Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“He wouldn’t let me see him, of course.”
He never lets me see him.
Jack nods. “Evangelina, there’s not much we can do.”
“I’m so tired of hearing that. Is there anything I can do to help my case along? I want to look perfect when we go in front of the new judge.” That’s one good thing this lawyer has done. He’s got me a new judge who apparently has no ties to Christopher, or so I hope.
“It’s not looking hopeful.” He smiles. “But don’t worry we can still win this thing. I was thinking, do you go to church?”
I blink at him. “Church?”
“Yeah, I think it might make you look better to the judge. Judge Hamptonson is a devout church goer.”
“I’m not really much of a church goer, but I’ll do anything to get my son back.”
“Try going to church. There’s a great service over at St. Paul’s. You should check it out.”
I nod. “Oh, okay.”
It’s clear our meeting is over, so I stand and shake his hand.
“Oh, and Evangelina,” he says before I reach the door. “I won’t charge you for today.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
And now I’m off to church. I have no idea what to expect, but what I find is a whole lot more than I ever envisioned.
Chapter 2
Evangelina
It’s Sunday and I’m here, not really knowing what to wear to a church service, I chose a black pencil skirt and white blouse.
It’s a skirt I used to wear a lot as a lawyer’s wife, when we went to dinner parties. Parties where I always felt out of place and like an alien. I didn’t grow up with money, and these parties were a way to flaunt that upbringing with others who had it. Not me, of course, but I had to pretend that I had it too.
I stare at the chapel of St. Paul’s, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens, the intricate stonework illuminated by the soft morning light. The stained-glass windows shimmer with hues of blue, red, and gold, depicting scenes of saints and angels that seem almost alive. The heavy wooden doors, ornately carved with symbols of faith, stand open, inviting yet imposing.
Maybe I can just say I go to church. It’s not like they fact-check anything in court anyway. But with my luck, they’ll probably bring out detectives to verify every word I say.
The sight is breathtaking, the sheer grandeur of the place making my chest tighten with awe and anxiety.
Families spill out of cars in the parking lot, their laughter and chatter a complete contradiction to the silence that weighs on me. I stand rooted to the spot, unable to move. How can I step into this holy place, a sanctuary of peace and purity, when I feel anything but?
Not by myself. I can’t do this alone.
I should have convinced my new friend, Greer, to come with me.
“Are you going to go in? Or just thinking about it?” a man’s deep voice asks from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder, startled. “Oh,” I say, surprised to see the priest. God forgive me, but wow.
He’s dressed in the traditional black cassock, the simple white priest collar peeking out like a halo against his skin. But everything else about him defies the stereotype I had in mind. I expected a stout, older man with lines of wisdom etched into his face and perhaps a bald head reflecting the years of service. Instead, standing before me is a tall, strikingly handsome man in his early thirties. His chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes give him an air of authority and allure that feels almost out of place in the clerical garb.
His dark hair, thick and perfectly combed, looks like it could have been touched by God himself. It’s hard not to notice the subtle strength in his broad shoulders, the way his presence commands attention even in the simplicity of his attire. He embodies temptation in a way that makes me wonder how anyone could sit through one of his sermons without feeling a twinge of something sinful and to not think about the big dick energy he exudes.
“I’m sorry…” I don’t know what to call him. Father? Priest? Reverend? Sir? I’m terrible at this.
His blue eyes are mesmerizing as he stares at me. It’s like he sees everything about me, but I no longer care about the sins I’ve committed because I just want him to keep staring. “I’m Father Carmichael.” He reaches out his hand for me to shake.
I stare deep into his eyes, trying my best not to get lost in them. “I’m Evangelina Matthews. I mean, Dame.”
He smiles, displaying a slight dimple in his left cheek, and it knocks me off-kilter. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Dame.” The way he says my name, it’s almost sinful.
What is wrong with me? I should not be checking out the priest. Aren’t they celibate? In my defense, he’s fucking hot. I’m going to hell. I realize I haven’t said anything for a whole minute. “I… uh…”