Page 73 of The Princess and the P.I.

The next night, Fiona pushed the door open just as the choir swelled into a triumphant crescendo.

The sound poured out into the corridor, loud enough to vibrate through her chest. Inside, the congregation swayed in unison, a sea of bodies clothed in muted tones of beige, brown, and white, eerily alike.

It was a detail she’d never fully clocked before: how uniform they all looked.

She stepped into the foyer, pausing to gather herself. She smoothed her high-waisted brown pencil skirt and adjusted the cropped cream sweater that felt too loose, too revealing for this place. She clipped the gold cross microphone onto her collar.

When she pushed the second set of doors open, the eyes found her instantly.

The heads turned, almost synchronized. The tide of attention settled on her, and for a moment, she faltered, her hands fisted at her sides.

She moved forward anyway, like a ghost among the pews, and her heels, too high and too expensive, dug into the red high-pile rug.

Expectation was thick in the air, like the humid pause before a thunderstorm. Something was coming.

Fiona was an intruder here now, no longer Kofi’s obedient daughter.

The lights dimmed, and a synthetic beat began to pulse. The fog machines hissed, spitting out streams of vapor, and laser lights streaked across the ceiling. It was uncanny how much it mirrored the spectacle of the TechXpo—the same attempt to manufacture awe.

She edged toward her old pew. Her skin prickled with the quick judgmental glances from the parishioners. Their eyes slid over her clothing, and she sat clapping along to the music just enough to blend in. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears.

“You will not hide, you will not shrink,” she murmured to herself.

It didn’t take long for David to appear. He slid into the pew beside her, his presence like an electric shock. His cologne turned her stomach.

“I don’t want to make a scene,” he murmured, “but you need to leave.”

Fiona turned her head slowly, meeting his gaze with a calm she did. not. feel. “You were right, David,” she said.

He blinked, caught off guard. Fiona noticed the red line across his face. Sara’s last blow. “What?”

“You were right.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear, velvet smooth. “Maurice only wanted one thing. And when I gave it to him…” She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, watching the flush spread across his cheeks.

David swallowed hard. “And when you gave it to him?” he asked, his tone unsteady, betraying more than he intended.

Fiona leaned in again. “After I gave it to him, he turned me in to Detective Ryan.”

His breath caught, and she could see the tension rippling through his shoulders. The choir’s voices rose around them, reaching another high.

“I hate to tell you this, Fiona,” David said, all fake solemnity, “but you’ve strayed too far from the way.”

“I know,” Fiona whispered, lowering her gaze. She let her voice tremble, letting him believe she was broken. “I really do. I’m here to repent. To start over.”

His expression softened.

“And I want to start by giving you this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a flash drive. A cheap thing, from Walmart—a test. She handed it to him with both hands, like an offering.

“It’s Sara’s manuscript,” she said. “The only copy.”

David snatched the drive, his large hands engulfing it. Fiona flinched just enough to sell the act.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, barely audible over the sound of clapping.

“For the whole Potomac thing. I just…I got so afraid. Maurice turned my mind. I was possessed. He gave me drugs, and all I wanted was”—she whispered in his ear—“sex.” She pulled away, guiltily looking at him from under her lashes.

Give him the gift of power , she told herself. It always makes people go belly-up.

She saw the bob of his Adam’s apple, the quick flick of his eyes over her face, her body. His composure slipped. If she were fishing, her line would have tightened.

“Fiona,” he said, and his tone managed to be both tender and calculating, “let’s talk in my office.”

He guided her with a hand at the small of her back. Eyes followed them instead of the praise dancers on the stage.

His office was small, dark, and windowless. He closed the door behind them with a quiet click.

“I meant what I said about reburying your brother,” he began. He was earnest. He probably would do it.

Fiona nodded, forcing gratitude into her expression. “I appreciate that so much.” Her teeth clenched against the bile rising in her throat. She knew it had been him—he’d leaked those photos of Kwesi to the church.

“I feel like…the tax collector in the tree, you know?” she said. “Coming back here, seeking redemption. I’m a sinner, but I’m still seeking.”

He smiled at that. “We all are. Believe it or not, I’m not perfected yet.”

“Hard to believe.” Fiona chuckled. “I would be willing to go through any protocol you have to get me back into my spiritual journey.”

David was so close to her she would smell the gum disease in his mouth. “I think, when we’re married, you could submit to our iron-sharpening process. Wives come out perfected. Proverbs 31 women.”

“That’s what I want,” Fiona said, sitting down on the leather sofa he gestured to. She tilted her head, looking up at him. Men like David liked that—liked to imagine a woman kneeling before them.

“I’m proud of the program,” David said. “Tameka was unfortunate, but we were new, calibrating, and we didn’t know how far to take things or how to pull back. You would never see a mistake like that now.”

“If I were…” Fiona looked down. “If you would still have me, maybe I could oversee it.”

“I thought about that too. How to make it women-led,” he said, in hushed reassurance. “But men know the doctrine.”

“So…is that what happened to Tameka?” Fiona asked, careful, curious. “She was trying to be a good wife?”

“Yes.” David’s expression hardened. “But some women are irredeemable—”

The blow came so fast Fiona didn’t see it, only felt the crack of it across her face.

Heat flared in her skin, and then the copper tang of blood filled her mouth.

She stumbled, the world tipping sharply as her vision blurred.

A hand shot out to steady herself, but her legs gave way, and she found herself on the floor.

“You want the protocol? You have to prove yourself worthy. I’m about to lead this whole hundred-million-dollar operation. I’m not even sure you know what that takes.”

She forced herself to crawl, inching toward the edge of the office.

“But you do want me,” Fiona said, pulling herself up on the back of the leather sofa. She pressed her tongue against the cut inside her cheek. The room spun, her purse dragging heavy at her side, and her head throbbed, but she held her ground, locking her gaze on his.

“And you’re looking for the church elder express package, right?

People don’t like unmarried elders. In fact, people plain old don’t like you.

They still go to Kofi. Still see him as the true head.

You got tired of my father turning you down, so you made a little magic for yourself.

Dragged up some dirt, didn’t you? Photos of my sister, leading Chastisement.

Put the screws to my father when he came to you, begging for help about me.

You found a way to legitimize yourself.”

David shook his head. “All of Kofi’s children turn to sin. You gave your virtue away to a pill-popping loser, and instead of being properly humbled that a man still wants you, you act like you have diamonds between your legs. And your father and sister enable you.”

“I could have told you that Esi doesn’t do well with threats.”

“Esi would rather let all of your lives be ruined than follow God’s word. That’s nothing to be proud of. I have a hell of a picture of Esi kicking the Holy Ghost out of a girl. She could lose her practice, and still.”

“You all put them up to that.”

“You sound like Sara. Hey, I have a question. Why is it that as soon as women leave the church they become whores? We have eyes everywhere, you know. I saw you giving it all away at the club. You looked like you loved swallowing it down.”

“You were at the play party?” Fiona gasped for the drama. Her face was starting to throb. Did she have enough?

“You underestimate me. Tameka, Sara, and even you. You’re all the same type of woman.

You go out in the world, they treat you bad, and you need the church to cover your ass.

” He finally made his way behind the couch.

Crowding her. Panic began to genuinely set in.

“Get back on your knees. I want you to beg me with that mouth of yours.”

Okay, no.

Surely that was enough.

A sharp, shrill beep cut him off.

David’s eyes snapped to hers. “What the hell is that?”

Fiona looked down, her breath hitching. The tiny cross mic on her collar was blinking red. Out of battery.

Her stomach dropped. When did it start blinking?

David’s face twisted with rage. “Are you wearing a wire?” he snarled, and his hand darted out to grab her shirt. His fingers twisted in the fabric, yanking her toward him with a force that pushed the sofa back.

He palmed her face, pushing her head back against the wall with a sickening thud. She clawed at his forearms, and her nails slicked uselessly over the thick corded muscle beneath his skin.

His other hand ripped the cross mic from her collar, the sound of fabric tearing seemingly louder than the choir singing in the background. Achingly slow, Fiona’s hand moved to her purse.

“I think you meant to throw me off that damned ship!” He sounded incredulous. “Fiona. I…I dreamed of you.” He released the pressure on her skull and reached back like he might backhand her again.

In the bag, her fingers brushed the cool metal of Maurice’s gun. She hadn’t intended to use it, but here they were.

She pulled the gun free in one swift motion, pressing it hard into David’s chest, right over his heart. “Don’t touch me again unless you dreamed of looking like Swiss cheese.”

The look in his eyes, the fear but mostly the surprise, bubbled and fizzed pleasantly in Fiona’s belly like champagne.

“You know you’re not going to shoot that. This isn’t you. Obedience is your most godly trait,” he said. His voice shook, though.

She pressed the gun harder against him, and he winced. Her hand may have trembled, but her resolve sure as heck didn’t.

“No, obedience was my most useful trait. My most godly trait is sending the wicked straight to hell.”