Page 87 of Bartholomew
“You always say that,” she teased, pressing a kiss to the center of my chest. I rested my chin on the top of her head, letting my stress melt away in her embrace. “Now come take a load off. Dinner is ready.”
I swatted her ass as she walked back to the kitchen, following her to help plate the food.
“So, what made today so unbearable?” she asked as we ate our food. The first half of dinner had been in utter silence, both of us making incredible sex noises at the taste of our food. She was a goddess in the kitchen, crafting incredible meals night after night.
“Same old, same old for the most part. Father had me cornered for the majority of the day, talking to me about the importance of being an Elder and taking the responsibility seriously.” I imitated my father’s booming, arrogant voice to a tee, making her laugh. I loved her laugh. Yeah, it was time to tell her how I felt. If I didn’t do it intentionally, it was bound to slip out, and knowing my luck, it wouldn’t be in a pretty way. I’d manage to fuck it up somehow. Tonight. I would tell her tonight.
“Just a little while longer,” she reassured me, placing her hand over mine. I intertwined our fingers, squeezing her hand.
“I’d like to take some time for us tonight,” I began, feeling my heart beat steadily increasing from a slight skip to a full race in a matter of moments.
“We have time for us every night, Ollie,” she chastised playfully.
“I know, but I want to take some time to talk,” I tried again. My palms were sweating. Ridiculous. It was just a talk. A talk where I told her that I loved her. No big deal. Right? Fuck…
“Very well,” she agreed, taking our plates to the kitchen to clean up. I followed after her, pulling her away from the sink before she could start the dishes.
“Why don’t you go relax for a bit and I’ll take care of this. When I’m finished, we’ll talk.” I whispered, pulling her in for a soft kiss on her surprised lips.
“Okay…” she trailed off suspiciously, a smirk on her face. “You’re up to something, Bartholomew Temple.”
“Only good things. That I can assure you, love.” She sauntered off down the hall and I washed the pots and pans she had used for dinner. Finishing them quickly, I took a deep breath, steadying myself for the conversation to come. Why was I so nervous? Oh yeah, I had never uttered those words to a living soul outside my parents and brothers before. No big deal.
I ran my sweaty palms over my jeans and made my way down the hallway.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Halfway down the hall, I turned towards the front door. Who the fuck could that be? At this time of night?
“Ollie?” Delilah questioned, poking her head out of the bedroom.
“Go back into the bedroom, love. I’ll see who it is.” Something in my gut told me this wasn’t good. Nine times out of ten, my brothers would call before just showing up at my house. Unless something was very wrong.
“Can I help…” my words trailed off as I opened the door to see Reverend Jacob. “Good evening, Reverend. What can I do for you?” The blood in my veins ran cold as ice. The Reverend didn’t make unannounced house calls. This was not good.
“I would like a word with you, Bartholomew.” No, this was not good at all. I clenched my jaw, leading him into the house and shutting the door behind him. I just prayed Delilah stayed out of sight until he said his peace and was on his way.
“Please, let’s have a seat in my study.” With his nod of approval, I led him to my study, glancing down towards the bedroom to see that our door was now closed. Good. Good girl.
“Beautiful home, Bartholomew. I must compliment you on your sense of design. A fitting home for a true man of God, such as yourself.” His praise was as vile as if it had dripped from Satan’s own lips. Nothing was simply said with this man. He had a serpent’s forked tongue, his words always riddled with double meanings and secret code. I didn’t trust him for a single second.
“Thank you, Reverend. The Lord has blessed me, indeed. Can I pour you a drink?” The Elders of this church sure loved their drinks. Plus, it was an easy way to busy my hands.
“Where is your wife? Surely, you will have her pour the drinks.” His eyebrow lifted in suspicion, and I cursed silently. He was right. It was custom for the higher Elders, like my father, to have their wives serve the drinks. Hell, they served everything, like good little slaves.
“She is just tidying up. Let me fetch her,” I lied through my teeth.
“No need for that. Call for her.” It wasn’t a suggestion. I stopped my movement towards the door, taking a deep breath.
“Delilah? Come in here, please,” I called out, hating every single word. This wasn’t going to go well. We had been to church once since the end of our honeymoon. It hadn’t gone well for either of us. Sure, we had kept up the act, as needed, but it had drained each of us of every ounce of energy we had.
Put the mask on. Put the mask on. Put the mask on. I silently begged that she could hear my thoughts somehow, and that maybe, just maybe, we would get out of this unscathed.
“Oll-” she began, her word immediately cut off as she saw who our guest was. “Yes, husband?” That mask slipped over her face, her complete demeanor changing in an instant. Good girl, I silently praised her.
“The Reverend has paid us a visit. Pour us drinks.” My jaw clenched tightly. So tightly, it was going to be sore by the time this was over. I sat in the chair opposite the Reverend, watching as Delilah dutifully poured our drinks.
“Bartholomew, as I said, I wanted to have a word with you,” Reverend Jacob began again.
