Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance (Beautiful Series)
Beautiful Sinner: Chapter 9

“CADENCE, WE HAVE A LONG DRIVE TODAY.”

Before he can get a second bang on the door, I fling it open and stare at him with a bright six a.m. smile.

We’re driving to Dublin today for an appointment with the consulate to get my replacement passport and apply for my work visa. I’m so excited I hardly slept last night. Until now, this felt like just a wild idea, but now it feels real.

As I take in the man standing in front of me, my excitement about the work visa and trip to Dublin is suddenly washed out by the fact that I haven’t really seen Callum in his everyday clothes. He’s been in his priest thing and he’s been in work clothes, but right now he’s standing in front of me in a snug-fitting pair of dark jeans and a T-shirt that makes his biceps look so good I want to gnaw on them like a teething baby.

“Where are you going?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe. “Looking like a snack.”

Callum is currently occupied with something on his phone, but his eyebrows jump as he slowly looks up at me, staring at me like I’ve grown a dick on my forehead. I nearly slap my hand over my mouth. I do not know why I said that. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment. Probably because I’m just excited and in a good mood, but if I’ve learned anything in that last week and a half it’s that my stony-faced housemate does not make jokes.

“Like a what?”

I clear my throat and close my door without looking at him again. “Ready to go?”

I can feel his stare on my face as we descend the stairs in the darkness. Our appointment is this afternoon, and even though it’s only a three hour drive, he promised me we could see a little bit of the city before we head back.

The sun is just coming up as we start our drive, and I realize that there are some benefits to not having a phone. With my head propped against my arm, I watch the rolling green landscape and try not to let the lingering “oh my god, what am I doing here?” thoughts disrupt how peaceful this is.

The radio is playing quietly, and I notice the lack of uncomfortable silence between us. Turning my head, I look at Callum again, trying to piece him together. He’s impossible to categorize. He’s not old, but not young. Not like how I imagined priests to be. He’s moral, but not outwardly kind. Good looking without being overtly hot or conceited. And I can’t decide if I’d rather fuck him or curl up in his arms like a lapdog.

“Why did you become a priest?” I ask, desperate to fill the silence in the car.

There’s not much of a reaction on his face. “It was my calling.”

“What does that mean?” I don’t know what I’m looking for, but his devotion to that answer has me feeling unsettled. He said it so quickly it was either rehearsed or something he’s very, very sure about.

He’s silent a moment, staring out at the road until he finally asks, “Do you know what providence means, Cadence?”

For a moment, I’m afraid I’m about to get a religious lecture, but just for curiosity’s sake, I answer. “No.”

“Simply put, it means that I am fulfilling a purpose I was meant for, that God determined my future, and I am actualizing His plan for me. It means He is in control.”

“Like fate?”

“No, not like fate. Like God’s plan.”

“But how did you know? How did you know His plan for you?”

For the first time, he almost smiles, a tiny lift to the side of his mouth, and it creates a ripple effect across his features, reaching his eyes. “He told me.”

“Are you a virgin?” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop it. My cheeks burn as the air between us goes up in flames of embarrassment.

He reacts with a physical shake of his head like I just threw dirt in his eyes. “You can’t just ask people that, Cadence.”

“I’m sorry. I forget my filter sometimes, but you have to admit…it’s a valid question.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Well, then don’t answer it.”

The silence overtakes us, stinking up the car with awkwardness. I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m not used to being around people who are so uptight. It’s like I need to constantly remind myself that regardless of how filthy his mouth is, he’s still a priest, and that’s not going to change.

“No.”

My spine stiffens. No…he won’t answer it? Or no…he’s not—

“I’m not a virgin. I didn’t take my vows until I was almost thirty. I lived a lot of life in my twenties.”

Why is this vision of Callum Moore being a manwhore around Ennis suddenly sending scorching hot butterflies careening through my stomach?

Somehow it makes me feel better, like maybe he’s made as many mistakes as me. Maybe he’s not so virtuous after all, and he has skeletons in his closet too.

“Oh.”

More silence, and this time I can tell he’s the one uncomfortable. He keeps shifting in his seat and his hands tighten around the steering wheel with every breath.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Forty-four.”

“No,” I snap like a reflex. I took him to be in his late thirties, but not mid forties. He’s older than Sunny’s husband, but it’s a different look of aging.

“Yep,” Callum says with a hint of laughter.

“You don’t look it.”

“Well, how old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“A baby.” He looks at me, his eyes scanning my face before I catch a split second glance to my body, and those fucking butterflies in my stomach are making me want to vomit.

The appointment at the consulate office took place a lot faster and with a lot less fanfare than I expected. I filled out my paperwork, they took my statement, and I turned in my application for a work visa all within our two hour window at the office.

By the time we left, I was starving and in desperate need of something exciting.

He takes me downtown to walk around while he searches something up on his phone. “Where are we going?”

The crowd is thick along the cobblestone roads in this part of the town, and I find myself clutching onto the soft blue cotton of Callum’s T-shirt as we work our way through it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving, so I’m finding us some food.”

Finally, we turn onto a quieter, emptier street, and Callum pulls me into a pub with the golden embossed words The Brazen Head above the door. It’s not much different than the one in town, and there’s even a lively band playing as we walk in. He pulls me toward a table in the back and we squeeze in, each of us sitting on opposite sides of the old table.

He catches me looking around in awe, and he leans in. “Depending on who you ask, this is the oldest pub in Ireland.”

I’m supposed to be impressed by this, but I’m having trouble getting past the way the word Ireland sounded with his accent, and my eyes won’t travel away from his lips.

My back is to the band, and I spin around in my seat to watch them. Suddenly, I feel Callum tapping my arm. With a tight-lipped expression, he nods to the seat next to him. I would be able to see the band better from there.

The booth isn’t big, and we are flush against each other in the seat. He leans back, his arm along the back of the booth. We look like a couple, cuddled together, but I don’t let my mind dwell on it too much.

We each order a beer when the waitress comes by, and I send him a smirking glance. Is he really allowed to drink or is he just being rebellious? Pretending to live a different life than the one he’s living.

He must notice me looking at him because he leans in, pulling me back until his mouth is close to my ear so I can hear him over the band. A chill travels through my spine, and I breathe in his cologne while he’s close. “I’m allowed to drink…if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I lean back, tilting my head to reach up to his ear. It brings our bodies so close I know it’s dangerous, but I do it anyway. “They have to let you do that.” I laugh. “To make up for the sex you’re missing.”

The tiny muscles in his jaw clench, and I love how easy it is to rile him up. As I pull away, our cheeks brush and our eyes meet, and I want to get caught in the moment. This thing between us feels like something I can manipulate and play with. I want to see how far I can get him to go, how much I can tease him, make him break his vows. I know that sounds cruel and unfair, but it’s the only way I can describe what this is.

For the first time though, I see a hint of regret in his face as he presses his lips together and turns away from me and toward his beer.

“Cadence,” he warns me. I don’t hear his voice, but I recognize my name on his lips. I’m pushing it too far, and he’s scolding me, morphing in and out of this role of man who controls me and man who lets me control him.

When the waitress comes back, we order our lunch and finish our beers. I order a second, but he doesn’t. Maybe it’s because he’s driving back to the coast today, or maybe it’s because he has to show me that he’s not the partier I see.

His arm is back to the booth behind me after we finish our food and my third beer comes to the table. I should stop drinking, but I’m too busy chasing away feelings I can’t control or define.

I don’t order a fourth, and when the band stops playing, my ears are ringing in the silence. Callum withdraws his arm from the booth and starts acting weird, keeping his elbows in front of him and his eyes away from me.

“Ready to head back?” I ask when the table is cleared.

He hesitates for a moment, and it takes him a while to answer. Finally, he looks at me. “I guess we should.”

Then he knocks my elbow with his, and I find myself resting against his arm. My inhibitions are gone with the beer, so my head falls to his shoulder.

“I can’t carry you all the way back to the car.” I feel his jaw against my head as he speaks.

“Am I doing the right thing?” I ask. I don’t know why that’s the question, out of all the questions floating around my brain, that comes out, but I need a moment of Callum’s certainty. I think about what he said in the car, about God’s plan for him, and I’m desperate for even a touch of his resounding faith.

“What do you mean?”

“Is this my providence? How do I know what God’s plan is for me? He doesn’t talk to me like He talks to you.”

I feel him soften, almost welcoming me against his body as he lifts his arm around me to straighten my slumping form.

“You’re just not listening.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told I don’t listen.”

His chest rumbles softly under my head. Did stone cold Callum just laugh?

“I need God to tell me what to do. All I do is fuck up, and I really shouldn’t be in charge of my own life anymore. Is that why you became a priest? For the providence. Because letting Him make your decisions is easier than making them yourself?”

When he doesn’t answer for a few moments, I turn my head to look at him. Our faces are so close together I can see the tiny crows feet around his eyes and the brown flecks in his green irises. Judging by the intensity in his eyes, I’d guess I struck a nerve.

“Do you ever fuck up?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

His hand touches my arm, and all three of those beers completely take over, which is why I lean forward, expecting him to lean in too—as if vows were made to be broken and I’m worth throwing everything away for. I want to believe that deep down Callum is a fuck-up like me, like him admitting that means that he’s no longer better than me. He’s not out of my league or off limits. For a split second, I don’t feel so alone.

But instead of leaning in, he pulls away, the magnitude in his gaze searing my flesh. “Cadence.” There’s that warning again.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I so codependent that I need someone—anyone—to kiss me.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, turning my body away from him and wishing the earth would swallow me whole.

“I made a vow.” He doesn’t say it like I’m being scolded. He’s validating his reason for pulling away so I don’t feel bad about myself.

“Jesus, calm down, Callum. I’m just drunk, that’s all.” I jump up and stand, heading toward the door. “Let’s go.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The floor sways a little until he takes me by the arm, looping his under mine. As we walk back to the car, through the hordes of tourists, he doesn’t take his hand off of my arm, keeping me close and walking straight.

As the crowd thins and I’ve sobered up enough to walk without falling, his arm still doesn’t move from mine. When we get to the car, he opens my door and puts me in. We don’t speak a word during the entire drive home. He must sense my self-deprecation because his hand finds my arm again about halfway home. He strokes my skin from the elbow down, and when I finally get the nerve to look at him, he gives me a soft smile. I think it means he’s sorry, but for what, I have no idea.

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