHECKMATE
46
THE QUEEN
December 21, eighteen months later
N
ora tied a red ribbon around the box and using scissors and tape fashioned an elaborate bow. Céleste showed much more interest in the boxes than the presents so Nora made sure to give Kingsley’s daughter the best boxes in the world. Christmas was so much more fun this year now that she had children to buy presents for. Kingsley and Juliette’s little girl had come screaming into the world only two months before Zach and Grace’s son, Fionn. A boy and a girl. Perfect. She was already planning their first date.
“So I got my tickets to Paris. I leave the day after Christmas. You’re not going to miss me too much, are you?”
Søren turned around on the piano bench to face her. He’d been playing Christmas music all morning while she decorated the tree and wrapped the gifts. Hard to believe it would be Søren’s last Christmas at Sacred Heart.
“I’ll try to survive your absence. No promises.”
“Be strong. I’m only gone one week.”
“Are you going to tell me why you’re going back to France?”
Nora didn’t answer at first. She hadn’t told anyone about Marie-Laure’s revelation that Kingsley had an illegitimate son living somewhere in the south of France. Marie-Laure might have been lying, playing with Nora’s emotions. She didn’t want to set Kingsley up for disappointment. Instead, she’d quietly hired a detective to find Nicolas. She’d seen a few pictures and he certainly looked like he could be Kingsley’s son. But she wouldn’t know for certain until she looked him in the eyes. Kingsley had taken to fatherhood better than anyone could have dreamed. Céleste had the most doting French papa in the world. Why not give the little girl the gift of a brother? Anyway, she had to try. From the moment she’d learned about Nicolas she felt possessive of him as if he were her own. The day after Christmas she’d meet Zach in Paris and together they’d hunt the kid down. Zach had lived in France a few years and knew the country much better than she did. Plus Grace had promised her a week with him. She planned to cash that chip in and find Kingsley’s other progeny.
“I’m looking for something,” she said to Søren, and left it at that.
“Something?”
“I’ll tell you when I find it. If I find it.”
“You’re being mysterious.”
“Entirely on purpose and mainly to annoy you.”
“It’s working.”
“You know I’m a writer. I can’t tell you everything in the beginning. Then there’s no point to the story.”
“But you will tell me?”
“Eventually, I promise. Soon as I get back.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Søren came over to the tree and surveyed her work. “Very good work on the tree. I see you managed to avoid any inappropriate ornaments this year.”
“I’m still putting the Christmas shark up on the tree when I find it. What is Christmas without the Christmas shark?”
“I can’t even begin to answer a question of such theological import without at least a week of prayer and fasting first.” He raised his hand to the little plastic hart that hung on a silver string from one of the higher branches. She’d given him the little hart years ago as a Christmas gift. Every year it had found its way onto his Christmas tree.
“Can you hand me that box over there? I have to wrap Fionn’s last gift.”
Søren handed her a small box and Nora shook her head.
“The other one please.”
“No...I think that’s the right box.”
Nora looked up at him suspiciously. She put her scissors down and studied the small box wrapped in red paper.
“It’s your birthday, not mine.”
“Open the box, Eleanor.”
“I’m supposed to give you presents.”
“You’ve already given me your present. Now it’s your turn.”
“What is it?”
“I have no idea,” Søren said. “I suppose you’ll have to open it to find out.”
Nora removed the red paper and found to her delight, and horror, a tiny black box on the inside.
“Oh, my Lord.”
“Open it, Little One. Don’t be scared.”
She opened the box and found a silver necklace on a bed of velvet. On the chain hung two silver bands.
“Søren, not this again...” she warned.
“They’re wedding bands.”
“I know they are. We can’t get married. We get married and you get excommunicated. That’s how it works. I’ve been excommunicated before. It’s not fun.”
“You are worth the risk.”
Nora picked up the rings and noticed the engraving on the bands. One word on each ring. Her ring said
Forever.
It was the promise she’d made him that night so long ago when he’d pulled her ass out of the fire. She didn’t even have to look to know his ring bore the promise he made her.
Everything.
The fire of her teenage infatuation with Søren had burned itself out years ago. In its flames a love made of iron had been forged. It could survive any blow, any trial. Even this trial.
“I made God a deal a long time ago,” she said, meeting Søren’s eyes. “If I didn’t take you from the church He wouldn’t take you from me. That’s the one promise I’ve ever made I will die before I break.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me. Not now. Not ever. I won’t ask you to break your promise to God and I won’t break mine, either. I’m only asking that you wear these. Consider them...very small collars.” He smiled and she knew she couldn’t say no.
“I’ll wear them but you should know, it doesn’t matter to me that we can’t get married. I belong to you. I always will.”
Søren clasped the necklace around her neck and the cool metal of the rings tickled the skin of her chest.
“Yes, you do.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “Forever.”
“Forever.”
He pulled back and she exhaled heavily. Wedding bands. Ridiculous. But they were very pretty, she had to admit that. She supposed this meant they were engaged. Fine, let Søren think they were if that made him feel better. At least he’d tried to make an honorable woman out of her. No, they would never get married. Not now, not ever, and they both knew it. But the future did hold the prospect of more time together. Six months ago Kingsley had announced that he was giving up his Empire, passing the keys of the kingdom to Griffin, and moving to New Orleans to start a new operation—smaller, more intimate. Less an Empire and more a private kingdom. New York had far too many enemies, far too many powerful people who he’d pissed off. He planned to start over in New Orleans, the perfect city for a man with a Haitian lover, and a quarter-French, half-Haitian daughter. Kingsley made his announcement and the next day Nora started house hunting. When Søren told her one month later that he’d accepted a full professorship at Loyola University in their Pastoral Studies department, she couldn’t even feign surprise. Of course he had. And for his birthday today, she’d given him a box with a key in it—a key to a house in New Orleans’ Garden District, a house hidden far from prying eyes, a house where he and she could be alone together, where he and Kingsley could be alone together.
He’d looked at the key and he’d looked at her. Nora had said, “You would have done the same thing for me.” They said no more about it. They didn’t have to. Things had changed between him and Kingsley since her week in Kentucky with Wesley. One night two weeks after her rescue she came to the rectory and found it empty. When Søren arrived home hours later and slipped into bed with her, she could taste Kingsley on his lips. She’d only laughed, called him a “big blond slut” and fallen asleep across his chest. They’d all looked death in the face thanks to Marie-Laure. When they looked away they saw one another, saw how all three of them belonged together, and they would never let anything or anyone divide them again. If Kingsley went to New Orleans, there would be no question. Søren would go, too. So would Nora.
She and Søren never spoke of his nights with Kingsley, as she never spoke of her phone calls with Wesley. After a few months, she could even ask Wes about his relationship with Laila without wanting to commit seppuku. Last year she’d cried alone at her kitchen table after Wesley told her Laila would be moving to Kentucky to go to school. Apparently there was some all-girls college not far from Wes’s house that had an equine program. How convenient. But that was it, the last time she’d cried over him. Now she could think of him without pain, remember without hurting.
And life was starting to get really interesting.
Twenty years ago Søren had been sent to Sacred Heart in Wakefield, Connecticut, as a temporary fill-in for an ailing Father Greg. His “temp job,” as she dubbed it, had turned into a calling that had taken him away from his Jesuit brethren. Now two decades later, he would rejoin them. A difficult transition, but still, it was life out of the small parish fishbowl, life outside the scrutiny.
“Eleanor?”
Nora realized she’d been doing nothing but staring at the rings on the silver chain for the past five minutes.
“I’m all right. I can wear these. But don’t tell anyone we’re engaged. Number one, we aren’t. And number two, an engaged Dominatrix is a boner-killer, and I’ve got to be tough for the New Orleans scene. I’ll be the new kid at school.”
“I would never presume to tell anyone anything so horrifying and slanderous. And you’ll have the entire town under your heel in a month.”
“Good. I like the sound of that. Okay.” She took a shallow breath to steady herself. “Now can I please have that box I asked for, sir?”
“I’ll give it to you now. You’ll earn it later.”
Nora wrapped Fionn’s last present, a Catholic Bible with his name engraved on it—
Fionn Aaron Easton.
She had already declared herself his godmother and hadn’t taken any argument from Zach about it.
Nora, you and I have slept together. I don’t know how appropriate it would be for you to be my son’s godmother.
When has the appropriateness of something ever been a deciding factor for me doing anything?
Well, I suppose I can’t argue. Especially considering...
Considering what?
Nora had asked but Zach hadn’t answered her.
Søren watched over Nora’s shoulder as she wrote the name on the gift tag.
“Fionn,” Søren said, narrowing his eyes at the name tag.
“What?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Do you know if Fionn is a family name?”
“No idea. Grace’s mom’s Irish. She said it was an old Irish name.”
“It is. Fionn or Finn refers to the legendary Irish warrior, Fionn mac Cumhaill, or Finn McCool. It’s very interesting.”
“So why is that interesting?”
“Because Grace has red hair, and Zachary’s hair is black.”
“So?”
“Fionn means—” Søren paused and stared at the name tag again. His eyes seemed to lose focus a moment, as if he were remembering something.
“What?” she prompted.
Søren met Nora’s eyes.
“The name ‘Fionn’ means blond.”
Nora narrowed her eyes at Søren.
“Søren...that night you played with Grace, by any chance did you two—”
Before Nora could finish her question her phone started to emit the familiar strains of “Englishman in New York.”
“Hold that thought. It’s Zach. Booty call.”
Nora brought the phone to her ear.
“Zach, I hope you finally have my synonym for
thrust,
noun form. Otherwise, I’m hanging up on you.”
“Don’t hang up. I’m not calling to talk to you.”
“Are you calling to sing to me?”
“I need to talk to Søren, and I don’t have his number.”
“Why do you need Søren? Spiritual crisis?”
“Of a sort.”
Zach sounded serious, uncharacteristically serious. Usually their phone calls were full of nothing but fighting and flirting.
“What’s going on?” Nora asked. “You can tell me.”
“I will. But I need to talk to Søren first.”
“Is everything all right? You’re kind of scaring me here.”
Zach laughed on the other end, a warm, slightly sheepish laugh.
“It is all right, I promise. Just been putting off this conversation for a long time. Can I have Søren’s number?”
“No. But you can have Søren. He’s right here.”
Nora handed Søren the phone. He gave her a look and she only shrugged.
“Zachary?” Søren paused and listened intently. After a few seconds his eyes widened hugely.
Nora’s heart raced. Something was up. Something big. She prayed it was something good. He reached out and cupped her face with his slightly shaking hand.
Whatever it was she knew that it would change everything forever, although she couldn’t say why.
“What is it?” she mouthed at him, needing to know the answer, unable to wait another moment.
Søren laughed.
* * * * *