Page 40 of Savior

“How old are you, Father?” I don’t know why or how the question blurted from my mouth, but I didn’t let the shock at my boldness show on my face as his brows tugged together.

“Thirty-eight,” he replies, turning toward his computer to hide a look I can’t digest now.

He busies himself on the computer, clicking away at keys. Silence permeates the room, but it’s not an awkward one. Nothing with Father Russo is awkward.

While I’ve been in the presence of plenty of men who made me feel uncomfortable, I’m at ease with him.

I know I can’t look too far into it, though.

He’s a man of god. A wholly untouchable man. One that I know I should stop picturing indecently, but can’t seem to stop.

“How are you doing, Sloane?” His smooth voice carries across the desk, and my skin prickles with awareness at its soft touch.

It almost pisses me off: his concern and empathy for me.

Because for so long, I’ve been alone, raising myself, dodging the world—until it caught me and threw me into a basement.

“I’m fine.” I cross my arms over my chest in defense, and he notes the action with his eyes flicking down toward them momentarily.

“Are you?” he counters, pinning me with his chocolate glare.

“Father Russo, I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl who’s lived independently for as long as I can remember.”

He winces as if he feels guilty about how I’ve had to live. But why?

Sure, he said he was my dad’s friend when they were younger, but that doesn’t mean he’s responsible for anything that happened to me.

“Luca,” he breathes, and all my anger at his prodding falls away, shattering like a storm window.

“What?” I barely get out.

“Call me Luca,” he repeats, and I have to control my shaky breath that expels.

“Is that allowed?”

He sits back in his chair, his defined body flexing as he keeps me hostage with his dark eyes. “Why would it not be allowed? I have friends and family, Sloane. Do you think they all call me Father?”

“Ardesia does,” I counter.

He rolls his eyes, sitting back forward again. “He’s an annoying little shit.”

I laugh, even though I shouldn’t. “Are you allowed to curse? And Ardesia Ricci isnotlittle.”

He shakes his head, his face bemused. “Are you going to count up my sins today or have an actual conversation with me?”

“Both.” I smirk.

“Alright, then. What’s the tally?”

“Well, you’re not supposed to have me living with you. You cursed, and I’m still unsure whether you took the lord’s name in vain, so I’ve got you at three for today.”

At this, his beaming smilereacheshis eyes, and he stands and rounds the desk, sitting off to my left against the dark-stained wood, his leg nearly touching mine.

“Three sins? What do you think I should do about it?”

I can’t help myself; I stand, my face far too close to his for our sanity or purity. “You should probably confess.”

This hardens his face, all playfulness thrown into the proverbial wind. And now, his arms come over his chest in defense.

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