“Bye.”

  Chelsea slid into the car. Today would be the last day that he’d pick her up from work. The two months had actually flown by. In his mind anyway.

  She slid into the vehicle, her black two-piece pantsuit hugging that curvy ass of hers; he quickly put his hand on the seat, cupping her buttocks when she sat down.

  “Really? I think you’ll find it hard to drive this way.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I may find I drive better this way.”

  “Emerson! Can we, please?”

  With an exaggerated sigh, he pulled his hand away, but not before pinching her ass—hard.

  “Ow!”

  “That’s for the attitude.” He dipped his chin toward her in warning. Turning his left blinker on, he swerved into traffic. “Okay, we need to discuss the rules and lessons learned before tomorrow.”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes, catching herself and righting her expression, giving him a weak smile. “Sorry. Yes, we do.”

  “I don’t like your attitude and I will fix it if it continues. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He shifted the car into fifth, moving comfortably with the flow of traffic. “Tell me what you learned from your research paper, the facts that have stuck with you.”

  She pulled her bottom lip between her small white teeth, taking her time to formulate her answer. “One point six million accidents a year occur from drivers distracted by their cell phones.”

  “And it could’ve been you if that vehicle had turned one second earlier.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What else?” He moved to the right lane, preparing to take their exit.

  “Cell phone distraction causes twenty-six hundred deaths and three hundred and thirty-thousand injuries every single year.”

  “What would I do without you?” His eyes filled with tears. He wasn’t sure he could survive without her, and he knew that their trust had received a harsh blow. His concern and worry about her driving was more than it had ever been before.

  “I won’t do it again. I promise, Emerson.”

  “And if you do?”

  “You’ll beat the living hell out of me and I’ll lose my driving privileges and phone for a year.”

  “Good girl. And to avoid using your phone, what are you going to do to prevent the near occasion of sin?”

  She smirked at him. Chelsea loved when he took a Catholic phrase and used it in their dynamic. “I’ll avoid the near occasion of sin with your help and grace along with the threat of punishment, and I will also put my cell phone in the trunk of my car, thus avoiding any ringing or temptation.”

  “Good girl. And what was the most alarming fact you learned?”

  “At any given time while driving, one in five drivers is writing or reading a text message.”

  “Christ!” He gripped the wheel tightly, reaching over to hold her hand with the other. “I’m going to be honest with you; I’m struggling with giving you your car back.”

  Swallowing, her eyes widened. “But…I’ve done everything you said. And, my ass was sore for almost a week. I won’t do it again.”

  He squeezed her hand tightly. “You have to understand our trust has been broken, Chels. It’s going to take some work to bring me back to full trust again. You lied to me—many times—and hid that you were using your cell phone while driving. Because of that misbehavior, I’ll need time and obedience from you.”

  Tears tracked her cheeks; she didn’t even wipe them away, letting them fall onto her tightly clasped hands in her lap. “I wish I could take it back. I didn’t think I’d hurt you like this. Even though I knew keeping a secret wasn’t right, I didn’t in a million years think this would happen. I’d take it back if I could.”

  “I know you would, but you can’t, so you’ll just have to earn my trust back. It’ll be okay.”

  He turned into their driveway, putting the car in neutral before setting the emergency brake. “Let’s cook dinner and get you ready for driving again tomorrow.”

  Chapter 15

  Chelsea had been driving to work for a week now with no incidents, and Emerson had been testing her phone. Today he’d even gone so far as to hide his number, hoping against hope that she’d still not answer because the phone was in the trunk of her car. And he’d been rewarded when she came home pulling her phone out of her purse, exclaiming loudly, “Oh, you called me? When?”

  “While you were driving.” He put down the knife that’d been chopping vegetables to watch her expression closely.

  Tilting her head to the side, she pouted before nodding at him. “It’s okay. You’ll see that I’m a good girl. I’m really trying.”

  “No need to try. You’re always a good girl.”

  Putting her phone on speaker, his voice filled the small kitchen. “Hey, Chels, it’s Emerson. I’m just…well, I’m checking to make sure you wouldn’t answer your phone. I hope it’s in the trunk. I love you, can’t wait to see you. Cooking dinner. See ya.”

  The phone clicked off.

  Feeling a little sheepish, he looked up at her before dropping his gaze to his task. “I’m not going to apologize. I’m not sorry.” He fixed her with a stare. “Until I feel sure you’re behaving with that phone, I’ll be conducting random checks.”

  “I know. I’m sorry; really this is because of my actions.”

  Before he could respond, his phone vibrated across the counter, the number unrecognizable, but his phone saying Vatican City, Rome. “I think this is Father Bill.” He lied, feeling guilty immediately. He quickly picked the phone up, staring blankly at the screen.

  “I need to take this in the other room, Chelsea.”

  Walking to the spare room they used as an office and shutting the door, he quickly hit the green phone icon. “Hello, Emerson Riley speaking.”

  “Father Emerson Riley, this is Cardinal Antonio Rossi. I’m calling from the Apostolic Palace in the Vatican City.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence.” Old habits die hard; Emerson had to restrain himself from bowing as he said it.

  “I have your letter to His Holiness, The Pope. We—many of the Cardinals residing here and I—have been giving it lengthy consideration and have been having some…what would you say…energetic debates. I know that you’re only a couple hours away in the Netherlands, so would it be possible for you to fly here and meet several of the Cardinals in the Vatican City? Would you be interested in having a protracted discussion with us?”

  Emerson swore his heart had stopped beating, and when it commenced again, it felt like it was hammering against his rib cage. Clasping his chest, he looked across the room at the door, wondering what he’d tell Chelsea. “Your Eminence, that would be very agreeable. I’ll call for flight arrangements tonight.”

  “Excellent. Do you have a pen and paper handy?”

  Opening their pencil drawer on the desk, he pulled out a pad of paper and pen. “Yes, Your Eminence. I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “This is the number of the secretary for His Holiness. Leave him your flight number and time of arrival and we’ll have a car pick you up at the airport, the sooner the better of course.”

  Emerson wrote the phone number down quickly, reading it back to him. “I’ll see if they have any seats for tomorrow; if not, it will be the next day. Thank you, Cardinal Rossi.”

  “You’re more than welcome. It’s an issue that has been in need of a discussion for a while and you’ve made some very good points.”

  “I thank you for the opportunity and I’ll call this evening or in the morning.”

  “That will be fine. Arrivederci.”

  “Arrivederci, Your Eminence.”

  Tapping the red phone icon to end the conversation, Emerson stood leaning a hip against the desk, exhaling loudly. He couldn’t quite believe that several Cardinals had been discussing his letter and they wanted to meet with him.

  He needed to firm up what he’d say and how, but more importantly, he needed to figure out how to make flight arrangements without Chelsea knowing.

  Opening the door slowly, he half expected to find Chelsea crouching by the door listening. She hated secrets. Funny, it hadn’t occurred to him before; apparently she hated secrets kept from her, yet she had no problem hiding information from him about the cell phone.

  Straightening his shoulders, he walked briskly back to the kitchen smiling at her. “It was Father Bill; he had some new information on Bishop Kearney he wanted to run by me.” He went back to chopping the vegetables, watching her sauté the chicken in a pan on the stove.

  “You’ve never had to hide in the den to talk to him before. What’s this all about?” She had the what-the-fuck crease between her brows.

  “Obviously, if I wanted you to know and felt free to share the information with you, I would have stayed in the kitchen, right, my dear?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, his rationale a good one.

  The crease deepened, her lips pursed. “I guess.” She stirred the browning meat a little more vigorously than required. “I don’t like it.”

  He shrugged toward her. “You don’t have to like everything, dear. It’s just the way it is.”

  End of discussion…for now.

  Chapter 16

  “I just don’t like it, Anna. At all. First, he’s all secretive about a conversation with Father Bill. And then he mysteriously has to leave the house to run a few errands at eight o’clock at night? I mean, I get that it’s daylight until after ten here in the summer and that people do go out at night, but not at this apartment. Not with Emerson. Something’s going on.” Chelsea tossed a pillow she’d been hugging on her lap while sitting on the couch, getting up to look out the window again for her boyfriend.

  “Chelsea, you know you have nothing to worry about with him. Think about it. He left the freaking priesthood for you! He moved clear across the world, getting an apartment and using his inheritance money from his parents until he can find a job. Why the f—why the heck would he be having an affair? Now of all times?” Her friend censored her language; Gustaaf must have been around. He didn’t like her swearing.

  Thank God Emerson doesn’t give a shit about that. I’d fucking die.

  “I know you’re probably right. But he has been a priest for a while, maybe he’s decided he wants to make up for lost time or something and has several women on the side besides me.” Even to her ears that sounded foolish. Emerson had been pining for her for over ten years. But his secretive behavior just made a body wonder.

  “My God, have you lost your mind, Chelsea? I mean, really? Let me say it again, louder. The man left the priesthood for you! He’s been fucking you silly for months!” Anna gasped loudly.

  “Oh shit. You swore, and swore big time. You’ll be getting a lecture.” Chelsea giggled, loving the drama as long as it wasn’t hers.

  “Get off the phone.” Gustaaf’s rumbling, growled voice came through the phone.

  “I’m sorry! Okay, I’m doing it. Chelsea, I have to go now but we’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Her friend whispered into the phone quickly.

  “Looks like your ears may be worn out from your lecture; you may not want to listen to anything tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, or something like that. I’ll see you in the morning, Chels.”

  “Bye, Anna.”

  As her friend was ending the conversation, she could hear her saying, “I said I was sorry, don’t be so loud, wait until I hang up.”

  Yep, looked like a lecture was in order. Although Anna didn’t have to be subjected to corporal punishment, he sure sounded similar to Emerson when he was worked up into a lather.

  Walking out the front door of their apartment building, Chelsea sat on the steps watching the bustle of walking families and couples, bicyclists, and the many boats chugging down the canal. She loved living in Amsterdam. It was what she’d envisioned America to have been like years ago—a melting pot of ethnicity, several languages spoken everywhere, and a blending of cultures and food.

  She’d been learning to speak and write Dutch ever since she moved there, and although she could use the language to get by, she still didn’t feel comfortable talking to native Hollanders, preferring to fall back on English, which was spoken just as often there. It seemed that everyone knew it, and in some respects, it probably kept her back from being fully immersed into Dutch.

  Sipping her water, she willed herself to relax, not worrying about where Emerson was and what he was doing.

  Chapter 17

  Emerson ran in a slow jog through Amsterdam Schiphol Airport having underestimated how long it would take for him to dress this morning and pack some essentials into a bag in case he needed to spend the night there.

  God, I hope not.

  The last thing he needed was Chelsea freaking out about an overnight stay somewhere. He felt guilty not telling her that he’d literally be leaving the country today, but he knew that it would ruin the surprise; and if his instincts were correct and the response from the Vatican City was negative, he didn’t want to disappoint her needlessly. It was hard enough for someone who was entrenched in it daily to understand it, let alone a layperson. The disillusionment was too much for many followers of their faith.

  Standing in front of the mirror, he’d agonized over dressing as a layperson or dressing like a priest without his collar. He finally decided that it’d best meet his argument to dress as a priest, proving that he did indeed still see himself as a priest, as stated in the Canon Law.

  He was amazed at the amount of people who were unaware that even though you left the priesthood, you were still considered a priest, even by the Catholic Church. And if he wanted them to treat him as such but giving him the right to marry, including him in the Church just as they did the Episcopalian priests, then he’d dress as a priest for the Cardinals.

  His heart beat wildly in his chest, his nerves completely raw. Not knowing the focus of the discussion or what their goal was for their meeting set him on edge. He’d been fasting and praying, and at this point, could only hope that the Holy Spirit would fill him with knowledge and grace and give him the exact words to be spoken.

  He found his gate, sighing out loud at the long line of passengers waiting to check in. Looking up at the screens and then checking his watch, he had over an hour until the flight left; it’d have to be enough time, otherwise he’d just have to reschedule his flight for tomorrow, calling Rome again.

  Just as he’d been assured, Emerson was picked up and transported in a sleek black limousine to the Apostolic Palace. Although he’d been to the Vatican while in seminary before his ordination, the breath-taking beauty of Rome and the Vatican City amazed him every time.

  The grandeur was beyond compare in his opinion. The large, austere building with winding staircases and arched doorways with gleaming marble and stained glass left even an adult walking while staring upward with their mouth agape. And today had been no different for him.

  “Is this your first time to the Apostolic Palace, Father Riley?” The elderly Cardinal seemed spry for his age, walking quickly and with grace and ease. Although he appeared to be nearing seventy, his hair white and wrinkles on his neck belied the youngness of his eyes, a bright and clear blue with not a bit of fogginess that tended to cloud eyes at that age. He smiled readily, but his formality kept Emerson hesitant and distant.

  It’d been so long since anyone had addressed him as Father Riley he almost missed that the question directed his way. “No, Your Eminence. I came while in seminary, but it’s still awe-inspiring nonetheless.”

  “That it is. It takes a while for the fascination to wear off, but even still, there are days when the allure of the Holy City overwhelms.” The Cardinal stopped, patting a large marble column, his eyes scanning the ceiling and taking in the stained glass. The man appeared pensive, staring into the distance. “As I walk through these buildings, I imagine the masons that spent their whole lives erecting these columns and carving the thousands of statues for us to pray and kneel at, and I wonder if they felt ordained, called by God for this purpose, or if they saw it as a drudgery. You know?” He turned his gaze onto Emerson, his eyes brightening, the laugh lines at the corners present.

  “I do, Your Eminence. People are called from many walks of life to perform things that seem menial and yet have a great impact on society and innumerable individuals in the future. Yet many never see the fruit of their labors, and I often wonder if they felt what they did was an exercise in futility at times?”

  “Ah. Yes. You do understand.” The Cardinal motioned with two fingers in a come-hither motion for Emerson to follow him again. “Very insightful, Father. I see what Father McKenna meant. You’re an old soul, speaking wisdom beyond your young years.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, Cardinal Rossi. I just know how to read people. I understand how they think and feel. You know…empathy.”

  “Yes, but you dismiss the gifting quickly. Many in this calling do not understand people, and do not care to learn either, preferring the politics and money.” The old man raised his eyebrows at Emerson. “I believe you have had direct contact with someone above you at St. Theodore’s who is inflicted with this very disease.”

  My God, is he referring to Bishop Kearney?

  “I have known many that fit that description and prefer to not think upon it if you don’t mind, Your Eminence.”

  He nodded, clasping his hands in front of him, looking down at the marbled floor. “And you’re a humble servant as well. Interesting.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, entering a room easily as large as the whole rental house that he and Luca shared with their women. Floor to ceiling windows lit the bright room. A lonely desk sat near a far wall with a cream and gold oriental rug in front of it with two cream and gold damask chairs.

  Cardinal Rossi pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit.” Waving his hand toward several heavily ornate wooden chairs with scrolled arms and legs and bright red damask cushions, he said, “The Cardinals and I will be sitting here, and we can have our discussion. May I bring you water or some bread and cheese?”