A SECRET SIN

19

Aria shrugged and stood. “I suppose that leaves us no choice then.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked warily.

“Yup. The only thing left to do … is dance. Come on.” She clasped my hands and pulled me back

toward the enormous ballroom where Bruno Mars had everyone grooving to “Uptown Funk.”

I wasn’t as close to my sisters as I was to Noemi, but they were still my sisters, and they knew

how to cheer me up. After the chicken dance and a boisterous rendition of “We are Family,” I felt a

touch more like my optimistic self.

“YOU EVER GONNA GET OFF THAT PHONE AND GET BACK IN THE RING WITH ME?” I BARKED AT CALLUM.

“I thought you were just taking a breather.”

“Are you kidding?” He stared up at me incredulously. “Not when you’re wound up the way you

are. I’ll lose a fuckin’ kidney. You still haven’t sorted things out with Pippa?”

A snarl teased at my upper lip as I rested my forearms on the top rope and dropped my gaze to the

floor. “Just trying to practice some f*****g self-restraint,” I grumbled. “You really done for the day?”

I could have spent the entire day in the ring and not fully extinguished all my pent-up frustration. A

week away from Pippa hadn’t been easy. She needed to think, and so did I. Not whether I wanted her

—that was etched in my DNA for some godforsaken reason. What I had to figure out was how to get

her to see me. To apologize and make her understand what we could have together.

“Yeah, man. I’m gonna find some entertainment for the night, then head home.” His thumb swiped

almost rhythmically on his phone's screen, only occasionally pausing. “Hold up.” His eyes narrowed

as he studied something. “I’ll be damned.” He held up the device, displaying an image of Pippa.

My blood ran cold.

“Is that f*****g Tinder?” I barked, losing all vestiges of control.

“Yeah, man,” he said warily. “But there’s no telling when the profile was created or if she’s even

active.”

I began to pace in the ring. He was right, but it didn’t seem to make me feel any better. Had Pippa

been on the app before we’d met? If she had, would she have still been a virgin? I couldn’t say for

sure, but I knew it didn’t sit well. I hated the mere idea of her face out there for guys to creep on.

I’d been trying so hard to give her space, but I couldn’t do it. That wasn’t who I was. Pretending

to be anything else would be pointless. I had to lay all my cards on the table and make this right. I’d

fucked up, and if I didn’t find a way to fix it, I’d lose her forever.

REASON 342 TO LIVE ON MY OWN: NO REQUIREMENT TO ATTEND SUNDAY EVENING MASS. I WAS NOT

feeling it, but Mom and Dad insisted I attend if I didn’t have other plans, so I forced myself to get

ready for church. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to people. Normally, smiles came easily to

me. Any semblance of happiness today would be pure show.

Sighing deeply, I turned off the light in my room and headed to the top of the stairs when the front

door chimed. I stilled just out of view of the entry, hoping someone else would deal with whoever

had stopped by. Sure enough, Dad’s commanding stride clacked on the wood floors before the door

swept open.

“Bishop, I don’t believe we were expecting you.” Dad’s stilted words filtered up, sending my

heart rate into a frenzied pace.

Bishop was here? A part of me had been praying he’d reach out, while the rest of me was

overcome with embarrassment at the prospect. It was safe to assume he was there for me, but why?

To tell me how much I’d hurt him? To ask for a do-over?

If he wanted nothing to do with me, showing up at my house would have been counterproductive.

That nugget of truth helped quiet the riotous doubts screaming in my head.

“I’m sorry to show up unannounced, sir. I really need to speak with Pippa.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” my father replied coolly. “She hasn’t been herself for a week

now. And if I was a betting man, I’d say you had something to do with that.”

“You’re right. I did something stupid, and even though I didn’t intend to hurt her, I need to

apologize. Please, let me do that.” Bishop’s voice was distant. I found myself straining forward to

keep from missing a single word.

He was here, and he wanted to apologize! A flutter of cautious optimism filled my chest. I stepped

forward and started down the stairs.

“Dad, it’s okay,” I called down to him. “I need to talk to Bishop.”

My father turned to study me, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

The same time my foot reached the ground floor, my mother joined us in the entry. “I’m not sure

that’s your call to make. Let them sort out their business, Gino,” she chided softly. “We were just

about to head to evening Mass. They can talk while we’re gone.” She placed her hand in the crook of

his elbow and called upstairs for my brother and sisters.

Dad scowled but didn’t argue. My siblings thundered down the stairs, following my parents to the

garage. Then Bishop and I were alone.

Was my house always that silent?

The absence of sound seemed to scream at me from all directions, urging me to say something. To

propel us off the knife’s edge toward a resolution, one way or another.

“I’m glad you’re here.” My words echoed in my ears, seeming so much louder than they’d been. I

ignored the swell of awkwardness threatening to drown me and forged ahead. “When I first asked you

to take me home with you, I was looking to assert my independence and experience life.