The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,21

marriage wouldn’t be like this all the time. He’d be a fool to think it was all low lights, jazz, and making out like teenagers on the sofa. But still, he would have married her in that room that second if he could have talked her into it. Especially since he knew any minute now…any second…she would say…

“All right, behave, Cyrus.” She said this right when he slipped his hand under her shirt and started inching up and up.

“I am behaving,” he said.

“Behaving bad.”

“Behaving bad is still behaving.” He bit her earlobe. She laughed, but she placed her hands on his chest.

“That’s enough,” Paulina said. Cyrus groaned and sat up.

“Already?”

“Already.” Paulina slowly pulled herself back up and righted her clothes and her hair. He was pleased to see she was at least breathing hard. Maybe he could flatter himself that she stopped because she was about to lose control, not him.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

“I will. I said ‘yes’ six months ago. I’ll say ‘yes’ again tonight.”

“No, I meant right now. Right damn now.”

He picked up his bourbon sour and drank the rest of it down to the rocks. He was half-tempted to take the ice in his hand and put it all down his pants.

“I will marry you on November seventh like we planned and not a day sooner.”

“I could be dead by November seventh.”

“Then I will throw you the finest funeral this town has ever seen.”

“Second line?”

“Second line, Trombone Shorty leading the way.”

“Not fair I have to miss my own funeral.”

“Better not die then,” she said.

“Better not.”

She started to stand, but he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his lap. She was heaven in his arms, all curves and warm skin and wildflower perfume.

“You’re ornery tonight,” she said, pinching his nose. “What’s gotten into you?”

He leaned back on the couch, resting his head on the back.

“It was a strange day.”

“I know it was. You got to talk to that lady?”

“Lady? Yeah, I talked to the lady.”

“What was she like?”

“Different,” he said. “Not what I expected. I guess someone with her job isn’t on duty 24/7. Even dominatrixes take Saturdays off apparently.”

“Did she help you?”

“She swears up and down she doesn’t know Father Ike. But I don’t know. I just don’t know…”

“You think she’s lying?” Paulina asked.

“Not about that. But she’s hiding something. She even told me she was hiding something before she shut the door in my face.”

“That’s brass, right there.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Was she pretty?” Paulina asked. He knew she was asking out of curiosity, not jealousy. Paulina had too much self-respect for something like that.

“She’s not my type but she wasn’t bad. I can see the appeal. Her appeal, not the appeal of what she does. I’ve been beat up. It’s not fun. But she can make a couple thousand dollars a day just beating men up. And they’re the ones paying for it. Crazy.”

“Sounds like a good racket to me. Hat’s off to her,” Paulina said, tipping an imaginary hat.

“Now who’s being ornery?”

“Hey, whoa,” she said, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. “Archbishop Dunn’s on the news.”

She unmuted the television. Archbishop Thomas Dunn was on the screen. He was a tall white man in his late sixties, with a broad smiling, ruddy face and thick white hair with a widow’s peak.

Paulina leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Cyrus sat back, waiting to be unimpressed.

A young pretty reporter had caught the man outside St. Louis Cathedral.

“Your Excellency, can you confirm that a priest has been found dead on a church property?”

“Unfortunately, I can confirm that. Out of respect for the family, we are not commenting further, though we are asking the faithful of New Orleans for their prayers during this difficult hour. And please, pray for your pastors. Even called by God, this can be a stressful, thankless vocation. Depression, burnout, they can take their toll on all of us.”

“The exact cause of death has not been disclosed by police, but a firearm was found at the scene. Could you—”

“Thank you, that will be all.” The archbishop was already walking away, back into the cathedral.

“Useless,” Cyrus said. He took the remote from her and turned the TV off. He pulled her close. “How you feeling, baby?”

She rested her head on his chest. “I just keep trying to focus on all the good Father Ike did. There’s nothing else I can do except pray for him. And pray for you.”

His phone buzzed on the table. He ignored the first ring, but