Page 36

THIRTY-SIX

Christmas Morning

MOIRA

I wake up to a scream.

Not the fun kind. Not the kind that says, “Moira, you’re so good at this, I might actually see God.”

No, this is high-pitched, horrified, and laced with the kind of indignation that means someone’s about to start throwing hands—or hymnals.

I jolt upright so fast my skull nearly detaches from my spine. My heart is doing its best impression of a tap dancer on cocaine, and it takes a solid three seconds before I register where I am. Which is a problem because I’m still on the altar.

The altar. Of the church. Where Bane works.

Oh. Oh no.

Ohhhhh fuu?—

“Father Blackwood, how could you?!”

I know that voice. It belongs to Agnes, the most dedicated of Bane’s parishioners and quite possibly the most terrifying old lady in existence. I swear she could strangle a man with her rosary beads and walk away without a wrinkle in her cardigan.

I do the only rational thing available to me—I let out a strangled yelp and roll off the altar, hitting the floor with a breath-stealing thud .

Beside me, Bane moves with infuriating grace, leaping down and landing in a crouch like some brooding, muscle-bound Batman. Except instead of a cape, he’s got the altar cloth in front of him covering his nethers. I, meanwhile, am still tangled in the damn thing, looking like a sacrilegious burrito.

“Agnes,” he says smoothly as if he’s greeting her at the church bake sale instead of standing mostly naked behind the Lord’s table. “This is my wife, Moira.”

His what ?

I whip my head toward him so fast I give myself whiplash.

“Your what?!” Agnes chokes, echoing my own internal meltdown.

Bane has the audacity to hold my gaze, utterly calm, as he snatches up his pants and starts stepping into them. “I understand if you want to tell the council and the bishop,” he continues because, apparently, he has completely lost his damn mind. “I take full responsibility for this… lapse in judgment.”

A lapse in judgment? Oh no, Bane. Last night was the best kind of holy experience, and I think I saw the face of God at least twice.

Wrapped in the altar cloth like some kind of makeshift toga, I peek up over the edge of the altar and give Agnes a small wave. She does not wave back. Her mouth is hanging wide open.

“I completely understand the need for dismissal after this sacrilegious infraction,” Bane adds solemnly because he’s still in some kind of confessional mood now.

Agnes wags a gnarled finger at him. “Oh, you won’t get out of this so easily, young man.”

Bane blinks. I blink. We both brace. Shit. This could cost him his job.

“This church was twenty grand in the hole when you showed up. The bishop stuck you with us because we had no endowment, no resources, and our last priest was an embezzling jackass.” She straightens, looking him up and down with the judgmental power of someone who has seen men fall and rise again. “I had my doubts about you. I thought you were too young. Too arrogant. Too… British .”

Bane bows his head slightly. “I understand.”

She narrows her eyes. “But things have turned around since you’ve been here. People have come back to church. You actually care about the folks around here, and I reckon that’s what we’ve been needing all along.”

There’s a long, excruciating pause.

Then she levels him with a gaze so sharp I feel it in my bones. “But I expect the bishop’s got a copy of that marriage license.”

Bane doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t flinch. He lies with the kind of conviction that really makes you wonder if he should’ve been a politician instead of a priest. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “And I’ll tell the congregation the good news next Sunday.”

I would strangle him if I weren’t still frozen in shock. Instead, I just gape, then snap my mouth shut when I realize I’m gaping.

Agnes eyes both of us up and down—takes in my bare arms, Bane’s half-dressed state, and the general disaster zone of our clothing strewn across the holy ground—and then snaps, “Well, for God’s sake, go get yourselves cleaned up before anyone else comes in and sees you like this.”

Bane extends a hand, and I scramble to book it toward the back of the church. He’s not far behind, scooping up our clothes. Because, of course, the man is still in crisis mode but remains polite enough to gather my things.

The second we’re across the lawn and behind the tall gate of his parish house, I whirl on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Your wife?” I hiss.

He looks down at me, utterly unrepentant. “Did you have a better idea?”

I open my mouth. Close it. Damn it.

No.

But still.

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Oh my god, I’ve been fake-married for less than five minutes, and I already want a divorce.”

He smirks. “You’ll have to get in line, little heathen.”

I glare at him. “Oh, you think this is funny? This is your career, Bane. Your life .”

His expression softens just a fraction. “And what about you?”

I hesitate. I don’t have a good answer. Because my life? It’s been chaos from the start. But Bane? Bane had a future here. A purpose. And last night, I might have ruined it.

I chew my lip. “What are we going to do?”

His smirk fades, and he lifts a hand to brush a wild curl from my face. “We’re going to get married. If you’ll have me.”

His voice is steady. Confident.

Then the bastard drops to one knee right there in the dewy grass. “Moira Callaghan, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

I thought I was done gaping open-mouthed for the morning, but apparently not.

I slap him hard on the shoulder. “What are you doing down there? Get up!”

“Not until you answer me.” His eyes darken. “But feel free to keep slapping me. Just try not to leave a mark. I do have to go preach a sermon in a minute.”

“Be serious!”

“I am being serious. Be my wife, Moira, in truth. We can catch a flight to Vegas right after the service.” His clear gray eyes sear me. “Marry me.”

“I—You—” I let out an infuriated noise.

“You’re everything I’ve always wanted. I love you. Please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

Holy shit. He means it. The bastard’s crazier than me, after all.

I feel tingly all over, but it’s different from usual.

I think… I think it’s happiness .

I drop to my knees and throw my arms around him, breathing out into his ear words I can’t believe I’m saying. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”