Page 45 of For I Have Sinned

Walking down the hall, I plaster a massive smile on my face as I prepare to gloat that her office is squeaky clean.

“You will not find one speck of dust in your office. I told you⁠—”

I come to a halt when I see that it is not Sister Greta who entered the library, but Father Alexander. He is holding a plate piled with food, a slight grin on his lips.

“Sorry, I thought you were Greta. I mean, Sister Greta,” I apologize and correct myself because I know how much it bothers these people to be called by only their name.

“That’s okay. I’m glad to hear you finished cleaning her office.”

“Took me way too long, but it’s done.” I point to the plate in his hand. “Is that for me?”

“It is.” He sets it on one of the desks stationed at the back of the library. “You weren’t at dinner, again.”

I step forward to inspect what is on the plate—steak with mashed potatoes and broccoli. A fancy dinner tonight, and it smells incredible. “Will you always deliver my food if I miss dinner?”

“I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

“That is very kind of you.”

No one else notices when I’m not at dinner. Well, scratch that. I’m sure Joanna notices, but she probably doesn’t care that much that she’d offer to bring me my meal. Esther notices I’m gone, but I don’t expect her to go out of her way to make sure I eat.

“I’ll take it to my room and eat it there.”

I go to grab the plate, but stop when he says, “Eat it here.”

My eyes lift from the food, and I look at him through my lashes. “What?”

“It’s already late, and I want to make sure you actually eat it.” He nods towards the chair. “Sit.”

I know he doesn’t mean to sound so demanding and rough, but he does, and it is sending butterflies to my stomach that decide to travel between my legs.

Pulling out the chair, I slowly take a seat and drag the plate closer to me, cutting the steak with the knife and fork he provided. I sense the heaviness in his stare as I take the first bite.

“Are you going to stand there and watch me eat the entire meal?” I ask, cutting another piece. This time, when I take a bite, I look directly into his eyes.

He shakes his head, spinning on his heel towards the bookshelf next to him, where he grabs a book at random. Sitting across from me, he opens the book and begins to read.

“I don’t need someone to babysit me while I eat.” I scoop up some mashed potatoes and moan with delight around the fork. They are the perfect consistency and still piping hot. He must have warmed it up before bringing it to me.

When I lift my eyes, awaiting his response, I find him staring at me over the top of the book. “I’m not babysitting you, Celine.”

“Then what are you doing, Father Alexander?”

He lifts the book. “Reading.”

My eyes squint as I attempt to read the title on the worn-out leather. It is so old that it takes me a second to realize what it is.

“Do you always read the Bible for fun?”

He looks at the front of the book, reading the faded words, and hums. He had no idea which book he’d grabbed, so he didn’t even bother to read the pages thoroughly.

“Don’t you?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No.”

“Have you read the Bible?”

“I’ve pretended to read it. Just like you were a second ago.” I’m not sure why I call him out on this, but it was worth it because his cheeks heat up. “When I was little, my parents made me dedicate an hour each morning to reading it. To appease them, I acted like I was so intrigued while reading, when in reality, I was making up stories in my head.”