Evelyn;
What is he doing here?!
Everywhere spirals to a traumatizing pause, and my vision literally goes blurry at the slight contact.
My eyes widen subsequently, my lungs burn from the breath I'm holding back.
Tiny wings of hope batting in the hollow spot of my chest; that he doesn't—for Christ's sake—recall me.
However, his glance only lasts for less than a second before he looks away. His gaze, stealth and unreadable.
I believe—no, I choose to believe—that he doesn't remember me.
I should have known.
St. Augustine Grove is the only cathedral in this little town; of course Preston Miller will have connections to the church.
Such as having a priest over for dinner.
The tension resting in my guts is mind-numbing. I haven't gotten over the shock from before the dinner started, and I'm getting swooped by another.
"It's good to have you over, Father Bellanti," a warm voice rings. A woman with soft features smiles at him.
The same smile she'd given me when she was the first person to arrive—although I wouldn't say it was this… pleasant.
"The pleasure is mine, Yvonne," he replies, rich baritone filling the stiff air that clings to my skin.
Before he can realize that I'm looking, I shift my eyes away, fixing them on the little girl by Yvonne's side, idly busy with her fingers tapping furiously on a screen.
"Say hi, baby," Yvonne coos.
She swiftly raises her head, soft brown hair falling over her shoulders. "Hi," and then her eyes go back to the tablet in her hands.
Yvonne, who I guess is her mother, directs a sheepish beam to Preston sitting at the head of the table.
His glare rests on her for a second before he glances back to… him.
"Come on, take a seat." He chuckles, pointing an arm to the spot beside me.
My heart lurches. I peek beside me to find an empty seat there—one the servants had brought after the assembling of the family.
And it clicks. So this is what it's for.
"Thank you." His words zap me back to reality, and I realize that he's already standing by my side, pulling out the seat.
I squirm, my insides feeling like liquid at the aura he oozes. Reminded of that morning during confession, I'm tempted to look at him, but I don't.
"Clergy Lloyd said you received the thanksgiving," Preston Miller initiates.
Silence. He doesn't say a word in response, and the thick air betrays the tension rumbling underneath.
Preston's face falls flat, and the others fill up the silence with the sounds of spoons against plates.
An unhidden animosity hangs in the air as I sneak a peek at Preston's sons who sit directly at his right—from the first, I guess—who is literally glaring down at the imposing figure at my side.
"I heard you almost couldn't make it?" In a means to salvage the situation, Preston's first son, whom he introduced as Adrian, questions.
Only then does the priest's cutting glance flick, adjusting on his seat beside me, and I can't help but notice. "Yes, had a busy schedule and had to bail on them impromptu."
"Well, what can I say? Duty calls." A chuckle rumbles from Adrian's chest; however, his expression doesn't quite match.
"If it's for the Lord." A grin rests on his lips.
And for an unknown reason, a breath pours out of me.
This… all of this is a mistake. One I should never have made.
The dynamic of the Miller household is so uptight—that's the thing with rich people, is it not?
And it's suffocating to an extent that I might just gape for air and die.
But I don't regret it.
At least my father gets to live.
"Evelyn!" A visceral jolt shoots through my spine, and I snap back to all eyes on me. Making the little food I'd intake toss around in my belly.
"S-sorry, I zoned out." My voice is breathy and a whisper, and why did I look at him first?
"It's her first time in family dinner; she's not quite used to the crowd." Preston Miller chuckles, his eyes wrinkling as he smiles.
"Hmm." The priest merely hums. The sound deep and… magnetic.
"I know you must not know her; she's the new addition to the Miller family, my new bride."
"I do."
My chest thunders as my eyes grow wide at his words. On one hand, my gut still tumbles from Preston's revolting claims.
"What?" Preston asks, his smile freezing.
"I do know her," the priest states without a single care.
But he acts like he doesn't.
All eyes are on me now—again.
"But you're new to Pennsylvania," Preston Miller's eyes snap in my direction, "and Evelyn Bennett has never been out of here… I've been trying to get her for the longest."
The glaze in his gaze makes me feel a prickling sensation… like ants roaming my skin.
"She's a regular parishioner," he says.
I feel like a weight is lifted from my chest, and I fight the urge to sigh out in relief.
"And a confessioner too," he spits, making everything bounce back heavier than before.
I snap my neck to him, and he's… oh God, he's looking at me too.
A lump is stuck in my throat, and waves of confusion swarm me at once.
I fear the thumping in my sternum is echoing loudly in everyone's ears.
This is it. No one can save me now.
This beautiful holy specimen has plunged me to my doom.
An awkward laughter drones in the atmosphere, slicing through the thickness of it.
At the end of the massive table, Yvonne laughs, "Everyone does have their dirty laundry, I suppose."
"And how fun that you get to know all of it," one of the identical boys sitting close to Adrian jests, a Cheshire grin tilting his lips.
The priest looks at him, his expression neutral. "Fun, is an understatement…" A dark carved brow arches. "It's exhilarating." His lips curve lopsidedly.
Something malevolent flickers in the greys of his eyes.
And disappears.
But I swear, I saw it.